Page 27 of The King's Queen

I swear softly under my breath when I note the time. I’m late for Rowan again, and I know well enough now that I will pay for it later. I wince, remembering the last time I was late and forced to spar with Amír that night. I think I might still have some lingering bruises.

Fisting my skirts and hiking them up above my knees, I begin to sprint out the door.

“Don’t you worry, Mei Reinhavich, I don’t mind cleaning this up!” Torin calls after me sarcastically. I grin as I sprint out and shout a thank you.

I’m winded by the time I reach the study, but not nearly as out of breath as I would have been three weeks ago. Smoothing my gown, I step inside, doing my best to conceal my ragged breaths. Rowan is seated casually in his usual chair, a large leather seat in a secluded part of the library near a bay window. He doesn’t deign to look up when I approach. I clear my throat.

“I have a request.”

“Bold words coming from someone who is late.” I bite my tongue when he looks up. The sunlight catches the wisps of his blonde hair, casting a golden halo about his head. His mouth is soft but set in a hard line. My gaze lingers too long there.

“I want to learn about the cursed.” I don’t bother with a response, but instead sit in the chair across from him. “I spoke with Kya. I know about her and Derrín.”

This seems to pique his interest finally, and he leans forward, bracing his forearms against his thighs. He gesticulates casually as if to say ‘well, go on then.’

“I want to know the truth. Someone’s been lying to me, and I want to know who.” I lower my voice as I speak now, every sound of the palace amplified in my ears. “I can’t trust anyone here to give it to me. I don’t know who to trust even here, this place… its secrets might run even deeper than yours.”

He tilts his head to the side, and chews at his lower lip as if contemplating. I’m afraid he might reject my proposal when he fishes out a stack of papers from his knapsack.

“Kya told me. I thought you might have questions, but now I’m curious.”

His little game, of course. Information for information.

“The Queen was not who people believed she was.” A chill runs down my spine, as if my mother is in this room watching me now. “Many people went ‘missing’ after being seen visiting her chambers. Some believe the king helped cover it up. The servants won’t tell the truth, many are still loyal to her or fear retribution from her spirit.”

Rowan considers this, and my heart begins to race. Perhaps that was too much information, though vague, it could lead to answers about who I am if the right people are asked. It could open conversation on who my mother really was and what she did to me.

“Interesting.” Is all he says, his eyes shuttering. I hate him when he does this. It’s like he disappears and travels somewhere dark. Somewhere I can’t follow him. He stands up and gazes out that large window, watching the noble children play in the courtyard, their hands and smiling faces outstretched in the sun.

“What is every weak man afraid of?” he asks suddenly, not turning from the window.

“I don’t know.”

“A woman who is stronger than him,” he answers, stalking back towards me. “The blessed like to skew the origin story of our two gods in a way that is favorable for them. The truth is that Deungrid and Raonkin were friends, equal in strength and intellect. That is until Deungrid noticed Raonkin’s powers were growing to be greater than his own. His were dependent on hers.”

I nod, noting how stars are only visible at night, and a candle’s flame is only brilliant when in contrast to shadow. Rowan continues.

“He became a tyrant, trying to restrict when she could or couldn’t use her powers. She became bolder once she realized what threatened him so about her. She put him in his place, and it was his breaking point.” Rowan shivers and unrolls his sleeves. “He cursed her, and the two of them became mortal. It is said he turned her into a woman as an attempt to make her weaker than him, and himself a man. However, when he saw this did nothing against her growing powers, he cursed her offspring. If one of Raonkin descent were to use magic, they would lose their minds.”

“Their minds?”

“Their minds. The things that gave them power of those of light. Raonkin was clever, cleverer than him, and Deungrid knew it. He knew her descendants would carry on this trait, and so the curse was not only to protect himself, but his offspring as well. Then they could never raise hands against him again without risking what mattered to them most.” Aiko’s face pops into my mind now, and the information she gave me when we met.

“Why would they lie about that? Why this prejudice against the cursed when Raonkin was the victim?” I shout in a fury, and Rowan quickly clamps his hand over my mouth. Footsteps echo in the hallway outside. They pause for a moment before continuing past us, and Rowan drops his hand.

“Quiet! I could lose my head for telling you that. It’s considered treason,” he hisses through clenched teeth. I clamp my mouth shut. “Besides, it’s not all so black and white. Raonkin’s magic relies on the essence of living things, even before the curse. Sacrifices had to be made, and some of her descendants still use this form of sorcery to avoid the cost themselves.”

My blood runs cold at the thought. Human sacrifices, even in these modern times. I shudder to think how lucky I was to find Rowan rather than someone more insidious. Though ironically enough, I’m not so sure things are black and white with him either.

I’ve seen him in a fight. He is ruthless, and I know he only kept that thug in the alley alive to pass on a message to whoever Mavis was. I’ve heard the statistics of the kills he and the Nightwalkers have made, have heard the stories of him sending body parts home to families for ransom.

And yet he had saved me when he didn’t have to. He brought me to Aiko and Finneas to be treated rather than selling my blood for profit. And he is helping me now, albeit for his own unknown gain.

“Anyways, I really wish you would spend less time flirting with that captain and more time in our lessons. He’s clearly not interested if he keeps rejecting the advances of a noblewoman.”

“You can go fuck yourself, Rowan.”

“A lady by title but not by tongue,” he croons, his emerald eyes shuttering. “What a lovely, wicked mouth.”

---