Page 23 of Kill the Queens

All that anger that had fueled her dissolved as the man stared at her in awe. Fear clawed through her in its place. She trembled at the sweep of emotions, her knees feeling weak as she tried to walk forward.

"An actual angel!" Petu said again this time with a laugh as if he couldn't really believe what he'd just seen.

Shelby was at her side in a second. She hadn't even noticed that he'd left the wagon at all until his hands were wrapping around her arms, his grip the only thing that held her up.

"He's a witness," she whispered up to Shelby.

His attention drifted over her again, lingering on her neck a moment longer than the rest of her. "Are you okay?" he asked, ignoring her statement.

Ace was able to give him a short nod. That answer wasenough. His hand glided up her arm to cup her face, he ran his thumb across her cheek leaving a tingling trail behind him on her skin. He let his hands fall away.

"We can't—I—"

"I know," Shelby whispered. "We should go."

"He'll talk." The little bit of time Ace had spent with Petu she'd gotten the impression that she might like the man had they had time to become friends.

Petu was climbing out of the wagon, the swords clanging together when the wagon rocked. "How did you..."

Shelby's hands came back up to cup Ace's face as she tried to peer around him. Heat crept up her neck when she met his stare."What you are," he started, "what we are…no one will believe anything he says."

Ace felt almost sorry for him. Slowly, she took Shelby's hands in hers. Only so she could turn them to see Petu.

"Don't you dare tell a soul," Ace quipped at the man who stumbled when her eyes flashed that bright pink then orange again.

Holding onto each other tightly, the couple sprinted off into the woods in the opposite direction the thieves had gone.

EIGHT

Queen Farah

Farah had expected a long line of suitors wanting to get into her event as there would be at all of her sisters’ parties—as there had been at Sienna's—but the line still surprised her. Men stood together for blocks past the edge of the castle gates as far as she could see. The line disappeared into the distance and she wondered if there was even an end.

Only a limited number would be allowed into the castle. Farah's style was much more intimate than the other queens’. The guards had very specific instructions on what kind of men to let into the event. Attractiveness had little to do with it. She wanted someone worthy of standing next to her. Someone she hoped could be her friend one day.

Sometimes this castle got lonely. Though according to Idalia she needed someone she could control, Farah hoped for someone,longed for someone, who would match her in every way except for power.

She'd heard the way people talked about her, the way people reminded her of her beauty, several times before. Being beautiful would be the death of her. She supposed that's why there were so many suitors. She was the prettiest sister.

She knew that if she flaunted her beauty, she'd only be more targeted. Not that she had any interest in doing that anyway. A lifetime of compliments, even when she was too poor to be anything butpretty, had left her shrinking away from the lingering looks and flirty phrases.

Velvet was draped over her, cinched at her waist by a gold brooch shaped like a lion's head. The green suited her and brought out the color of her eyes. She'd asked that her hair be left down to cover her bare shoulders. The soft curls ended at the top of her dress and the tiara with fragments of King Rome's crown melted into it was nestled above the slight wisp of bangs around her eyes.

When a new suitor was let into the room they could never decide where to look when they caught their first glimpse of Farah who sat on her bone white throne. Her staff and her sister's staff had been placed on either side of her. Their eyes skipped from her dress, the bit of cleavage, the illusion of curves the cinched fabric created, her face, the crown and her staffs never knowing where to look. She leveled each of them with an apathetic stare, reserving the smirk that made men stupid for when she needed it most.

Today's venue was an intimate dinner-esque event. A long table with room for her and twenty others was adorned with a length of green garland dotted by small white flowers. The monotony of the subtle colors was broken by the stark contrast of the tall red candles and their flicking orange flames. Farah tried not to stare at them too long because it was only a fraction of time before the dripping wax started to resemble blood.

The queen sat this way for a solid hour as men were either let in or dismissed. She remained on her throne, her seat at the head of the table empty as the last of her suitors were let in. There were other empty seats as a few of the men lingered on the edge of the room to mingle. Not a single man had been brave enough to walk up to her throne and say a word to her. Spineless cowards.

Perhaps she had not been specific enough with her instructions for the type of men she wished to be allowed in. Or maybe she just elicited that much fear since she was the lesserknown of her sisters. She likeed that option much better.

Appetizers were placed down the table around the candles and garland. She'd instructed the men to eat as they pleased and wine glasses were quickly drunk and re-filled. Farah inhaled the savory scent of bacon wrapped meats and seasoned vegetables all pressed together on small skewers.

She closed her eyes trying to calm the way she itched to run from the room. The single violinist she'd invited to the dinner played quietly in the corner and she forced herself to focus on that, to get lost in the swell of the music. She could feel every gaze that fell on her skin and pulled away and felt more like the centerpiece for the room than a queen.

The door closed with a thud that made the violinist pause for half a second. Farah cracked an eye at the disturbance as the music picked back up in a cheerful tune that felt foreign.

A tall wide figure straightened the lapels of his navy blue suit jacket, pulling the room’s attention to himself. The queen inhaled sharply as she stared down her nose. Thick locks hung just past the man’s shoulders. Bright eyes met hers. Two purple swollen bruises made the upper half of his face puffy. There was a thick scabbed cut across the bridge of his now crooked nose and a split in his full bottom lip. The man smiled at his queen. He weaved through the men and around the long table coming to a stop just before the throne. Those who hadn't been looking before certainly were then.

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