Page 122 of Shifter King
Of course she would. Why wouldn't she? Now was inconvenient. Grandiose little pustule.
Amelia rolled off the bed with a loud thud.
Crespa.
He definitely needed a box to put her in. "All right, dear heart. Let's play another game. You hold still—"
"WroOth." She sat up, grabbing for his hand. "WroOth, I'm falling away. I'm trying to come back. Trying to find the pieces. And some of me is fine. But the rest—the Okalu is watching. Watching and smiling. They like that this is happening. They like that I'm falling apart. I think—I think that they wanted this to happen all along and that this is all part of the plan." She let her eyelids slide shut, her breaths rattling. "They're watching me. And they don't—they don't hate me. But they feel nothing for me. I'm only a tool meant to be broken. Everything is breaking me, and I can't."
"These Bealorns think they can get you to cooperate—"
"Not just them. They're using the Bealorns. They're using so many. This is something—" she touched his cheek and then went slack, slumping to the side. "They hate you," she said in a flatter voice. "I'm sorry. So much hate. It chokes. It burns. It—" She tugged at her hair, more tears rising. "The pieces won't go back together. They won't fit again. I've felt wrong since Dry Deep. I'll be wrong after this. The pieces don't all go back together. And I can see most of them. I keep walking and looking. All of me is looking."
"And you'll find everything you're looking for, dear heart. You will. You're strong. You'll get through this."
She didn't respond though her eyes had rolled back and she stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Hah. That was…shrieking moons, if that wasn't a sight that showed up in his own nightmares, he didn't know his own dreams. At least she was holding still and breathing.
Another rap at the door sounded. "The queen wants to see you immediately."
"Of course, of course! I'm just making myself presentable." He tied her to the bed, securing her hands and feet so that she couldn't scratch or bite or otherwise hurt herself. Then, straightening the seams at his shoulders and smoothing out the skirt of his dress, he left.
"There is one more thing," the Bealorn guard said, not even a little apologetically. He held up the slim green knife.
WroOth growled inwardly. "Do you truly think I could be someone else?"
"Orders." The flash of the small poisoned knife into his side burned fast and hot. Wretched Bealorns.
"Such a crude delivery system," he said. Just like them. It wasn't even efficient! Once he found whoever had come up with it, he'd find a way to stab them repeatedly and see how they liked it.
The guards escorted him to the same narrow chamber he'd first found them in. Not surprisingly, she had a fair number of robed members present, likely to bear witness. She sat in her little throne atop the three stairs, hands folded before herself as she waited to hear their statement. How did these people keep track of what all they were to remember and how they were to remember it?
Both he and Gabrice were summoned to the front before the steps, Gabrice at the foot of the stairs and WroOth several steps behind and to the side. He hated this room. Hated the stench of it with all these Bealorns and the queen's sickly-sweet perfume.
"You have a matter concerning the wedding that you would like to discuss." Zorna looked between them both.
Gabrice bowed his head, his eyes still bloodshot but his stance steadier. He probably had one beast of a headache giving up all that alcohol and ash, but at least he looked steadier and more present than he had in any of their previous encounters. "I first wish to make my apology for my behavior these past days. I realize that in all areas, you have done what you have for our people and for me. It is time for me to do my part. I want the woman. But I don't want her drugged or lobotomized."
Zorna's lips twitched into a smile. "Indeed. Well, I am pleased to hear it. You will proclaim your passion for her and how it overwhelmed all your senses at the wedding."
"Of course." Gabrice managed a relatively amiable smile. "I will say whatever you wish me to."
She tapped her fingernail against the throne's arm. "I want you to speak from your heart for all to hear. I want everyone to speak from their hearts for all to hear. You will speak last, my son. First, the skinchanger who claimed her will speak and give his blessing and approval. Then the bride."
WroOth's eyebrow arched. "Your Majesty," he said in the sweetest tones he could manage. "She has not recovered from the effects of the psychic wine and is likely to be so overcome with—"
"The bride will pay me the same honor and respect and humbly request the honor of joining this family or else…" She smiled as she leaned back. "It must be clear to all who attend that this was desired by all involved."
Damn this woman. He set his arms akimbo as he sorted this new turn. "Of course, your Majesty. But—"
"She will be fine," she said flatly. "The psychic wine simply exposes who she is. Nothing else. Do not ask for another antidote for it or for what all it included again."
"Then perhaps your Majesty would grant us the favor of ensuring that the bride is allowed to remain in isolation with only myself and the groom to see her until her presentation at the wedding. And perhaps she could be moved to a room that receives sunlight. Sunlight and fresh air would surely do her good."
"No. She gets sunlight and fresh air after the wedding."
WroOth shot Gabrice a look. The prince stood there like a lump, barely registering concern as the queen spoke. If he could kick that spineless glob, he would.
Gabrice cleared his throat. "I would very much like to woo her in the sunlight."
