Page 9 of The King's Queen

“Sorry,” I mumble, “I’m not quite used to this kind of attention.”

“Really?” His eyes widen, and his shock seems genuine. I restrain a snort. If any man dared to look at me too long, he’d soon become either Blaine or Tanja’s problem, and if the poor chap was unlucky enough, the king’s. Though, with Ophelus, it was always about setting an example, commanding respect. He didn’t care enough to be bothered if I had an affair. So long as I don’t get caught, that is.

“Well, then, Woden Ryson. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Ryson? Like the sign outside the door?” He laughs again, running his hand through his hair and pushing it out of his face. The old wooden floors creak as Woden steps back, stretching his arms out to the side.

“The one and only.” His grin resembles that of a clever fox, but he has the kind eyes of a puppy. Come to think of it, he reminds me of this old lapdog Irene used to bring with her everywhere. It was an old Spaniel, with a silky caramel coat and wide almond eyes. I used to give it kisses when Irene wasn’t looking, and it would respond by snuffling its wet nose against my hair.

“Vera.” I shake his clammy hand.

“No last name?” I shake my head. “Alright then, Vera No Last Name, I think you owe me a dance.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“No, but I’d like one.” He stares at me again with that kind, hopeful face, and I feel my resolve crumble again. A few moments couldn’t hurt. He takes my cloak and hangs it off the back of a chair, and suddenly I feel a bit silly. All the other girls wear silk skirts of beautiful flashing colors, their arms decorated with golden circlets; jewels crowning the hair that they’ve piled atop their head. Yet here I am, wearing my weather-beaten trousers and cotton blouse, the hem of my pants tucked into thick leather boots. For the first time in my life, I feel out of place amidst the luxury. The other girls seem to notice too, giggling behind their silks. Woden pays them no mind as he grabs my hand and pulls me into the thick of it, the men whooping and clapping him on the back as we make our way into the center. He shouts something I don’t understand to the band, and an even quicker tune begins, the fiddler shredding the strings of his beautiful instrument. The other patrons cheer and stomp their feet, pairing up for the dance.

“Come on!” Woden shouts over the music, taking my hand again.

“What are we doing?”

“Just follow my lead, and don’t step on my toes. I like these shoes.” I find myself laughing despite myself. We trip over the swirling silks and satin slippers of the other dancers, much to their ire and Woden’s delight. He takes to muttering something along the lines of “pretentious bastards” among other expletives. The tips of my ears burn hot and red at this, but he just keeps grinning as if he didn’t just curse everyone in this room and their mother.

“You’re stiff as my aví!” I cock my head in confusion. “It’s Nevan for grandmother.” He explains. That makes more sense now. Neva is our neighbor to the South, a small country wedged just between Krycolis and Varium. Known for their extravagant wealth despite their size and love of luxury, Neva is mostly comprised of wealthy merchants and vacation homes. It’s where Blaine’s father was born, before he fell in love with Blaine’s mother, a Vari immigrant, and moved to Krycolis. He was a fun-loving man, his hair always neatly coiffed to the side of his head, and golden circlets weighed down his every limb. Even his casket was marble inlaid with gold and jewels, an extravagant resting place for an extravagant man.The apple clearly falls far from the tree, I think as Blaine’s stern set face comes to mind.

Woden, however? The perfect image of Nevan stereotype.

His hand finds my waist and pulls me closer, showing me which motions to mimic with my feet for each new song. It takes a few tries, but years of royal dance lessons pay off as I pick up the jig rather quickly. I only step on his toes once. I had to buy him a drink for it, which I claimed was ridiculous since he owned the place and could just take whatever he wanted. He responded with that stupid grin as he took my money.

It’s almost like a fever dream. The blaring music, the myriad of exotic colors encompassing the room, the feather light touch of bodies passing each other. Woden darts in and out now, begrudgingly switching partners as the dance requires. I find myself in the arms of a burly man with a ruddy face and equally red mustache. I’m sure he told me his name, but I’ve long since forgotten it now.

I drinkleeche, it’s warm yet cheap taste searing against my tongue. I say nothing. They consider it a luxury. A few of the dancing girls,dansarinasWoden had called them, stopped by to offer me tips and take a sip of myleeche. I happily let them and secretly swipe the red lipstick left behind on the glass upon my own lips.

Then it’s back to dancing in a drunken stupor, a frenzy of swirling limbs and bodies all in too close of quarters. A large hand closes around my shoulder, and I toss my head back...right back into Woden’s nose.

“I am so sorry!” He tilts his head forward, blood dripping from his face. I reach my hand out to help when I spot it and freeze where I stand. Mingling amongst the crimson dripping from his fingers is silver. The blood of the cursed. My eyes widen as I trail the length of him, his seemingly normal clothes and charming smile. His kind hands now coated in silver-flecked blood. Hands that had held mine.

If Woden notices my alarm, he doesn’t say anything, just offers me a slanted look from the corner of his eye. My heart pounds in my chest. Surely he can hear it. Silently, I curse myself. I should have never come here. If he knows I’m blessed...I don’t want to think of what will happen.

A glint of rusting copper catches my eye. Woden’s nose has stopped bleeding now, and he wipes the rest of his tainted blood on his trousers.

“Are you okay?” he asks like I wasn’t the one who just hit him. As if he cares.

“I’m fine, I think I just need some air.”

“Okay, the exit is right there, I can come with-“

“No!” I say a little too eagerly. He eyes me warily. Were his eyes that perturbing orange shade before? I raise my shoulders back and force myself to look upon his deceptive face. “No, I can handle it myself, thank you.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.” He kisses my hand again in mock chivalry.

I’m sure you will be, I think bitterly to myself. And to think I fell right into his trap. How long was he going to string me along for before he slit my throat? How many women in here hid silver blood behind those extravagant costumes? I’d rather not stay to find out. My pouch and cloak are nowhere to be found; I’ll have to get new provisions wherever I go. Forcing myself to walk slowly and not look back, I reach the door. It creaks as I open it, and it feels like every eye in the room is on me.

With a chill I realize,they’ve known I was prey all along.

Swallowing hard, I throw open the door and step out into the cool night air, allowing myself my first deep breath in what feels like forever.

The stars are brilliant diamonds carefully placed against an indigo canvas. They twinkle in shades of pinks, blues, greens, and purples. Silvers and golds. I can see the constellations of Deungrid and the warrior Heila, drawing back her bowstring and pointing her arrow tip south even now. Even from my window at the palace, I have never seen such a clear night sky.

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