Page 49 of The War Queen's Daughter

It’s not a surprise, then, that she strides through the place as if she owns all of it instead of being a guest here, her presence demanding that the very walls of the palace bow before her. She enters the lavish suite assigned to Heald, taking her quarters like the queen she is, as if this opulent cage is merely an extension of her own stronghold.

I have little doubt my mother understands the nature of this concession, however, and for once, I wish she’d be honest with me and not hide what she’s thinking.

The heavy door swings shut behind us, cutting off the rest of the palace from our presence. The silence, after my mother’s performance, that turns to dead quiet the moment we’re alone, is almost deafening.

The opulent room is decorated in gold and purple, the badge of Heald sewn into fabric and embedded in the marble floor, declaring this is sovereign territory, but I have no illusions. Mother spins on me, pinning me with her eyes and her intensity, all pretext evaporated.

The space between us is suddenly thick with unspoken words, with the weight of her unpredictable presence.

A quiet movement intervenes. My aunt steps between us, her face shedding its stoic mask to reveal genuine concern. Her dark eyes, so like my mother’s yet warm and thoughtful, meet mine before she turns her head to face down her sister.

“Jhanette,” she says. “Just listen, for once.”

Mother grunts. It’s the only form of agreement she’ll give, but it’s agreement, so it’s enough. I’m surprised she’s willing, though it’s clear to me as her sister and general turns back to me again that this is far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Mother crosses to the wine waiting for her on a low, wide table near the arching fireplace, helping herself as my aunt nods to me. The total shift in persona is not unexpected, the queen’s bravado her favorite mask to wear with those she intends to dominate. But here, in the quiet and in private, she reverts to the woman I know as my commander, my ruler, and the woman who thinks she’s in charge of my fate.

That’s changed, though, the last bit. And she’s not going to like it when she finds out.

Aunt ignores her sister’s activity in favor of pulling me into a tight, comforting hug. The familiar scent of her own clean, honest leather and a faint hint of woodsmoke and war is a solace she brings that I’ve never appreciated as much as I do now.

Her arms are strong, her touch grounding. I was in need of both.

“Remalla,” Aunt murmurs, her voice soft, full of warmth, so different from the harsh words I’ve heard since arriving in Winderose. “Areyou all right?” Her eyes search my face, reading the tension I let her see. “Word reached us on the road. That someone tried to kill you. In the baths.” The concern in her voice is real, a lifeline in this swirling chaos.

I step away. There’s no time for more than that anchoring moment of warmth before my mother’s tight, angry voice shatters the quiet of the royal quarters.

Jhanette is already through her first cup of wine, her eyes blazing as she turns to me. I knew she’d react badly to the news, but my aunt’s suggestion of worry still has me off balance.

“They’d best send a better assassin if they want to kill my daughter.” She tosses back the wine before crushing the metal goblet in her hand. It crashes to the floor when she drops it at her feet, a thin arc of leftover liquid glistening as it forms a trail like blood shed from the blade of a sword across the white marble floor.

The symbolism is striking. “I’m ashamed to admit it was a close thing,” I say. “Whoever came for me did so in a moment of weakness.”

“Weakness.” Mother shakes her head, striding to me and, in a further shock, hugs me.

My mother hugs me. Like she means it.

I’m barely able to respond in time, embracing her back, before she pushes me away, her strong hands circling my biceps and holding me in front of her. “You survived, daughter,” she says, voice low and shaking with rage. Or is it pride I see in her eyes? Have I actually, finally made my mother proud of me? “That is more than they thought you would do. Now, tell me of your progress with the Overprince.”

That newfound connection to her is about to shatter. “He’s chosen not to choose,” I say.

She blinks. It’s such a rare thing to catch my mother by surprise, but I succeed. In fact, it takes her a spluttering moment to recover. “What does that even mean?”

My aunt chuckles. “That the clever princeling has an agenda of his own.” She eyes me as Mother swears, dropping her hands from my arms. I immediately miss her touch, the heat of contact. Am I so easily controlled out of a need for her to love me?

Yes. And that has to change if I’m going to stand against her.

“Hemustchoose.” Mother’s still stunned.

“We didn’t factor in his stubbornness,” my aunt says, “or that the boy might want a say.” She laughs again. “A man with a spine, how refreshing.” She squints at me, still grinning. “And a thick cock to match?”

I flash her a grin. I don’t mean to. What I shared with Atlas isn’t their business. But she catches me off guard, and I can’t help it.

My aunt throws her head back and laughs.

Mother, on the other hand, is unamused.

“You willmakehim choose, daughter,” she says. “Your message tells me you know exactly why it’s so important that you ascend the throne.”

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