Page 82 of Through Battle and Blades (The Wolf Queen 2)

“There’s kissing,” I admitted, seeing, feeling the memories that had been shared with me. “But yes, she saves everyone, just in a way that’s a little harder to understand. It’s a good story, I think.” I blinked, coming back to the room and seeing the children’s expectant expressions and Weyland’s slightly quizzical one. “Shall I tell it to you?”

“I think we can listen to what Darcy has to tell us, can’t we?” Weyland prompted and the two children nodded from the two single beds they’d been tucked into.

“Once upon a time, there was a queen…” I started.

Eleanor got out of bed even before the maids appeared to wake her. She was in front of her mirror, making sure her hair was styled symmetrically, when her lady’s maid arrived.

“Oh, Your Majesty!” The woman dropped down into a deep curtsey. “I would’ve done that for you.”

“And better than I have, I dare say,” Eleanor replied with a rueful smile. “Do I look a fright, Maisie?”

“Never, my queen,” the maid said, a politic response, but there was enough earnestness in her tone to reassure the queen. “You do look beautiful, if I may say.”

“You may.” Eleanor shot the maid and impish smile, and the woman smiled back. She’d been seeing to Eleanor’s dress and hair since she was old enough to pin it up. “Though, if I could suggest the dark blue dress?”

The maid hurried over to the royal wardrobe, seeming to know the queen was in a hurry and when she pulled out the rich blue velvet gown, Eleanor paused.

“The blue will do such beautiful things for your eyes and skin. You are already so lovely, but this will make you radiant.”

Radiant was surely the order for the day. Eleanor’s hands twisted in her own grip and then she nodded, turning around so the maid might undo the many tiny buttons on her gown. She’d struggled with them herself, forced to contort herself at first, then had needed to use this hook designed for the exact purpose of getting the gown on. Now all her hard work was undone quickly, the maid removing the dress she was wearing, then helping her into the blue.

“You don’t think this is too grand?” Eleanor asked, smoothing her hands over the soft folds of fabric.

“You’re the queen, Majesty. What could be too grand for you? I know you’ve lived in your grandmother’s shadow for some time…” The maid’s voice trailed away, seeming to realise belatedly she was over-stepping, but when she finally turned to inspect the queen, having done up every button, she nodded. “But you rule Strelae now. You could wear a hessian bag and the ladies of court would be down at the potato seller’s gate, demanding him hand over his sacks for dresses, before the sun went down.”

“Hardly.” But Eleanor shot her a shy smile. “And you’re right. Grandmother threw a long shadow.” Her spine straightened then, becoming the perfect posture of a trained princess. “But she is gone to the Morrigan’s embrace and I am queen. Thank you, Maisie.”

“Of course, my queen.”

As her maid sank into a curtsey, Eleanor hurried out the door and down the hallway, only slowing her steps when she came across other courtiers. She inclined her head gracefully at every greeting and bow, cursing them silently in her head, until she reached the doorway of the dining hall, and that’s when she saw him.

This had been a strange part of what I’d seen while in the cave. The sight of Nordred looking so young was always a surprise to me, but it was more than that. She gazed upon the man with the kind of commitment and dedication and warmth I knew well, but in my case they were emotions I held for my mates, not for the man who had trained me. Eleanor loved Nordred as a woman loves the man she wants to spend her life with. Through her lashes she watched the way his hands moved when he spoke to her brother, the mobile shift of his lips, the flash of his eyes when a topic interested him, the broad expanse of his shoulders.

I blinked then, coming back to the room. I wasn’t telling the children what I’d seen as I’d seen it. I couldn’t. Like all fairy tales, an adult reality was nestled in a bed of simple language and black and white concepts.

“The queen was in love with her court wizard,” I told the children.

“Do they get married?” Jan asked excitedly. “Do they live happily ever after?” But Del shook his head.

“She can’t.” He looked back at me, a more mature understanding there. “This is the old queen. She had to find a pack to mate with, for the good of the country.”

“So she can’t marry the person she loves?” Jan’s face fell, making me reconsider telling this story, but somehow it needed to come out.

“Queens often can’t. The highborn, they marry for connections and power, not love,” Del told her.

“Well, I don’t want to be a princess then.” Jan’s arms crossed her chest firmly. “I don’t want to have to marry some stinky pack.”

“I promise you, Princess Jan,” Weyland said with a grin, “that I will fight for your honour and not let anyone force you to marry any man you don’t want to.” She seemed mollified by that, beaming back at him. “And anyway, not all princesses marry stinky old men who bring with them alliances and money.” He looked back at me, that smile softening somewhat. “Princess Darcy is my mate.”

“So you love Darcy?” Jan asked in a familiar sing song voice. For children, admitting you love someone romantically was always a target for derision. Weyland did not respond right away. He didn’t look away from me for a second, his gaze intent, before he replied.

“More than anything else in the world. She’s everything to me.”

Jan swooned dramatically, flopping back onto her pillow, even as Del made exaggerated retching sounds, which made the two of us adults smile.

“So on with the story,” I said and the two children quietened. “The queen was in love with her wizard and she was not allowed to be.”

Eleanor had read her fill of forbidden love when still a girl, swept away in circuitous tales of desire and betrayal, but she’d realised the authors had missed a key detail about the whole thing. The sheer torturous pleasure of it all. The very definition of bittersweet. She longed for Nordred with every beat of her heart, even as her head told her very firmly how terrible a decision it would be to act on this. Good sense was probably not enough to keep her away from her heart’s desire.

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