Page 30 of The Queen
“Is that so? Prove it,” he says, the challenge clear as glass.
“Watch us,” Tarquin replies, his tone light but with an edge that could cut you open if you’re not careful.
The silence stretches, thick as blood.
“Remember the docks?” Tarquin’s voice breaks the quiet unexpectedly, and there’s a shadow in his tone that doesn’t belong in our plush living room.
“Every bruised knuckle,” I grunt, memories flashing like the sharp glint of knives in the dark.
Dad brings his hand up to clasp in front of him as if he is about to be entertained, a ghost of a smirk on his face. “That was your baptism into this life. You boys had to be strong—or break.”
“There was no choice,” Tarquin replies, voice low, a growl almost. “You saw to that.”
I can still feel the sting of salt on chapped lips, the ache in muscles pushed past the limit, day after day. We were kids made to dance with shadows, to fight with ghosts until we became them.
“Eliza knows sacrifice,” I say, pushing the darkness back with each word. “She’s walked through fire just like us.”
“More than you know,” Dad retorts, but there’s no pride in his voice, only the cold edge of steel we’ve come to recognise.
“Training with broken wrists, running drills with fever—no mercy, no weakness,” Tarquin says. “We paid in blood for every lesson you drilled into us.”
“Paid and learned well,” I add, feeling the old scars tighten on my skin, reminders of lessons etched deep.
“Eliza’s not just tough; she’s untouchable,” Tarquin snaps, and I nod, backing his play because it’s the truth. “What we went through, you can be fucking sure Hughes doubled down because she’s a girl.”
“Built from the same relentless fire,” I say, staring Dad down. “She doesn’t flinch—not once.”
“Good. That’s good,” he says after a moment, and there’s a flicker of something like recognition in his gaze. “Because this world will chew her up if she does, and I don’t want you boys getting swept up in that.”
“Let it try. But she doesn’t need us to fight her battles; we’ll stand guard while she leads,” I say, my voice low and steady.
Dad watches us, his scepticism slowly replaced with something that might pass for understanding—or maybe just acceptance. He nods once, curt and final, the closest thing to an agreement we’re likely to get.
“Then you better be ready,” he warns, his tone carrying the weight of all the years he’s lived in the shadows.
“We were born ready,” Tarquin says.
There’s a long, heavy pause, during which the only sound is the tick of the clock on the mantlepiece. Dad rises, the indomitable Rafe Carver. He doesn’t smile, but his cold blue eyes flicker with something like pride.
“Watch for that alliance,” he says quietly. “I want to know exactly when it happens.”
“Of course.”
Dad turns and walks to the door, his steps deliberate. I watch him leave, feeling Tarquin beside me without having to look. There’s a bond that goes beyond words, a shared history woven into our souls.
“Guess shit just got bigger.”
“Always does,” I respond. “Always does.”
15
JAMES
I leadEliza up the narrow stairs, my hand barely touching her back. She’s hardly eaten, but she had something, which is a start. We reach my bedroom door, and I push it open with more force than necessary. The room is immaculate, as always, and Eliza raises an eyebrow as I step inside, with her following.
“Something on your mind?” she asks.
“Felix.”
