Page 8 of The King's Queen

“Come on, Blaine. Maybe she’ll take you as a personal guard or something.” The same voice from earlier comes again. It’s pitchy and unfamiliar, presumably a younger recruit.

Fighting against every fiber of my being, I pause to press my ear to the stone, ignoring how it feels moist and squishy.

“Hey, piss off,” Torin chides, followed by a heavy thunk.

Some grumbling later, Blaine raises his voice. “And do what? Have me escort her to his chambers every night, watch her in the arms of a loving husband? Pretend that whatever friendship we had never existed to save his pride? No, a soldier knows when to cut his losses.”

I don’t pretend that the word ‘friendship’ doesn’t sting. Was that all I ever was to him? All I am? What otherfriendshad he ran with to our safe house in the forest, read poetry, and snuck out of Ms. Eida’s lessons with? When night fell, did he kiss them too? Tender, slow and cautious, afraid they might break beneath his touch? Sure, we were young, and I know that it all happened so long ago. But a part of me hoped, a foolish and naive part of me, that it had been something more to him too.

“No,” I whisper a promise, my throat raw, “no more tears tonight.” It takes the taste of blood to bring me back. I’ve bitten my cheek.Take things one step at a time. His voice rings clear in the back of my mind. I don’t look back.

The night clings to me like a damp cloth the moment I emerge from the palace walls. The cool air is invigorating as it whips against my face. To the West, twinkling lights scatter across the horizon, the distant sound of music carried by the wind. No doubt it comes from some lavish party being thrown by a noble. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to one. The last time was nearly a year ago. That was back before the rebel attacks became more and more frequent.

I hum contently and allow myself to sway to the music. When the night began, I had worn a stunning crimson gown embroidered with pure gold thread, my hair up and hanging in perfectly coiled ringlets about my face. As the event drew on, my neck became damp with sweat, and my long silk gloves began to wrinkle from the constant hand kisses and exchange of dance partners. I miss the luxury of drinkingTyjnwith the other nobles. Its sultry, sweet taste still fresh upon my lips as I listened to the gossip of the older noblewomen. And secretly, I miss sneaking off to admire the tapestries in the decadent halls, to trace the details of the oil paintings with my gaze. Such subtle luxuries of a previous life I never thought I would miss. If I turn back now, could I still attend these parties? Would I be allowed as a married woman, one day a queen?

No. No man will make that choice for me. I am a woman, would have been a queen, but never a pet.

Then again, I think to myself,if I take this next step, I won’t be queen.

I look to the East, where only a few very dim lights dot the sky. Irene warned me once that all that is foul originates in the East. Walking sirens that eat men’s hearts right from their chest, giants that snatch women from their beds. No one dares ask what happens to the children. It’s the kind of place no featherbedded princess would tread.

But I will be free. I step forward, my toes pointing eastward.

“Come back, claim your birthright,” the palace calls. “Stay.”

One foot forward at a time.

“Please.” The voice is warm and sounds like rendezvouses outside the palace walls, diving in front of the switch for each other. Bloody knees, loose teeth, and stolen jelly tarts. Summer laughter and midnight stolen kisses.

I raise my chin and ignore the call.

“May Deungrid guide me,” I pray aloud. One step at a time. And if I dare to hope, I might pray for Father’s forgiveness too.

The buildings creak with weariness as a forlorn breeze blows through the square, a slight drizzle of rain smattering against the unpaved road. Each face I pass is the same, etched with weariness and worn heavy by time. The lights flicker from rowdy taverns as the boisterous expletives seep through open windows into the road. Women lean their backs against the walls, skirts held up to their waists, eager patrons panting like dogs at their heels. And somewhere in the distance, a low bellow resounds deep from the heart of the town. Something longing for blood.

That’s what I had expected, at least, judging from the stories I heard from Irene, but this place is alive. Shops and taverns leave their doors and windows open, bright lights pouring out to illuminate the streets where the vendors peddle. They sell jeweled hair pins, painted flags, sweet bread, and savoryleeche. The women wear bright colors and even tighter corsets, but no one seems to eye them with lust or disgust. The men tip their worn hats at them as if they are fine ladies, and they respond with a giggle and a curtsy, occasionally a kiss upon the head if the man is handsome enough. Instead of the sounds of brawling leaking out from the taverns, it’s loud and beautiful music; the sound of people laughing and dancing.

Sure, the roads are a little cracked, and the windowpanes are dirty, but this place is nothing like how Irene described it to me when I was a child. Why would she have lied? The more I look around, the more evident the answer to my own question becomes. Had I known such a place like this exists, I never would have wanted to return to the palace, with its rigid rules and forced niceties.

My eyes linger upon a specific tavern, the door painted a gaudy emerald green. The sign above reads “Ryson’s Beer and Bread.” Seems simple enough, but through the open windows, I can hear the beautiful strum of a lyre, and see elegant women sashaying in their skirts. My mind tells me it’s time to move on, but the lost child in me, well, she tells me one second to look couldn’t hurt. Right?

I’m hit with the stench of beer andleechethe minute I step into Ryson’s and stifle a gag. The rest of the patrons don’t seem to mind as they down their drinks, dancing and laughing amongst each other. Slowly, I lower my hood and step forward, bumping right into someone.

“Hey-“

“Oh, my Laei, I am so sorry,” I apologize immediately, glancing up to see warm amber eyes staring back at me. His face softens once he sees me, and he steps back, allowing me space.

“No, I apologize. I should have looked where I was going. Bit disorienting in here, isn’t it?” he asks, flashing a charming grin. I feel my cheeks heat up immediately. Was this flirting? I’ve never been flirted with before, unless you count Blaine’s occasional glares in the hallway.

“Ha, yeah it’s my first time.” I nervously rub my arms, taking in my surroundings. Time seems to have stopped, though I know the music is still playing, and the dancers are still whirling in the center. Their skirts seem to flit in slow motion, flashing brazen colors like the most extravagant of silk butterflies. I take time to notice him too. He’s young and probably my age, with a tall stature and athletic physique. He has dark chestnut tresses that reach his shoulder and a golden olive complexion that matches his hazel eyes perfectly. If I hadn’t known better, I’d assume he was some deity or foreign prince. But his clothes, though being clean and neat, are still worn and the type accustomed to the lower-class citizens. And despite his good charm, he stinks ofleeche.

“That makes sense now,” he says with a smile. “I would’ve recognized you if you’d been here before.”

“Oh?” My heart rate quickens, and I slowly reach for the hood of my cloak, preparing to dart out the door. If he recognizes me, the guard will be here in under an hour, and the borders will be locked down. I won’t be able to make it out in time.

“Of course, it’s not every day you see such a beauty.” He takes my hand and presses a chaste kiss to the back of it, then laughs.

“You blush easily.”

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