Page 41 of The King's Queen

“Thanks to you.” I say gratefully, softening slightly towards the woman who saved my life. Her shoulders relax, and before I know it, she has her arms wrapped around me in a brief but sure hug. Her bluebell eyes shine as she grins from ear to ear, her regal pretenses dropping in an instant.

“I am just glad to see you’re okay. You had us worried.”

“So this is the young woman I can keep hearing about.” The blonde woman steps forward again, resting her hand on Finneas’ arm for support. “Pleasure to meet you, Verosa.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your name never seems to leave my son’s lips.”

When I started training with the Nightwalkers, I thought that nothing could shock me anymore. Tonight, I have once again been proven wrong as Rowan responds. “Mother, please.”

Rowan’s tenebrous voice is filled with an unfamiliar resignation, and I find myself smiling softly.

Now that the woman is standing in the light, it is easy to see the resemblance, aside from the same hair and eye color, he has her formal posture and wild mannerisms when he’s relaxed. Her voice is soft, the same voice I heard him use when I asked him to cut me.

“Emilie.” She extends a slender hand. “Come, walk with me, child.”

“That’s not necessary, Vera.”

“I’d be delighted.” Ever so gently, I accept her hand and allow her to drape her arm across my own, acting the role of chivalrous courtier. That is until she turns her back, and I can stick my tongue out at Rowan. He flips me off in return.

“I’ve heard you’re becoming a force to be reckoned with. Quite the spitfire. After that little show, I can see why my son likes you so much.” Despite the cool breeze outside, I can feel a scarlet blush heat my cheeks and the tips of my ears.

“Oh, you saw that?”

Emilie laughs at the way my voice cracks and tosses her head back, letting her hair fall loose past her shoulders. I think back on Rowan’s coy face and Casanova persona and wonder how he could’ve come from such a lovely woman.

“Don’t worry too much, I was young once too.” She pauses behind a tree and motions for me to join her. “But it’s slipping away.”

I turn my face to question her, but she merely juts her chin before her. There I can see him, sitting next to Torin deep in conversation, his fists still clenched at his side.

“A man of virtue, yes?” she hums.

“More than any I’ve ever known.”

Emilie snorts softly, such a peculiar sound from a refined lady. She smirks, and suddenly I see Rowan’s face fully in hers. It’s so startling I almost stumble. That rage and sorrow I saw in her eyes may have worn her features but not her soul.

“It gets to the best of them eventually.” I cock my head in confusion, eyeing the two men before us.

“What does?”

“Love, dear.”

Now I do stumble, my breath hitching in my throat. I can still feel Blaine’s hands brushing away my bangs, staring at my wounds with murder in his eyes. I can see him pulling Rowan off of me, the ferocity of his uncharacteristically agile movements. He rubs his crippled leg.

“Blaine doesn’t love me.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but it sounds like an obvious lie even to my ears. The bloodshed, the war, the healing, and the abandonment. I had thought everything was so clear, but now… Blaine left the passage open for me. He cleaned up every mess I made. He followed me here. As the realization begins to sink in, another one hits. How far is he willing to go to prove that love, and how would I feel if he went too far this time?

“Love is the cruelest killer of all. Do you know why, dear?” I shake my head. “Because it’s the only devil that doesn’t hide its horns. We look it in its ugly face every time and still fall for it. We destroy ourselves in the name of love.”

I double over, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. Had he gone into that war for me? Had he destroyed himself for me?

“It’s not an easy lesson to learn, but you’ll do well to remember it,” Emilie warns, but there is no sharp bite to her words, only soft sorrow and kindness. Her lips part as if she’s been haunted, and the color drains from her face slightly. She grips my arm tighter. “If you don’t remember it, find a reminder.”

“You sound as if you speak from experience.”

I don’t mean to cross a line, but her mouth hardens, and her steps falter. Bracing myself, I wait for the wicked words to flay my skin, or perhaps even a whip hidden in the skirts of her gown.

Her palm presses softly against my cheek and she smiles.

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