He slips his gloved hands into his pockets. “I wasn’t allowed to.”
My eyebrows arch. “You were not allowed to? Cyrus, you are theKing?—”
“And even kings have limits.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Devin, is that right?”
“Devin is my most trusted advisor, and he made a good point. Watching all of you participating in the trials will only skew my selection. And it’s bound to make me want to discontinue this effort altogether.”
“Because you know the trials are not necessary!” I explode.
He sighs, shaking his head. “I wish I could fight it, but my hands are tied. As much as I don’t want it to be, they’re critically necessary.”
“And why is that? Do you even realize how many of the womendiedtoday? How many werehorriblyinjured?”
He flinches, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn’t want to accept the word.
I step closer, forcing him to listen to me. “Please explain to me how what we just did today is supposed to help you select a woman that will fit into your idea of a wife! Of aQueen! What you put us through today is what you would expect of soldiers!”
His eyes flash open. The light in them capturing me entirely. Despite the anger rocking my voice, his stays steady and gentle. “That’s because she will need to be more than a wife and a Queen.”
I open my mouth, then snap it shut. “What does that even mean, Cyrus? You expect her to be at your front lines when you eventually face off against King Aaric?”
When his eyes search mine, silence stretching between us, I groan and turn away. Stalking off a few steps to clear my head before I swivel back and point a finger at him. “Most of these women are aristocrats who haven’t fought a day in their lives. They know how to properly fold a godsdamned napkin, and that’s it! If there is some other expectation, why in all the Gods’ worlds would you even consider putting women like this through a competition!”
“It’s not as simple as you think.”
“Then explain it!” I roar.
A sad smile lifts his lips. “You really don’t remember?”
Gritting my teeth at his attempt to change the subject, I snarl, “No, I don’t remember! And for whatever reason, you have not allowed me to!”
He frowns, then turns away from me, regarding a rose bush. “It is not that I don’t allow you, Marcella Briarstone. It is that I don’t command you.” He plucks a red rose from the bush, and walks to me before offering it. “You were the one who insisted on having your memorieswiped.”
I don’t take the rose from him. “Because of something you did, isn’t it? You know me. You’ve known me for at least a while. And whatever happened, I wanted to forget it, is that right?”
He drops his hand, still holding the single rose. “I have known you for a long while, yes.”
“Then tell me. Remind me.”
Shaking his head, he whispers, “I can’t. Because if I tell you as I remember things…as I experienced them, it will warp your own perception. You must remember things on your own.”
Releasing a long breath out my nose, I glance away from him at the flowers. The bees buzz about, lifting from petal to petal. It stirs a distant memory.
As one lifts and floats closer to me, I stumble until I shoulder against Cyrus’ abdomen. When the bee grows nearer, I slip behind him.
He wafts it away. “I see your instincts haven’t forgotten, though.” He turns to look down at me behind him.
“I’m allergic to bees…aren’t I?”
He grins, then nods. “Indeed. Even the fiercest woman I know must have some sort of weakness.”
I snort and straighten, brushing down the velvet gown at my hips. “I wish to request my own daggers. And a thigh sheath or two?—”
“I promise you, Marcella, you will not find any bees in the castle.”
“That’s not what I want them for, and you know it.” I look into his eyes seriously. “And I want a sword.”
