One
Suspicious
People.They’re shit. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.
Even the good ones. The kind ones. The ones you thought you knew!
“Creatchin, you are too good to us,” Nyra lies effortlessly with a sweet smile widening her face so hard that it pulls at the pink scar that arches along the side of her pretty features.
The disdain in me dissolves as my stomach tightens at the reminder of the scar that will forever line my sister’s innocent face. Because of me. Because of Prince Ravar.
And because of fucking Queen Creatchin.
She used all of us.
And she’s still using all of us.
My sister is just better at faking her love for our new ruler and prison keeper.
Creatchin beams at Nyra with those big black eyes of hers, eating up what she sees. The two of them stand admiring the newly remodeled dining hall. Bright chandeliers dangle from long silver chains to light the room in stunning opaque brightness. The old tables that once cluttered the room in careless rows are now replaced with glossy, elegantly carved dining tables, each one embellished with shifters and hell fae and creatures of all kinds represented in the pretty carvings of the dark wood.
“The people are going to love this,” Nyra chimes once more as her slender fingers skim delicately over the edge of a high-backed chair.
I can’t even tell if she’s faking her sincerity or if... Goddess, what if she truly is being sincere right now? What if she actually likes Creatchin?
Nyra spent a week in the hellish infirmary healing her knife wound along her cheek. It shouldn’t have taken that long. She shouldn’t have been isolated. I should have been able to see her!
But I wasn’t.
Creatchin and her hell fae nurses were her only contact then.
And now I feel like an outsider looking in at the girl I grew up with.
Why hasn’t she asked to go home? She has a husband. A child. Our family.
Creatchin’s lithe frame wavers as she looks back at me. Long black hair shines in the intensity of the new lighting. Her gaggle of hell fae stop in their tracks as they watch their queen with big inky orbs, following her every move.
They’re ominous with their long animal like horns and spindly arms and legs. More so now that they seem to be as suspicious of me as their ruler is.
“Are you feeling well, Cersia? You haven’t said a word all morning.” Creatchin is intelligent. The questions she asks are never inquisitive at all. They’re testing.
Testing indeed. Because I know she suspects me. I find myself suddenly less able to put on a fake smile and say the right words simply because of my sister already doing just that. And I’m starting to doubt if any of Creatchin is as nefarious as my mind is making her out to be.
All I know of her is what Ravar told be just before Creatchin killed him. Powerful magic and dark madness are all this woman is made of. She’s conniving. And she won’t hesitate to kill me just as she did her lover, Prince Ravar.
So I have to pass these tests. Even if I don’t understand them at all.
“It’s just a headache, my queen.” My tone that was once so even and assured is quiet and pleasant when I address this deadly woman.
I fucking hate it. I just want to scream and spit and figure out what game they’re all playing at!
“Perhaps you should lie down.” Creatchin reveals those sharp black teeth behind her kind smile.
Fuck that fake smile.
I fake-smile right back. But just know that I hate doing it. The fakeness is intoxicating, though. It gets in your head, and you can’t stop the stupid catty kindness that’s rancid on your tongue.
“Indeed, you’re very right.” I even fucking curtsey to her. I curtsey! In black pants and combat boots I’m doing that weird fucking half-ass elegant bow that looks more like I’m trying to hold in an awkward shit than sophisticatedly motioning goodbye.
