Page 14 of The Manticore's Human Queen
Her adrenaline is fading now. I can see it in the way the fierce light in her eyes begins to soften, replaced by the dawning, terrifying realization of what she has just done. Her hands, which had been so steady as she pressed the rebellion into mine, begin to tremble. It is a small, almost imperceptible tremor, but in the charged silence of the menagerie, it is a seismic event.
She sees me notice and tries to hide her hands in the folds of her gown, a flicker of the old, conditioned shame returning to her eyes. She is embarrassed by her fear, by this show of weakness after such a profound act of strength. My ownhands, large and scarred, reach through the bars before I have consciously decided to move. I do not grab or seize. I simply cover her trembling fingers with my own, my touch a silent, steadying weight.
She freezes, her breath catching in her throat. Her skin is impossibly soft beneath my calloused palm, her bones as delicate as a bird’s. A surge of fierce, protective instinct, so potent it is almost a physical pain, washes through me.
“You are the bravest soul I have ever known, Annelise,” I say, my voice a low rumble, the words an unvarnished truth. “I have seen warriors with a fraction of your courage break on the battlefield.”
Her eyes widen, and I see a shimmer of moisture gather in their green depths. She shakes her head, a small, jerky movement of denial. “No,” she whispers, her voice a fragile, breaking thing. “I am not brave. I was… I am terrified. My heart feels as if it will beat its way out of my chest.”
The confession, the raw, honest admission of her fear, is a gift of trust so profound it humbles me. She is not trying to be a stoic warrior for me. She is showing me the terrified, trembling woman who exists beneath the armor of her defiance. She is showing me her true self.
And it is my duty, as the one she has placed her trust in, to show her mine.
The words are the hardest I have ever spoken. They feel like a betrayal of every lesson of discipline, of every wall of stoic endurance I have ever built around myself. But they are the truth. And she deserves the truth.
“So am I,” I confess, the words barely a whisper.
Her head snaps up, her eyes locking with mine. I see the shock on her face, the pure, uncomprehending disbelief.
I am Tarek the Unflinching, the stone wall, the beast who has met her terror with nothing but growls and a grim, silentstrength. For me to admit fear is to shatter the very foundation of the image she has of me.
And in that moment of shared, terrifying honesty, she sees me for the first time. Not as the monster in the cage, not as the stoic, unbreakable warrior. She sees the man. A man who is wounded, and trapped, and frightened of the darkness that lies ahead.
A single tear escapes her eye and traces a path down her pale cheek. She does not pull her hand away. Instead, she turns it, her small fingers lacing with my own through the bars. It is not a touch of pity. It is a touch of solidarity. A touch that says,I see you. And I am not afraid.
The connection is a jolt that goes straight to my core. A fire, low and primal, ignites in my blood. I look at her, at her tear-streaked face, at her beautiful, courageous, terrified eyes, and a wave of pure, possessive need, so savage and so absolute it almost steals my breath, crashes through me.
I imagine tearing these bars apart, pulling her into the cage with me, and taking her right there in the filthy straw, a brutal, claiming act that would brand her as mine in the face of this entire, rotten world. I imagine the sounds she would make, the way her body would yield to mine, the way she would scream my name in the darkness.
The fantasy is so vivid, so powerful, that a low growl rumbles in my chest. She flinches, a flicker of the old fear returning to her eyes, and the spell is broken.
Shame, cold and sharp, pierces through the heat of my desire. What am I thinking? She is not a prize to be taken.
She is a warrior to be honored.
I need to cage the monster she has just glimpsed.
She deserves more than that. She deserves a king, not a beast. And I will have to learn to be both if I am ever going to be worthy of her.
18
ANNELISE
The menagerie is different now. The air, once thick only with the scent of hay and misery, now hums with a new and dangerous energy. Tarek’s confession from the night before—So am I—echoes in my mind, a quiet reverberation that has shaken the very foundations of my world. The intimidating beast I discovered in the cage is gone, replaced by a man who is as haunted and as frightened as I am.
This shared vulnerability has created a bond more intimate and profound than any secret touch we'd exchanged. He has confided his fear in me, and the profound trust he'd placed in me feels less like a burden and more like a mantle of honor.
I move through the deserted corridors, my basket of salves and clean linen in my hand, my heart a nervous, fluttering sensation against my ribs. As I round the final corner before the servants' stairs that lead to the courtyard, a figure steps from the shadows, blocking my path.
"Well, well," the voice slurs, dripping with condescending amusement. "If it isn't the little human pet, out for another one of her midnight strolls."
It is Kaelen, the guard who sometimes brings Tarek his slop. He reeks of cheap, spiced wine, and his silver eyes gleam with a lazy, predatory light. A cold knot of fear tightens in my stomach.
"Good evening, Kaelen," I say, my voice a placid murmur, my gaze fixed on a point just past his shoulder. "I was just..."
"Going to see the beasts?" he finishes for me, taking an unsteady step closer. He is close enough now that I can feel the heat from his body. "A strange hobby for a future lady of the house. Don't you have enough beasts to look at in the gallery?" He chuckles, a wet, unpleasant sound. "Or perhaps you prefer them living? More… visceral."
"I find them calming," I say, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. I try to step around him, but he shifts, blocking me again.
