Page 109 of A Queen's Game
Marietta leaned into his touch, half from exhaustion, half from being in love with this man. Through everything, he had been more than supportive. “I’m surprised so many people came.” Marietta was still in awe, even as her body ached from a day of being on her feet with no break.
“I’m not surprised. The people of this community love you, Mar. You’ve made a bigger impact on them than you realize.” Tilan offered her another quick kiss before disappearing into the back.
Marietta stood in the center of the storefront with her hands on her hips, surveying the damage. She needed to sweep and mop the floors, wipe down the cabinets, and count the money in the register. That didn’t include all the baking she’d need to do for tomorrow.
Tilan returned with a bottle of wine and plates of food. “Take a seat, my love. First, we celebrate. Enjoy this moment.”
They sat in the chairs at the front of the bakery, sipping on wine and eating a meal a friend had dropped off for them. Marietta looked around her bakery, and her heart swelled with love. She had made the right decision.
Chapter Forty-Three
Elyse
Fluffy white clouds drifted through the sky, offering a reprieve from the sun’s heat as Elyse crossed the courtyard. Courtiers milled about in the shade, most ladies with a parasol to help with the hot weather, but she paid them no mind as she strolled past, even as someone called her name. Gods, must there always be someone trying to talk to her in that damned palace? Not acknowledging the call, Elyse picked up her pace, stepping into the winding garden paths.
Nothing positive ever rose from those conversations, just more fuel for whatever mocking they deemed entertaining for the day. It was a shame Grytaine wasn’t born as a lady at court—she would have fit in well with the younger nobles. Elyse could only imagine what they’d all have to say after her second failed betrothal, only lasting a couple of hours. Brynden had—no, she wouldn’t let herself think of him.
Oh, but she could imagine Grytaine saying, “First Keyain, now the Chorys Dasian? A shame, you’ll have to find suitors in Kyeari or Amgiys who might not have heard of your reputation.”
The worst part was she would be right—everything she said had a bit of truth that Elyse could see. The other courtiers’words were the same, and she couldn’t handle hearing them out loud when she already thought about them every damn day. So instead, she fled.
Hydrangeas, rock roses, and other flowering shrubberies, thick with blooms, lined the paths as she ventured deeper to the heart of the Central Garden. After living in the palace for most of her life, she knew the labyrinthine layout and the best hiding spots.
Off the path, Elyse took a dirt walkway that wound through knee-height lavender, yarrow, and boxwoods that led to a gap in the towering willow tree and its low-hanging boughs. Underneath the shade of the tree, Elyse leaned against the gnarled trunk, looking at the pond that stretched out to the other side.
The nearby frogs croaked as the willow’s leaves rustled in the breeze, and the pond’s water lapped onto the bank. Elyse took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind, her body growing more relaxed. The racing thoughts would help with nothing, and she needed to control them if she wished to become a mage.
“Fuck, Elyse.”
She jumped, whipping around to where she entered the willow to find a scowling Sylas standing there, breathing heavy.
“What doyouwant?” she snapped, giving him a matching scowl. The last thing she needed was another rumor about her and the Chorys Dasians.
“Brynden said you were fast, but—” Sylas leaned his hands on his knees, then stood up straight, smoothing his black shirt. “I called your name. Did you hear me?”
“I did, and I chose to ignore it.”
He shook his head, exasperated. “What is wrong with you? What’s with the attitude?”
“Attitude? What’s with stalking me?” She did have an attitude, but she didn’t want to talk about Brynden.
“I’m doingyoua favor here,” he said, his scowl deepened.
“How is this a favor?”
From his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper. “I’m no longer just Brynden’s nursemaid, but also his errand boy.”
“What is that?”
“A letter.”
“Why do you have a letter for me?”
Sylas closed his eyes, swearing under his breath. “Because he wanted to apologize.”
“For what? Being drunk and disorderly? For causing a scene that ended with another very public end to a betrothal?” Elyse should check her attitude, but frustration gave way as she spoke.
“You’re angry.”
