She turns down the hall that leads to Galen’s wing.
I scratch my jaw. “Untie?” I mutter. What the hell does that mean?
Wait, what’s that? I spot the queen’s door, only it’s not a door.
I stop in front of a wall of vines and lean closer. They’re so thick I can see nothing through the thin gaps.
Shit. Here goes nothing. I grab a vine and pull. These aren’t your normal garden weeds. I flex my biceps and yank, but they don’t budge.
I grab my sword. What if Selene is behind this wall?
Is this a trick?
My inhale scrapes up my throat, which feels like stale bread left out in the kitchen. “Queen Selene? Are you in there?”
An intake of breath reaches my ears. “Unfortunately.” Her deep exhale almost shakes the vines. “Who are you?”
That’s a nice voice—sweet yet firm, like unmelted chocolate. Too bad Selene wants to kill me.
I sink my fangs into my bottom lip.“I’m your new personal guard.”
“That fucking prick,” she growls.
I agree.
“Did he give you irons and chains?”
I look left and right. “No, my queen. Why?”
Was it out of place to question her?
“Because clearly, he wants you chained to my feet, so why not make a show of it?” she murmurs more curses before she shouts, “What are you waiting for? Get me out. I’ve got things to do and people to kill.”
She’s… a fucking tyrant. Typical fae.
“I was joking, guard. Come on, hurry up and untie me. No sense of humor, eh?”
This is so bizarre. Is this a kink they like to play?
I crack my neck. I don’t belong within palace walls, where every action is a new move on a chess board.
“If I may be so bold, which part was the joke, your heavy schedule or the killing?”
“Good, you don’t overlook the details. I would appreciate it if you could release me. I do need to use the bathroom and attend to the issues for today.”
“Do the issues involve killing?”
“Tell Galen to come for a chat if he’s curious. The last thing I need is another meager mouse, scampering to report every blink my eyes make to Galen.”
I press my palm against the door of vines. “That sounds unbearable.”
Her hesitation reveals her sorrow. “It is.”
“Are you behind the… door, this wall of vines?”
“Clearly.”
Her walls are back up, but they’re cracked. Tristen would tell me this is good. I can make her feel some empathy for my situation.
