Page 58 of The King's Queen

How did she find out? No, this isn’t the question I should be asking right now. I should be wondering how it took so long for any of them to find out. They’re the Nightwalkers, for the gods’ sakes.

Amír stills for a moment before speaking. Her voice is a death rattle as hurt and anger lace her alto tone. “He deserves to know.”

“He can’t know!” I plead. How had this gone so wrong so quickly? How did everything spin so out of control? “Please, he can’t.”

“You’re asking him to commit treason! He deserves the right to know and reevaluate whatever deal the two of you have going on, as well as whatever the hell is growing between you. You can’t keep lying to him.”

Brazen tears dare to stream down my face. I should have seen this coming. Whatever delusional fantasy I dreamt of is washing away with the rain streams at my feet. So I do the only thing I can think to do. I kneel before the gunslinger.

“I didn’t mean to lie,” I whisper. “I planned on telling him, I swear it, but only once I had left the palace for good. That way, if something happened, if we got caught, he could have deniability. He could hate me, but he could deny knowing what he was doing. It would be believable too, considering I asked my father and fiancé to not reveal who I am for the sake of normalcy. The blame would all fall on me, I am trying to protect him.”

Every broken thought from my heart slips into my words, staining my pleas like the blood I’ve spilt. If Rowan knows who I am, his fate will be sealed. Death by my father’s command. I can’t let him die, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t…

I can’t tell him the full truth. Not yet. For lurking deeper still in my heart is a malicious spark of fear, just waiting to catch alight. It wraps its icy hand around my heart and squeezes tightly as Amír stares down at my wretched form. I await whatever brutal tongue flaying the gunslinger has prepared, but instead she kneels beside me and speaks softly.

“He wouldn’t leave you.”

“What?”

She dips her chin. “Back in that tavern, on your first mission, you were shocked that I came back for you. You looked to be in such disbelief that anyone would come save you.”

“I thought you hated me.” My lower lip wobbles slightly as I speak. None of this is missed by the redhead’s assessing gaze. Tentatively, she slips her hand into mine.

“But it wasn’t just me. When Kya, your friend, came for you, you were also shocked. When Blaine started that fight with Rowan at the compound, then too.” She inhales sharply. “Do you really think your life is worth so little that we wouldn’t come for you? That we wouldn’t fight for you? Do you think of yourself as that worthless and undeserving of love?”

A fat tear plops from my cheek to my hand, where it is still encased in Amír’s.

Oh.

My fingers ghost the side of my face. When had I started crying?

Amír holds my hand tighter. “You’re worthy of the good in this world, Vera. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to deserve love and friendship. You’re enough,” then she whispers, “and Rowan would stay, even if you told him the truth. Even before whatever deal you two have going on started.” Somehow I know she isn’t only referring to my training and Rowan’s time in the palace.

“How do you know?”

Amír breathes deeply and closes her eyes as if steeling herself against whatever she’s about to say.

“Because,” she murmurs, “he did it for me.”

The rain settles coldly in my bones as Amír stares unabashedly at my face. She doesn’t balk at my weepy eyes nor scold me for daring to feel upset. She gazes through my eyes into my heart, and for once, she lets me into her own.

The rain nearly drowns out the sound of her low voice, but she parts her lips with her chin held high. The weather slows, and the ground rumbles in response, as if the gods know better than to speak over her.

“My father’s wealth could rival your own’s, and my mother was considered the most beautiful woman in our city. My three older sisters inherited her beauty and his greed, but I was born… different.” I trace her gaze to the pale patterns of skin across her exposed arms and face, and she nods in confirmation. “We were blessed with our money, our looks, and our wealth. My parents had been praying for a pureblood as a reward for their ‘virtue’, and instead, they received me. I was considered a bad omen, a curse from Raonkin meant to taint our pure family lineage. I was treated no better than a cursed criminal.

“My parents wanted to be rid of me as soon as possible, but Krycolian law prohibits slavery, so they found an alternate solution. I suppose you of all people understand to what I am referring.”

“An arranged marriage.”

Amír nods. “On my fifteenth birthday, they held a secret auction in Adil for my hand in marriage. They must have only sent out invitations to the slimiest old men in Krycolis, or those were the only ones with low enough morals to show up.”

My gut churns, and I fight for air. Lucius is at least my age and has been kind to me thus far, but to be forced to marry an old man… Lord Gadsden comes to mind, and I repress a shudder. I wonder if he had been invited that night.

“As the bids rose, the door to the tavern flew open, and in stepped this thirteen-year-old punk with a gun and a shit-eating grin. He held a room full of powerful men at gunpoint, then handed the weapon to me. He gave me a choice, to shoot my way out and come with him, or let the crowd take me.” She laughs humorlessly, a dangerous glint in her eye as she fiddles with the trigger of her gun. “I bet you can figure out which I chose.”

Amír rises to her feet, not paying mind to the mud crusting her knees. A crack of lightning illuminates her form. Her cape whips around her ankles, and I cannot decide if she looks more formidable or beautiful. Who am I to say she cannot be both?

“All I’m saying is he went through those lengths for a stranger, the least he would do for you is commit treason.” She extends her hand to me. “Let’s get you home.”

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