That morning in front of the palace, the king had cut an impressive figure: tall, strong, and terrifying. In the moonlit garden, he was a pale ghost, a heavy middle-aged man hanging between them like a drunk thrown out of a tavern.
As Amron moved forward, the king grunted, his eyelids fluttering.
“Walk now, please,” the queen said.
The three of them stumbled across the terrace and into the corridor. The cool draft revived the king somewhat, and his legs found purchase on the stone flags, lifting some of the weight off Liana’s shoulders. The sour odor of his sweat mixed with alcohol offended her nostrils, and the unwanted proximity of his body made her wish for a good scrub. Not to mention the repulsion stemming from his treatment of her that morning. But Amron needed her help, and she was going to help him.
The two guards in front of the queen’s chambers, a woman and a man, opened the door without a word, pretending they didn’t notice the king. They’d obviously seen him at his worst before.
“Come in, come in.” The queen rushed them through the door and into the antechamber, where the sleepy lady opened the bedroom door for them.
It was the room Liana had slept in for the last thirteen years, complete with the massive four-poster bed, the green brocade curtains, and the floral tapestries. She missed her step, tripping on the edge of the carpet, almost pulling the king down. Queen Orsiana jumped at her side, steadying her. The queen’s hands were cold and surprisingly strong.
“It’s fine, you’re safe here,” she said so softly only Liana could hear, and then she ordered, “Lay him on the bed.”
Liana helped Amron drag his father and lay him down. The velvet on his belly was ripped, the small hole surrounded by a barely visible circle of dried blood. Belly wounds were dangerous, but this one didn’t look immediately lethal. Unless…
“Orsiana,” the king said. Propped up by pillows, his blond hair matted, his face deathly pale beneath his beard, he didn’t look like a drunk anymore—he looked frighteningly frail.
“Amron.” Queen Orsiana sat beside her husband, and it tookLiana a long moment to remember Amron and his father shared the same name, and that the queen was talking to her husband. The queen’s hands slid down his body to the rip in the fabric. “You’re wounded. Oh, I’ll fetch the scissors, we need to cut the fabric away, wash the wound. Call for physicians.”
But the king caught her wrist. “Orsiana, no. There’s no point, it’s already too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“The blade was poisoned,” Liana said softly. Three pairs of eyes turned to her, the uninvited guest, the ghost in the room. “Elmarran poison.”
“How does it work?” the queen asked.
“Makes you go numb,” the king replied before Liana had opened her mouth. He was struggling to breathe. “I can feel it spreading through my body.”
The queen gently pulled her hand out of his grasp and stroked his face. “What did you do?”
“I tried to reason with Roderi, but he sent his woman instead. It doesn’t matter now.” The king paused to take a sip of the water the queen offered him. “We need to talk in private.”
Amron caught Liana’s hand. “Come,” he whispered. “We should wait outside.”
They closed the door behind them. The antechamber was empty, lit by a single oil lamp. Amron sat on a bench beside the window and hid his face behind his hands. Liana stood frozen, weighing the possibilities, her fingers itching to touch him, her brain telling her he might not welcome it, might not even want her to witness his anguish.
In the end, her heart won, and she sat beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders, keeping her touch light, ready to retreat at the first sign of rejection. Words were futile and hollow in a moment like this, but still she said, “He didn’t mean it.”
He remained stiff for a while, a cold stone effigy closed off fromthe world. But then he turned, wrapped his arms around her, and sank into her embrace.
“I should have told him about my mistrust of Roderi earlier, but that would have put Melia in a terrible position.”
“I don’t think he would have believed you anyway,” Liana said.
“You’re right. He would have brushed it off, just like he brushed off all my doubts about Elmar and this match.”
His breath felt warm on her skin, his head heavy on her shoulder. She breathed in the familiar scent of his hair, her hands welcoming his sharp bones, his hard shoulders. She closed her eyes, pushing away the world around them, focusing on the perfect simplicity of breathing, the synchronized rhythm. Inhale, exhale.
The night around them writhed in agony, yet here, inside these rooms, there was nothing but silence. Liana might have dozed off for a moment, because the next thing she felt was a light touch on her shoulder.
“It’s time, he wants to see you,” the queen told Amron.
He separated himself from Liana, cold rushing in to replace the warmth of his body. Standing up, he smoothed the creases on his clothes in a gesture so automatic he probably wasn’t aware of it. His face was bone white, stunned.
“I’ll give you a little while, and then I’ll fetch your brother,” his mother said. “I’ve already sent Deana to find Amielle.”
