Page 7 of The King's Queen

“As you know, Verosa, my marriage to Irene was a part of stabilizing the alliance between our two empires. I married a noble as there was no princess at the time.” Lucius takes a long and slow drink. “Therefore, you will marry Prince Lucius of the Tesslari Empire to finally solidify our alliance and merge the kingdoms.”

The sounds of my knife hitting the table and my chair scraping backward fill the room as I stand in one fluid motion.

“Verosa,” Ophelus snaps. “Sit down.”

“No.” My hands are shaking at my sides. I can’t remember how to stand, walk, or think. How did I hold my hands before this? What did I do with my feet when idle? “No I think I need to be alone.”

And yet, I stand still, so utterly still when I should be moving, should be running for the door. Air evades my lungs no matter how much I gulp down. Lucius’ handsome face begins to blur when my feet finally begin to move. The king reaches out to grab my arm when my apparent fiancé reaches out to stop him.

“I am sure it is quite the shock. Perhaps it would be best…”

I can’t hear him finish before I’m out of the dining hall, the hallways before me forming an elaborate maze. Where was my room, where was the exit?

“Woah, Vera.” Torin reaches out and takes ahold of my arms as I fall forward, steadying me against his shoulder. His usually jovial face is grim as he takes me in and barks for the surrounding servants to leave us. “He told you.”

“Hmm.” He half carries, half drags me back to my room, passing me off to a maid with the promise to come back later.

I had been foolish to hope to marry for love, or even the occasional wish to never marry at all. I should have known my father had planned something already. He is always scheming, always plotting something five steps ahead of where I am.

A part of my treacherous heart feels awful for Lucius, his fiancé running out the moment their engagement is revealed. But the greater portion feels nothing but a boiling pit of rage in my gut. He knew and was perfectly calm. I am alone in my rage.

They all knew, and I had played the part of their pretty little fool.

The moonlight filters in through the open window, dancing across all the edges of my chambers. At some point, Torin comes back and tells me that Lucius and my father dined for many hours into a drunken stupor, before the servants showed both men to their rooms, praying the cold walk there might sober them up. I thank him before dismissing him for the night, feeling an overwhelming need to be alone. Now I lay alone, shivering in my bed despite the intense heat in the dead of night. My gaze is locked at the foot of my bed, where a dark shadow snorts in the night.

There is Vestíg, his gaze wild and bright. The look of an animal cornered and afraid, lacking restraint. I am sure that my eyes shine with the same terrifying glint. How sad it is to understand a beast without words better than a father with a slit tongue.

Propping myself up, I let my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Vestíg stands still in the moonlight.

“Do what I can’t,” he seems to say. And I do.

The wind rustles through my cloak as I toss it over my shoulders and begin to pack. Warm trousers, an extra blouse, money, some bandages and ointment, and a few rations to last me until I’m out of the kingdom. The cloth sack falls heavy upon my back, and memories flood my mind. I’m quick to shove them down. It’s been years since I last ran away, and even then, it had only been for a night.

Pausing, I look back into my room one last time. Tanja won’t be back for a few hours, and she will be the first to notice I am missing. I debate leaving her a note but decide against it. Time is of the essence. I turn to find Vestíg gone, if he had ever been there in the first place.

I still remember which stones click when they’re stepped on and the guards’ nightly patrol patterns. Take the path to the left, and only to the left. Stay close to the walls, cling to the shadows. The shadows are my friends for once. With the wind to my back, I sprint down these familiar corridors, maybe for the last time. I don’t dare pause for sentiment, but the images remain all the same.

Down that hall is where I tripped and skinned my knee. Irene had the maid give me the switch for getting blood on my new spring gown. There, at the end of the other corridor, is the kitchen, where Blaine and Torin had snuck jelly tarts and other sweets to my room that night. Outside the window is the well that Torin fell in when we were seven, and there’s the rose garden where Miss Eida gave me my first dance lesson. I stepped on her toes.

I only pause to think when my fingers find that one loose stone I used last time. One pull and the wall opens just enough to slide through. Blaine and I had found it together, but why had he not patched it up? Could he have so easily forgotten? No, he has a memory like that of a raven. I almost laugh at my next thought. There’s no way he would have purposely left me an out. Oh well, it doesn’t matter now.

The light of the castle begins to fade as I squeeze through the cracks, then I am submerged in the darkness. The passage hasn’t changed much; it still drips and creaks the same as it did when I was younger. The black walls stink of rotting sewage, mold, and something metallic that I know is not iron. I dare not think of what I might be stepping in that would make such a noise.

I reach into my pocket as soon as I replace the stone, seeking a light grey powder.

“Illumis,” I whisper to the dust before scattering it across my path. Immediately, it begins to glow, a dim golden hue surrounding the dingy passageway now.Deun:light. The gift of my ancestors.

My mother, the Queen, never cared much for stories and myths unless they validated her own power. Her favorite was the tale ofRicor, the dark angel who ate the tongue of children who disrespected their mothers. Despite her tale ofRicor, I grew to love myths all the more. They were my own little rebellion against Queen Irene’s iron fist. Torin used to tell me the stories I craved, he always has had such a way with words. My favorite was always that of the two Great Ones. Raonkin and Deungrid, darkness and light.

The story goes that in the beginning there were two beings, the Laeis. They were genderless and purely ethereal. It was said that even the heavens bowed down to them. Some variations say they both were timeless, but others say Deungrid was wrought from pure stardust, and Raonkin was born from their shadow. Everything was peaceful for a while, then Raonkin wanted too much. They attempted to smother Deungrid and keep the earth for themselves. As a punishment for their crimes, Deungrid made them both mortal, a balance to each other. Raonkin was now a woman, and Deungrid a man.

They say their blood courses through everyone’s veins even now, some Raonkin and others Deungrid. As a descendent of Deungrid, I am considered to be blessed. I’m not sure I feel blessed, but my heart swells and I stand a bit taller when someone discusses my heritage. Everyone I know is blessed; they have to be to work within the palace. In the kingdom, those who are descendants of Deungrid are the nobles and royalty, the palace staff and the royal guard. Those who descend from Raonkin are the lower class, the prostitutes and bartenders, criminals and cannon fodder of the army. Occasionally, a Raonkin will make it to middle class, but they keep to themselves lest they draw too much negative attention. Like a tick burrows itself under the fur of a dog to hide its back while it sucks the innocent’s blood.

“Did you hear that the princess is engaged?” I jump when the voice comes booming from my right. I must be in-between walls; the knights’ quarters should be nearby. If I’m where I think I am, freedom should only be a few paces ahead. I wonder if I’ll meet a Raonkin out there, and what will they look like? Presumably nothing like myself. Maybe they’ll have dusty grey hair and black eyes with ashy skin and purple veins that spider up their elongated arms. I shudder. This narrow passage suddenly feels colder.

“We aren’t discussing this.”

My heart lurches into my throat.

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