Page 52 of The King's Queen

“Dead.” Rowan grits his teeth. “But we need to keep moving, more will come along when they don’t return either with you or a report.”

“What did they want with me?”

Rowan eyes me sideways, as if asking if I really want to know. My firm glare and slight dip of my chin seems to convince him.

“To kill you to make a point. Couldn’t you tell when they tried to stab you at every chance they got?”

“Can you stop acting like a prick for five seconds and just answer the question?” Rowan grunts and drops my hand, allowing me to lag behind. Perhaps calling the person leading me from the dark a prick isn’t my wisest idea.

“Well?”

“Most of them were cursed.”

“Most?”

“Some blessed choose to fight with them. They too believe our system is… outdated.” He chooses his words carefully as he slowly begins to rise, dragging me with. Crunch. My ankle tweaks beneath my weight, and I slip back down to the ground.

“I must’ve hurt it during the fight.” It seems like a trivial thing to complain about after everything. The image of that young knight pops into my mind, dead and cold upon the ground.

“Lean on me,” he grunts, hauling me back to my feet with a wince. I move to protest. His arm… but he just shoots me a glare, telling me to hold my tongue. There’s no use arguing with him. Not like this.

But his arm…. There’s so much blood. Too much blood. It soaks through his shirt into the pale blue gossamer of my gown, dripping on the ground as we walk. His gaze traces mine to that hideous wound, and he swears softly under his breath.

“This will lead a trail.” He curses again.

“We should go back to the carriage. Maybe the commander will…”

“The commander is dead, Verosa.” He shrugs me off, leaving me to wobble on my own weight. My shoulder barks in pain as I stumble against a nearby tree, holding onto it as the world spins. No, the commander is fine. We just spoke back when I…

Back when I left him behind. Outnumbered in the fray of the fight. When I ran like a coward and killed the person to call me out on it.

“I shouldn’t have run,” Rowan says then, as if reading my thoughts perfectly as he so often does. “The minute I heard you scream, I ran. I didn’t look to see if the commander or any of the men needed help. I ran right for you. Raiko might still be alive if I hadn’t.”

“No-“

“Yes, Vera.”

“Stop interrupting me!” I finally explode, the world still spinning. “My Laei, you think you know everything, you insufferable ass! I can hardly get a word in without you correcting me, so for once, just shut the fuck up. These men didn’t die because of you. They died because someone killed them. If I were in your position, you would’ve told me I was just following orders. You were ordered to protect me, just like I was ordered to run. So stop moping on that rock, and let me bandage that goddamn wound.”

Silence. Pure and smothering silence.

Before laughter.

Raucous, unfiltered, and wild laughter. Rowan clutches his stomach, doubling over and clutching his wounded arm, but he still laughs. The rain continues to pour, streaking down his tan face, making him look like one of those men from Tanja’s romance novels. His saturated hair clings to his forehead, his full brows.

Then I begin to laugh too. Maybe it’s delirium or fever from the rain. I don’t care. I laugh and laugh and laugh until it breaks into sobs. Hiccupping sobs between shattered breaths and spinning trees. Too fast, everything in this life moves too fast.

I make to step forward when my face is buried in a strong chest, firm arms encircling my waist, pulling me closer to him. The scent of ocean and leather and citrus floats to me, swallows me whole. Rowan’s broad chin rests atop my head, encouraging me to bury my face in the soaked leather of his vest. I oblige, and we rest there for a moment. The world slows to an even halt eventually, and I spare a few seconds more before I pull back. His groans in protest but stops when I bend down and tear what’s left of the bottom of my gown clean off, baring to just above my knees.

Rowan watches me with curious eyes as I wind the cloth around the wound, pulling tight with expert hands. I pause only when he winces, but a subtle nod of encouragement has me finishing the bandage. He takes a moment to inspect it before nodding his approval.

“Where’d you learn to tie a bandage like that?” He flexes his arm, and I pretend not to notice the way his firm muscles coil and strain against the cotton of his shirt.

“I’m a good for nothing brat who likes to cause trouble, remember?” Faint color blooms in those high cheeks as he recalls what he called me when we first met. “I learned quickly to clean up my messes.”

“Ah, I guess I did say that.” He cringes as we stomp onwards. The rain continues its onslaught, thoroughly soaking us as if we’re still in that pond, though this water sends a chill through my bones. Even Rowan, who I am convinced is a human heater, begins to shiver. The one good thing I can say for the storm is that the floods cover our tracks, and the occasional lightning strike illuminates the path as it shatters against the sky.

“Where are we going?” I dare not to speak above a whisper at this point, and I cling close to Rowan as the trees thicken, blocking out any light. If he notices the way my face is practically pressed into his back, he plays the part of the gentleman for once and doesn’t make a sarcastic remark.

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