Amerei steadied her breath, though her pulse thrummed.
“I’ll be fine.”
He gave her a sharp look.
The guard pushed the door open, bowing stiffly. “Her Majesty awaits.”
Evander’s voice dropped, low and reluctant.
“I’ll be in my chambers. Don’t let her rattle you.”
Amerei drew her cloak tighter, stepping into the heavy fragrance that drifted from within. The doors shut behind her with a groan that echoed up the stairwell.
The chamber was thick with perfume and smoke.
She hadn’t taken two steps before Zeporah swept toward her, a bundle of burning herbs in hand. She circled close, fanning the smoke toward her face.
“Breathe it in,” the queen murmured, close enough that the heat of the ash brushed Amerei’s cheek. Her brow arched, mouth curving. “Deeply, child. It clears the mind.”
Amerei held her breath, but Zeporah leaned nearer, the herbs crackling as she thrust them closer.
“Come now. Don’t be such a delicate flower.”
Amerei turned her head slightly, letting the smoke drift past. Her voice was quiet but sure.
“The air is thick enough already, my lady.”
For a moment Zeporah stilled, the smile still painted on her lips. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she quenched the herbs against a dish and gestured lazily to the corner of the room.
“Sit.”
She guided Amerei toward a low table laden with figs, pomegranates split open, bowls of spiced nuts, honey, cheeses softening at the edges. Zeporah sank into the cushions beside it, bracelets chiming as she reached across the spread. With her other hand she tugged Amerei down, pressing until she sat opposite.
“Here.” Zeporah plucked a fig, split it with black-painted nails, and offered half across the table. The fruit bled dark against her fingers. “Figs from the Isle of Eilles.”
Amerei forced a polite smile, setting it on the edge of her plate.
Zeporah’s eyes lingered there, sharp beneath their kohl.
“Tell me again,” she said smoothly, rolling a spiced nut between her teeth. “What did you propose we do about the unrest in the highlands? I requested soldiers from your father, but their presence only seems to inflame the mob.”
Amerei folded her hands, steady despite the weight of the queen’s stare.
“I would end the curfew. It keeps marauders off the streets, yes—but the highlanders thresh wheat at night. And they need the cool of dark to water their crops so the ground can drink before morning. To chain them indoors is to starve them.”
Zeporah clicked her tongue, the sound both indulgent and dismissive.
“You are entirely too confident in the ability of rural humans to be civil.”
“I’ve spent a great deal of time with them,” Amerei replied, voice even.
The queen’s hand drifted upward, brushing the point of her own ear. Her smile was sly, almost pitying. “Such a shame you pass so easily for a human.”
Amerei’s throat tightened, though her expression did not falter.
“The unrest in the highlands,” she said carefully. “Is that all you required of me today?”
The queen reclined again, lifting her goblet.
