Page 111 of Shifter King
"You should tread very carefully." Zorna shook her finger in his face, then stopped. "Is that what this is? You want the skinchanger girl too? You can have her too."
Well, this was charming.
"No. I wanted mine! I'd rather chop that skinchanger into pieces and feed her to the eels and crocs." He slammed his hand in the air and staggered away.
Amelia stiffened.
"I have had enough of you. Get back to your chambers before I decide to throw you in the pit." She snapped her fingers at WroOth. "You, girl, you want to save your sister, listen closely."
He glanced between Amelia and Gabrice. Amelia hadn't even twitched aside from standing straighter. And Gabrice was already moving away. All but two of the servants had left, and then there were the guards following the queen. "How may I serve, your Majesty?"
"I will not be shown up at this wedding. My damn fool of a son will destroy this whole thing to spite me for what happened to that shell and the bastard. So either your sister makes the most impassioned plea at that wedding and begs to be joined to this nation or my son agrees to take her and woos her to this cause and proclaims all their great love for all to hear at the wedding. Otherwise, I will be forced to attempt another method which your sister will certainly not come back herself and which she may not survive. I must be convinced." The guard opened the door. She stepped through, giving WroOth a narrow look. "Do you understand?"
"I do. But, one question, if you'll forgive me. It sounded as if there would be a war if—well, if the others determined—"
"If it was determined I as the queen acted inappropriately?" Her brow lifted. "And how would I have behaved inappropriately? Everyone can see that the girl is simple and sickly. Accidents happen all the time. Everyone has seen what needs to be seen. And if someone such as a skinchanger should try to say differently, well—she wouldn't because she does understand the value her word has. Yes?"
WroOth nodded.
"Good." She patted him on the cheek. "Wait here. Topiat will arrive shortly and show you where you are both staying until the wedding. Your room is on this level as is the prince's underground chambers. You may wander as you choose to accomplish my purposes. I know you have certain impediments that might make it harder for you to serve, but you're a creative girl. I'm sure you'll find a way. Do not fail me. I have no use for simple girls who cannot do as they are told, no matter how sweet or sincere they may be."
And he had little use for rulers such as this. Hard as it was to force the smile he did and fluttered his fingers in as friendly a farewell as he could make.
The door clicked shut; WroOth started to turn.
A soft crunch reached his ears.
He spun toward Amelia. She was gone. Where—
His mouth dropped open. She stood in front of Gabrice, her palm lifted as if she had driven it straight into his nose. With muffled grunts of shock, he had fallen back to the side of the wooden staircase, holding his nose as blood streamed out. She advanced on him, seized him by the back of the head, and slammed his face into the staircase. Repeatedly. "You do not hurt WroOth," she said.
Oh. Shrieking moons.
He lunged for her, separating her from the Bealorn. A clump of his hair tore off in her hand. Had she killed him?
If she'd almost killed Gabrice and he couldn't be saved, he'd have to kill him the rest of the way so as not to trigger her curse. And then—oh, thank Elonumato, the prince was breathing.
Gasping, he hugged her tight. "Oh, dear heart, you can't do that."
"He said he was going to have you skinned alive and then cut into pieces." She pressed her fingers to his cheek. "I won't let him hurt you, WroOth."
"Dear heart, I'm fine. He can't hurt me." But Gabrice could hurt her and likely would if he remembered this. "All right. All right." He pressed his hands together. "You want to keep me from being hurt?"
She nodded.
"Then you need to be very quiet and say nothing until we get to a place I tell you is safe. Do you understand?"
She nodded, her brow pinching. There was an almost childlike quality about her now. She folded her arms and shrank against the wall, watching him with wide dark eyes.
He hurried back to the prince then. The Bealorn remained unconscious, not in any danger of suffocating on his own blood at the moment. With the goblet near his hand and this position, it did look as if he had fallen down the stairs.
"Oh, come quickly," he called out, cupping his hand around his mouth. "The prince has fainted, and he is injured quite badly!"
Amelia stared at the prince, her eyes half shaded now as if she contemplated something else. Likely horrible.
Only two attendants came running to help, two Vawtrians with copper lithoks in their ears. The slim white-haired man shook his head as he crouched beside the prince. "He really shouldn't try to take the stairs when he mixes wine with glory silver and howler ash."
"Does he do this often?" WroOth asked, leaning over him. If the only ones investigating this were these two Vawtrians, then they might have a chance so long as something could be done about the prince's memory.
