Page 103 of The King's Queen

Soft footsteps came from behind her as her lover bent to retrieve the discarded slip of fabric. He held the ribbons between two fingers with a knowing smirk.

“Need a hand, love?” He smiled even as she crossed her arms over her swell.

“I have everything under control.”

“Mhm.” He hummed as he set to work braiding her hair back, tying it with the ribbons until a crown formed above her brow. Leaning forward to press a kiss to her temple, he hummed against the warmth of her skin. Someday he would replace this crown with one of diamonds and pearls. Once Irene was gone.

Emilie didn’t know any of this, of course. When they met as children, all she knew was he wore fancy, funny clothes, spoke far too formally, and his hands were too soft to not be noble. He had lied and told her his father was a merchant, and now as young adults, that was why he was away so often, only able to visit once every few weeks. He had missed most of her pregnancy, and she knew he felt bad. She never pressed him over it, nor the fact that they had yet to be married. She knew their relationship transcended the conformities of their kingdom, and she had never minded one bit.

She never had any reason to suspect anything different until a few years later, when their son Rowan was now eleven, and a knock came at their door. Emilie ushered Rowan into their bedroom and told him to not come out until she said so.

It had been nearly ten years since Aiko and Finneas’ daughter was kidnapped, and she never took chances anymore. She didn’t know much about Ophelus’ line of work, but she knew he made enough that Rowan would be worth a hefty ransom.

However, when she opened the door, it was not armed burglars that stood there, but a woman. She had sleek black hair and distinct Tesslari features. Her narrow eyes were accentuated with the faintest brush of ink, and her pink lips quivered with muffled sobs. Without wasting a moment, Emilie welcomed her into their home, offering her tea and the only blanket she owned that didn’t have any holes.

“What troubles you?” the blonde woman cooed. The other woman eyed her, noting every detail. Emilie’s pretty frame, her friendly face, and gorgeous eyes. Where she was thin and sharp, Emilie was curvy and soft. The blonde exuded warmth that enveloped even her cold skin. Loathing wrapped its iron tendrils around her throat and squeezed.

“They told me I could find you here.” She spoke softly, and her throat constricted at the strain of doing so. “Said you could help. You see, I love my husband so very much, and I just learned he has been cheating on me for years. Sleeping with another woman.”

Dread settled into Emilie’s stomach, but her compassion caused her to shove it away as she offered a sympathetic smile. “I am so sorry.”

“Turns out he had a bastard with the woman.” Emilie flinched at the word, knowing Rowan was just a room over. “Where is he?”

Her dread solidified into outright fear then. Her chair scraped then slammed to the ground as she stood up. The other woman smiled as if she had said nothing wrong.

“You see, my husband is a very important man who has sullied our name by sleeping with the common filth. You might know him.” Emilie backed subconsciously towards the cabinet to her right. Where a single pistol laid buried under moth-eaten sweaters. Somewhere that smelled so bad even Rowan’s curiosity wouldn’t allow him to enter.

Please don’t come out, Rowan, she mentally pleaded while the other woman advanced.

“You might know him.” Emilie nearly dropped to her knees. “The king of Krycolis.”

There were no gods that could save her now, not as Queen Irene stared her down with the most lethal of glares. This was the culmination of her worst fears. This is the one person in the kingdom who could kill her baby, and no one would care. It wasn’t even Ophelus’ betrayal that stabbed through her heart, but the fact that he was the one person who could save them, and he wasn’t there.

None of that mattered now. All that mattered was Rowan and that he lived. Bastard or not, he had some claim to the throne now, and that would be his protection. Not even the queen could touch him if Ophelus found him first. She had to distract Irene, buy him time. Even if it killed her.

In a heartbeat, she lunged for the cabinet and threw it open. Her fingertips grazed the barrel of the gun, but Irene was quicker. The queen’s weight pushed down onto her back as she wrenched the pistol from her grip.

“You do realize, Emilie, that you just committed treason? Raising a weapon against your queen- tsk. I’ll have no choice but to kill you now.” Her crimson lips curved upwards in a wicked grin. “After I kill your son.”

Slowly, she heard the creak of a door opening. She didn’t dare to hope as she realized Hell had come to her home.

“Mom?” Rowan’s blonde head peaked out from behind the door, a toy sword resting in his small hands. Irene’s weight lifted from Emilie’s back as the queen prowled forward. Rowan raised his sword, unfaltering as the villainess strode towards him.

“ROWAN, RUN!” Emilie screamed. Her vision was blurred, impaired by the knock to the floor, but still, she scrambled to her feet. Rowan stood his ground. Just as Irene’s hands were about to wrap around his throat, Emilie lunged and tackled her to the floor.

“Mommy’s bleeding!” Rowan’s words barely breached her ears as Emilie fought to hang on to consciousness and the fighting queen.

“You bitch!” Irene seethed. “I’ll kill you! I’ll hang his head by his entrails while you watch, then I’ll slit your fucking throat!”

Fear for her life meant nothing to her anymore. The pain in her head was nothing. Rowan was everything. She fought with new strength, yet Irene managed to pin her to the wall. A hidden dagger poked from her waistband, and she reached for it right as the front door banged open.

“IRENE!” Ophelus bellowed, such fury coating his mannerisms. A broken sob escaped from between her lips. Rowan was safe. Ophelus would protect him. Her head lolled back, and she managed to catch a glimpse of his face, only for her breath to catch in her throat.

Ophelus’ face was not his own. His lips were pulled back into a furious snarl, and dark black skeins flowed underneath his skin.

Emilie knew he was cursed. She never cared. But this… Ophelus was a pureblood, and he was spiraling out of control. Silver blood streamed from his nose and eyes, and he stood eerily still. Irene, however, cried out in pain. Golden blood spilled from her ears, and her face began to turn a hellish shade of purple. Ophelus was crushing her from the inside out.

Emilie crawled away in horror towards Rowan, tucking his head into her chest and covering his ears.

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