Page 26 of The King's Queen

Every time Amír isn’t with Rowan scheming, Kya is there to wipe the blood from her face. On the nights where Kya has a mission, which are increasing as she heals, Amír is there waiting by the door, concerned gaze sweeping over her girlfriend’s form for any injuries. If there’s a bruise or cut on her body, she demands a name, and if that person is not dead yet, she sets out only to come back hours later, blood on her hands. Kya pretends not to know what she’s done and cleans her up again with the same love and adoration in her eyes.

No such care is saved for me as Kya knocks me flat on my ass again.

“Good to see you’re embracing the dirt,” Amír jibes today, stalking out the front door, her cloak swirling about her ankles. Kya offers a sympathetic look.

“Try not to take it personal.”

I almost laugh. “How can I not? She hates me, and I’ve done nothing to her!”

“It’s not you that she hates.” Kya soothes, taking my weapon from my hand and guiding me to a seat. “It’s what you represent. The blessed have hurt all of us in one way or another, and you’re a pureblood of their kind.”

“You say that like you’re not blessed.” I choose my words carefully. Everything is a dance these days, the steps determined by what information one is willing to reveal or hide. Kya might be kind, but she’s no exception to this. Her eyes darken, and she inhales sharply as if steeling herself against what she might say.

“Because we aren’t. Not Derrín and I, anyway.” She notices my wide eyes and can probably hear my racing heart. But I can’t run, no, she would easily overpower me. “Rowan and Amír are the only ones with any blessed blood in them.”

Of course, they’re the only two blessed in the building. The two people who can’t stand me. I stand to leave, and Kya lets me, but I don’t take a step towards the door. She raises an eyebrow.

“You’re not leaving?”

“I am… confused,” I admit. “I have been raised to believe that all the cursed want to kill me, and that they’re born evil. But you don’t seem evil.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel foolish. She is a Nightwalker. Just like Rowan, just like Amír, and now just like me. She’s killed people before; I’ve seen her in action and know how capable she is. But does it make her evil?

“I can understand your confusion. I used to think that of myself too.” She sighs heavily, resting both weapons a healthy distance away, though I know she has more hidden on her figure.

Tentatively I make up my mind and sit back down beside her. “Why?”

“Because,” she looks up at me, “you weren’t the only one raised to fear the curse. Derrín and I are from Varium, and as a noble, I’m sure you know that while things are bad here for the cursed, it’s nothing compared to over there.”

I nod pensively. I’ve heard the stories. To be born cursed in Varium was to be born already dead. They host hunting festivals, where the blessed are released from work for the week to hunt down any cursed that may have escaped from prisons and work camps. Most of the time, they’re found dismembered in the woods along the borders, only a few feet from freedom. The purebloods are strung up in the town centers, their blood collected as they bleed out. They give a portion of the blood to the government to use as weaponry, the rest is sold to the highest bidder. It hadn’t bothered me as much before, it never fully sat right, but now I feel unsettled.

“Derrín and I escaped. But imagine being a child and told you were born evil, that you were lower than dirt and just lucky to be alive every day for years. It haunts you, even when you’re free.” Her gaze shifts towards her feet. “We aren’t born evil, Vera. We just were born different.”

She stops speaking, leaving me at a crossroads. She’s given me a choice, to stay or go. Slowly I rise to my feet and extend my hand.

“Let’s go again.” None of that supposed evil is seen in the smile that graces Kya’s face when she takes my hand and passes over my weapon. We move to our starting positions, and I shift my weight to prepare for her oncoming attack. She lunges silently, and I duck, her wooden blade just grazing my cheek. I deliver a blow of my own, and she parries it, shifting forward to place me on the defensive side. She swings a punch with her unarmed fist that collides with my ribs, but not quite enough to truly knock me off my feet. I feign a loss of balance and begin to slip forward when I hook the back of her leg with my own. She lands on her back as I roll to stand above her, my wooden dagger tip pressed above her heart.

The sounds of my panting fill the silent room, the exertion of our latest round leaving my cheeks flushed and hair falling out of my braid into my face. A slow clapping fills the room as Amír and Rowan watch, the latter with a proud smile.

Amír nods with begrudging respect, but nonetheless shoves past me to help her girlfriend to her feet. Kya stands, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Who knew all we had to do was piss you off?” She grins widely, ignoring Amír’s fussing. “Well done.”

I clasp her hand firmly, sweat clinging to us both, and resolve firm in my mind. Since leaving the palace, I’ve learned that nearly everything I was raised to know was wrong. Someone has intentionally kept the truth from me, and I think I know who.

I wince when I rise from bed the next morning, my sore muscles aching from the constant strenuous activity. I’ve found myself changed in these past three weeks though. Color is returning to my cheeks, toned muscle begins to line the contours of my body, and as the cooks noticed I have been eating more as well.

“You’ve been eating well.” Torin snorts as I shovel down another forkful of eggs and eye the platter of fruit in front of him. He sighs and pushes it my way. “You look healthier.”

“Well, I’ve been getting out more thanks to my fiancé.” I roll my eyes, remembering how yesterday Lucius insisted on teaching me archery. Between that lesson and sparring with Kya, my arms hang like lead against my side. Lucius, for all his irritating grabs for my affection, does have his perks. Somehow, he has convinced my father to let me out of the palace more often, with him as my escort, of course. We go out into the noble towns in disguises and spend the day among the villagers pretending to be normal for just an afternoon.

“How’s that, by the way?” He jabs a piece of melon off my plate, ignoring the daggers Blaine is glaring into him. I roll my eyes, slowly losing my appetite.

“He’s not a horrible person, I’ll give him that,” I grumble, fighting off his fork with my own as it comes in for a second steal. “It’s just not the choice I would’ve made for myself.”

“Suppose the downfall of royalty is you don’t make the choices until you wear the crown,” he says pensively, his mouth full of food. Blaine shoves him in the shoulder, causing him to choke.

“Manners.”

“Apologies, Father.” Torin grins and sketches a half bow, resulting in yet another withering look from Blaine. Despite my fatigue, I laugh softly under my breath. The constancy of their bickering has kept me anchored these past few weeks. “Ver, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

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