Page 55 of The King's Queen

For once I wouldn’t mind Tanja scrubbing the skin from my bones and coating my face with paints until I can’t recognize myself. The feeling of looking in the mirror now is comparable.

When I step out from the bathroom, now clean and dressed in a soft nightgown, the doctor is finishing a final stitch on the arrow wound Rowan took for me. He withholds a wince as she ties the final knot and nods her head. The mercenary king presses a few gold pieces in her hand and mumbles a thanks before she takes her leave.

Catching my stare, Rowan winks. “I’m going to bathe unless you’ve used all the hot water. Try not to think about me too hard, you’ve got to take care of that concussion, Ver.”

My cheeks burn with indignation, and he laughs before closing the door with a soft snick behind him. Prick.

I claim the bed furthest from the door. Rowan may trust these people, but my nerves have been set on edge. However, it is hard to stay irritated or anxious as my skin touches the soft silk sheets.

“Seriously?” I scoff. “How filthy rich is this moron?” From an inexhaustible supply of horses, owning multiple taverns and inns, to such luxurious private rooms and free-flowing gold coins, Rowan’s wealth must be comparable to the king’s. I suppose he is called the King of Mercenaries for a reason.

The sounds of footsteps and dripping water emits from the bathroom as I burrow deeper into the covers. There is so much Rowan I must talk about still, his confession, my own feelings, our next move, who I am, really. Maybe that last one can wait, at least until I’m finally free of that wretched castle.

Exhaustion pulls a blanket over my shoulders and closes my eyes with gentle hands, and I drift off to sleep just as Rowan opens the door.

Chapter22

Verosa

The hallways all look the same. Where am I, and where am I even going?

The tapestries stare back at me, the same as they always have, but something has changed. The faces, those beautifully woven faces of all my childhood heroes are no longer smiling. Each one stares back, their faces twisted with horror.

“Verosa.”

No.

I turn down one at random and begin to sprint, ignoring my burning lungs and aching muscles. The voices draw closer, murmuring my name as if a prayer.

“Verosa.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Invisible hands reach out and take ahold of me. Pulling the clothes from my skin and the skin from my bones. Blood and tears mix as I cry out for someone, anyone to come save me. The cool marble floor answers my calls as they pull me down further.

I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t-

“Vera.”

This is the end. Darkness washes over me in rolling waves. A pit forms in my stomach that feels like I am falling. These hands keep pulling, stripping me away until I am nothing but a carcass. A frail open body with a gaping heart still pumping out golden blood. Slowly, the hands reach for that too.

“I told you you’d rot,” one of them whispers.

“She never listens,” the other agrees, more feminine and sadistic.

“Verosa.” Icy fear wraps itself around, and I violently shake as I bleed out. Why won’t anyone help me?

“Vera.”

The howling draws closer now.

“Vera.”

I take in one final breath and then scream.

“VERA!” Someone grips my shoulders firmly, shaking me awake. The silhouette of a man hovers above me in the dark, his hair brushing against my forehead. Rowan. Rowan is here, but where is here?

The inn, the room at the inn booked under Leo and Marie. The room where I fell asleep safely. I am safe.

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