Page 86 of The King's Queen

“I learned from the best.”

Amír gags from her spot on a stool. “Gods, you can’t even eat in this house anymore.”

I raise an eyebrow and drop my gaze towards her now puffy lips, flushed cheeks, and the slight stain on the side of her mouth. She holds my stare, refusing to be embarrassed. Moreover, she raises her own gaze, daring me to make a comment. I huff in defeat and turn my attention back to my cup, offering Rowan a sip. He takes a small one and cringes. I assume it is too sweet for him when he grabs an extra spoon of sugar and mixes it into the drink. When he takes a second sip, his eyebrows unfurl, and his shoulders droop.

“Nowthat’show you make a coffee.”

I laugh and make myself a new cup with my preferred alterations. “I didn’t take you for someone with a sweet tooth. You look like you’d only eat jerky and raw eggs with a side of whiskey neat.” Rowan’s lips quirk upwards.

“You’ve been reading too many of those novels. Sorry to disappoint, sweetheart.”

“Eggs?” Derrín mumbles sleepily, stumbling into the room. His eyes are still heavy lidded, and the ragged state of his bandaged fingers tell me what he’s been doing all night. Kya’s quick eyes notice the same thing.

She speaks softly. “Amír can make some, won’t you, love? Derrín, come sit and let me fix those wraps up.” Neither of them argue. Derrín slides into the spot that Amír leaves vacant while the gunslinger grabs a pan. She holds the handle as if wielding a weapon, flipping it once, then twice to measure the weight. With deft hands, she cracks an egg over the lip, and the sound of sizzling fills the room.

Kya finishes applying an ointment on his nimble fingers while Derrín attempts to sip from his mug without lifting it from the table. When he is unsuccessful, he rests his head on the table beside it and splays his scarred fingers across the fine wooden table.

I notice now how fine everything in here is. The coffee, the sugar, the furniture. Usually, I am only here at night when the occasional oil lamp lights the room. Even then, I rarely occupy any room other than the one where we spar, and up until last night, I hadn’t realized they had rooms here. I realized as I laid in Kya’s bed last night the true weight of the risk Rowan had taken on me. This isn’t just their main stronghold; this is their home. The thought causes tears to prick the corners of my eyes, but I rub at them with the back of my hand. No more tears tonight.

My eyes flit around the room, foreign to me. In the center rests a large wooden table, the top showcasing hundreds of rings, proving it must have been hewn from a thousand-year-old tree. We all rest here now, my elbows propped up on its glossy surface.

In the far corner, there are two plush chairs, velvet cushions lining their surface. The red makes me smile. I know exactly who picked those out.

Along the wall is a long rack of weaponry, mostly pistols, though they look as if they have not been used in years. Decoration, I presume. To both the left and right, there are a series of doors. The one on the left leads to the main hall where I usually enter, and from there, there are two more doors that lead either to the spar room or the study. Returning my gaze to the walls in these rooms, I trace the outline of four doors to the right. I came from the middle one this morning, learning the one directly to the right was Kya’s. Derrín just came from the one on the left, leaving only the farthest of us.

Before my mind can wander, Amír slides a plate of eggs and toast before me. She doles out the rest of the plates and settles beside Rowan. He accepts it gratefully, eating slowly. Kya smacks Derrín’s shoulder as he shoves the eggs on his bread and tries to shovel the full thing in his mouth. He chokes. Amír laughs.

A warmth fills my chest. Is this what it is like to have a family? They had forgiven me so easily, welcomed me back into their home based on nothing more than faith. I clasp my hands together and raise my chin to the sky. I pray and promise I will protect this little peace and earn this love.

To kill, to die. It’s all the same. This is to live.

And oh, how short the peace lasts.

Kya disappears early in the afternoon. Rowan sends her first to the palace to check with Tanja and Torin to make sure my tracks have been covered, then on a recon mission to gather intel on Mavis’ whereabouts. She’s been slowly encroaching on their territory, sending men as threats. Threatening what, I don’t know.

“Is she trying to prove that her dick is bigger than yours?” I jest. Rowan tries a small smile, but it’s creased with fear and irritation.

Night encroaches just as quickly, and the snow begins again just as the sun goes down. I tense a bit at the first pattering of the snow against the window, even more so when a distant howl pierces the air. Rowan reaches out to hold my hand, and Amír stands to light another lamp. It appears that the whole compound heard my confession last night, but I can’t bring myself to be upset about it. It is three times fewer that I have to relive that night.

The front door slams open, and I hear soft swearing as Derrín steps in from the snow. He treks through the room, wet and red in the face, before stepping into his room. He bows his head goodnight, and then the door snicks shut.

Rowan shakes his head, his golden hair splaying around his face in a way that reminds me of a dog. We settle into the two velvet chairs, Amír choosing to stand and lean against the wall.

Finally forced to confront the fourth presence in the room, I turn my face towards the shadows. Kya steps forth, crimsons silks swirling around her knees, silver-tinged blood dripping from her twin espas. Amír’s eyes trail up and down her form, scanning for any injuries. When she finds none, she offers a deft nod.

“Was it-“

“A trap? No, we were a step ahead for once.” The Vari woman sighs heavily, sinking into the dilapidated couch. “Mavis is moving South, past Belam, even. That’s as much as I could get from anyone before things got tight.”

Drip. I clutch at my stomach, swallowing back my bile as I watch the blood drip from the blades. Kya gaze drifts to my face before she wipes the espas on her skirt and sheathes them both. I can’t help but note how the blood disappears amongst the silk.

“Minor casualties, no deaths to report.”

A golden green breeze whispers through the curtains, brushing across my ankles and sending a shiver up my spine. So casually we speak of such matters now, barely a hint of remorse highlighting our voices.

“Good. We leave at first light.”

“Leave? For where?” Rowan doesn’t spare a second glance, or even acknowledge my question, as he spins on his heel to leave. His spurs click against the tile floors. Amír scoffs.

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