Chapter Thirty-One
Mayahisgoingtokill me.
Flay the skin from my bones, then heal me and do it all over again. Demand we annul our marriage and stomp back to Tundrayn.
For the hundredth time, my gaze cuts to the arched glass windows—to the sun beyond it, crested in the sky. I promised to have lunch with her, and I’m over an hour late.
“How many men did they have?” my father asks, brows creased as he stares at the map. Faramir lounges uselessly beside him, feet propped up on a chair.
“Two hundred, sire.” Jeyzar flicks his shrewd gaze to me, likely waiting for my input or observations. I can’t be bothered to focus, not when the fragile truce Mayah granted me last night is on the verge of shattering.
I clear my throat. “Let’s regroup after—”
The door bursts open, and a harried servant rushes in.
“Sire,” he pants, wide gaze fixed on me. “Um, well—”
“Out with it,” my father snaps.
The young man, a boy really, shifts his weight. “Sire, the princess—”
I’m on my feet before he can finish. “What’s happened to her?”
“She’s—she’shealing, sire. In the infirmary. Sauzon sent for you.”
The silence that falls over the room suffocates me.
Faramir smirks broadly, while my father’s face slowly reddens with outrage. “Zevayr,” he grits out. “If you cannot control your wife, I’ll—”
“You’ll donothing.” I ignore the surprised gasp from the servant. “I’ll handle it.”
“The princess of Arbinj,” Faramir drawls, leaning an elbow on the table. “On her knees again, healing commons. What will the nobility say? I’d hate for them to find out.”
“Shut the fuck up.” The room darkens as the noontime sun disappears behind swollen clouds.
The advisers in the room suddenly find the carpet riveting.
“I’m serious, little brother. Are you certain she doesn’t have ties to the Rebellion? Perhaps we should bring her in, askherabout the attack—”
“Shut. Up,” I growl. Thunder rumbles as I stalk away, slamming the door behind me.
Rage scorches my veins at Faramir, at my father.
But also at Mayah. What the fuck is she doing? I’ve been running myself ragged day and night trying to keep her safe. There’s already a target on her back. Why is she making it bigger?
Within minutes, I storm through the infirmary door, the air crackling around me—there she is. Glowing hands attending to a man’s leg. She stiffens, shoulders tensing, as though she senses my presence.
I wait.
She doesn’t acknowledge me.
In my periphery, Sauzon stares at me expectantly.
“Mayah.” My voice is tight. Angry.
A beat.
She pivots slowly, eyes narrowed, chin tilted in defiance.
