I woke up to Killian’s body pressed against mine and Mal’s arm draped protectively over both of us. For one blissful moment, I forgot about last night. Forgot about the accusations and the terror and my son’s powers exploding in front of seventy werewolf royals.
Then Killian whimpered in his sleep and it all came crashing back.
He’d had nightmares all night. Again. Kept waking up crying, saying everyone hated him, that he was bad, that he’d broken things. Every time I’d soothed him back to sleep, stroking his hair and singing the lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me. Every time he’d eventually relaxed, his breathing evening out.
And every time, something inside me cracked a little more.
Mal had joined us sometime at dawn after dealing with the council, crawling into bed fully clothed and pulling us both close. I didn’t ask how it had gone. The exhaustion on his face when he’d entered the room told me everything I needed to know.
Now morning light was streaming through the windows and I needed to move, to think. Needed to do something other than lie here replaying my son being called a bastard over and over in my head.
I extracted myself carefully from the tangle of limbs, moving slowly so I wouldn’t wake either of them. They needed the rest. Killian stirred slightly but didn’t wake, his hand reaching out for me instinctively in his sleep. I tucked his favorite blanket closer around him, the soft blue one with wolves embroidered on it that Sorcha had made, and he settled immediately.
Mal didn’t move at all. He was deeply asleep, dark circles shadowing his eyes and his jaw still clenched even in sleep. Probably replaying the moment he’d attacked that Ebonvale noble. Probably wishing he’d finished the job.
I looked at them both for a long moment. They were my whole world. If something happened to them…
No.Not going into that. I sighed and walked towards the bathroom. The mirror there was not kind. I looked like death warmed over and then left out in the sun too long. Eyes red and swollen, hair sticking up in directions I didn’t know hair could go, skin pale and drawn.
Fantastic. Really nailing the whole queen aesthetic.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to pull myself together. It didn’t help. I still looked like hell.
Fine. I felt like hell anyway.
I stared at my reflection, water dripping down my face, hands gripping the edge of the sink so hard my knuckles went white. I’d failed Killian. First major public trauma for my kid, and I’d just stood there while strangers tore him apart with words.
A soft knock on the door made me jump. I dried my face quickly with a towel and opened it to find Sorcha standing there with a breakfast tray, her expression gentle and knowing.
“I thought you might need this,” she said quietly, gesturing toward the adjoined breakfast chamber. “And perhaps someone to talk to.”
I followed her into the cozy room, grateful for both the distraction and the distance from the bed. We wouldn’t wake Mal and Killian with our voices here. The breakfast chamber was intimate, warm wood paneling, soft morning light, a table just big enough for the three of us on normal days.
Today it felt too big. Everything felt wrong.
We sat together. Sorcha poured tea with steady hands while mine shook slightly as I reached for the cup. I wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth ground me.
“How is Killian?” she asked.
“Traumatized.” The word came out flat and bitter. “He had nightmares all night. Kept crying that he’s bad, that he broke things.”
Sorcha’s expression tightened with anger. “That child has never broken anything that mattered.”
“Try telling that to seventy people who just watched him open portals to unknown dimensions.”
“And how are you handling the accusations?”
I took a sip of tea, letting the bitterness match my mood. “You mean the ones calling me a whore and my son a bastard? Those accusations? I’m handling them great. Ten out of ten performance. Would definitely recommend the experience to other queens looking to spice up their Tuesday nights.”
“Wen.”
“I’m sorry. I’m furious,” I said, regretting the sarcasm and letting down the cup before I threw it at the wall. “I want to murder them all with dull knives and creative use of their own silverware. But Killian needs me calm, so I’m faking calm. How’s my performance? Convincing?” I grimaced.
Sorcha reached across the table and covered my trembling hands with her own. “You’re allowed to be angry.”
“Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.” I pulled one hand free to pick up my tea again, needing something to do. “I want to burn their kingdoms to the ground. I want to stand in the ashes and laugh while they realize what they’ve lost. I want to make them hurt the way they hurt my kid.”
Wow. I was a vicious beast. Maybe theyshouldbe scared of me. The tea cup rattled against the saucer. Sorcha gently took it from me before I could spill it everywhere.
