Page 31 of The War Queen's Daughter

Chapter 17

Amber quietly corners me on my way back to my quarters, her dark eyes careful, though she’s clearly excited when she closes the door behind us and grins openly at me.

“Don’t congratulate me,” I groan, throwing myself down on the sofa. “He’s decided he’s not going to marry anyone.”

Her glee turns to calculation. “You tried everything?”

“Short of forcing the issue,” I say, letting her read the message beneath that cynical delivery.

“You have to try again.” Now it’s her turn to pace my room while I watch her with a bone-deep weariness I know can only be fixed with sleep.

“I will,” I tell her, rising to push her toward the door. “I swear it.” I mean it, too. I’ve already decided so, to pitch the plan in mind to Altar. But not now. I need my wits about me, and I’m not going to share with Amber until I’ve spoken to him again. I’m in no mood to argue the details until it’s done.

And either agreed to or failed.

She goes, though she doesn’t want to. “Get him to agree,” she says. “Stay in the Citadel, don’t wander off. At least until you do.”

I fall into bed, propping a chair against the knob to prevent entry, sealing the glass door to the garden similarly before collapsing into sleep.

It’s troubled, despite my tiredness, and full of dreams. I wake with my thighs throbbing, fingers seeking the heat and wetnessto ease me back into rest. Climax does the trick, and when I rouse the second time, my body lets me be.

Another soaking serves me just as well, a quiet dinner preceding my prowl back to Altar’s study. But he’s again missing from the place where I suspect he spends the majority of his time.

Which means he’s avoiding me.

At least I manage more sleep, even if I’m up with the dawn’s light. But this campaign offers no outlet in battle, and though I journey each morning to the exercise yard to work off my growing frustration and impatience, I encounter neither the Overprince nor my two interesting friends.

The days crawl by, each one a torment of enforced idleness and simmering resentment. At least Amber finds me a seamstress willing to alter the dresses I’m forced to wear, and by the fourth morning, I have clever little pockets sewn into each and every one at both wrists and waist, blades a comfort even if my sword must stay in my room.

Gorgon greets me every morning with his usual stoic joy, the young man caring for him always eager to show me he’s well-tended. The warhorse has earned a break, though I do ride him bareback around the yard every other day just to keep him conditioned and remind him that he’s a working horse as much as I’m a soldier.

Because I have to remind myself as well, sometimes, and he’s happy to oblige me.

I’m already tired of the princesses and their endless attempts to make me feel humiliated by their ostracization, far more impacted by the glittering boredom that becomes my daily torment. Their whispers are a constant hum, their smiles brittle and condescending.

I am far too excited to spot Altar at dinner two nights after our private encounter, but he avoids eye contact and engageswith Vae as though to spite my attempts to catch his attention. He’s faster than I expect, as well, after the meal is ended, disappearing like a wild creature into the maze of the Citadel, impossible to track.

I’m about ready to pin him down by force after all the next time I see him, consent given or not.

Vae’s delight at his attention turns to spite, of course. I could use the fact that he simply turned to her to avoid me. But it feels like lazy ammunition to use against her, so I choose not to. Not out of any sense of kindness or empathy. She’s just not worth the trouble.

My headspace is already full. Her attempts to provoke me now feel tedious, a predictable game. I meet her veiled barbs with a blank stare, choosing a mask of indifference. She tries, for a while, but my refusal to rise to her bait eventually frustrates her into abandoning her game. She seems to have decided I’m not worth it either, turning her sharp wit on less stoic targets.

The physical restlessness, however, is a different beast. I haven’t heard back from my mother or aunt, though I don’t expect to for many days yet. Each passing dusk and dawn without a message feels like another layer of abandonment. I spend hours in the palace’s exercise yard, running through forms, sparring with the guards I can barely tolerate. I defeat them easily, their poor skills and predictable attacks no match for my battlefield training. And while I suppose I could take pity on them and offer training, I’m far too restless and anxious for such things.

Despite Amber’s early warning about my safety, no one has tried anything that I’m aware of. No poisoned food, no “accidental” trips on stairs, no sudden attacks in the dark. Am I seeking trouble in places I might find it? Perhaps. It breaks up the monotony somewhat.

Then again, it’s almost more unsettling than outright threats to know that assassination lurks. I almost wish something would happen. At least then I’d have something to focus my attention on besides these endless, dreary, and mind-numbing days and nights that pass without a single advancement of my plan.

The fact that those who inhabit the Citadel live this way on purpose makes me want to vomit.

And yet, surely this lull is simply like the quiet before a storm? I am a target, I know it, but for now, I remain untouched, suspended in a state of anxious anticipation. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m about ready to crawl out of my own skin. I’ve considered finding someone to bed, if only to ease my physical tension, but now that I’ve tasted Altar—and sparred with Zenthris—I’m comparing every option and finding them lacking.

The confinement, the endless superficiality, the constant vigilance – it’s chipping away at my resolve, and I don’t know what to do about it.

It’s late on a dull afternoon that things get interesting. I’m pacing again, certainly irritating the maids from the track I’ve been wearing in the rug, when a small, tightly rolled parchment rustles faintly when it slips under my door.

I’m so startled by its arrival that I stare too long before lunging for it, whipping open my door to seek out the deliverer.

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