Page 14 of The Dead Queen

“Your grandmother died in the borderlands,” he says, his words tight and threatening as a bowstring. “If you must have someone to blame, blame the Dead Queen.” He takes a few even steps toward me.

I hold my ground, refusing to move backward out of intimidation.

“But let me make one thing clear.” His cool composure has returned. “We are finished chasing tails around the base of that tree. Do you understand me, Little Fox?”

Angry tears prick at my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. Reluctantly, I nod.

“Good.” He stuffs the hare between the bars of a nearby door. The animal inside lets out a yelp. We listen to it tear the carcass to shreds.

“If I hear that you’ve been asking around about your grandmother again, you will regret it.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes, hard. It’s a good thing that my engagement gown has sleeves. His grip will leave a mark.

He leans in toward my ear. The smell of his meaty lunch makes me turn my face away.

“Now, be a good heir. Smile at your party. Make your husband-to-be happy. And give the kingdom something to look forward to.” He removes his hand and turns from me.

It takes everything I have not to scratch his face with my perfectly buffered nails. The darkness in his eyes tells me he won’t budge. My hands clench at my sides as I turn from him, leaving without further argument. He’ll never tell me what happened to Grandmother in the borderlands. I’ll have to find my answers somewhere else.

I walk back up the damp stairwell and out into the sunlight. The sudden brightness is almost painful after the gloom of the underground, and I squint against the glare.

When I’m far enough away from the kennels, I lean against the wall of an outbuilding. It’s a potter’s shed, by the look of it. A greenish film of grime covers the windows, but the wooden shelves are still visible within. They’re filled with different sized pottery and sacks of soil.

The rough stone of the wall scrapes against my palms as I push against it, willing the rising fury to ease. There was a time when my father’s cruelty made me crumble. When it made me sob into my grandmother’s arms and complain about the injustice of having a king as a father. But now … I get angry. Very angry.

All the awful memories from my youth pool back into the forefront of my mind, as vivid and terrifying as if no time had passed. The helplessness, the fear, the anger—they wash over me in waves, threatening to drag me under. I close my eyes and push the intruding thoughts aside, mustering my strength.

I should’ve known better than to come back here.

Beyond the potter’s shed, nobles speckle the palace gardens. They’re walking and gossiping without a care in the world, like they’ve never spent even a moment contemplating the war at the border. Or the villagers whom King Corsac sends there to die horrible deaths for our benefit.

There’s a small group of women laughing, their voices light and carefree as they bend to sniff the late-autumn rose bushes. Their dresses are pastels in tones of lavender, pink, and blue. All except for one, a woman with silver-blond hair, who stands out in the traditional hues of the royal family—cream with copper accents.

I watch her from a distance, wondering how that woman has the gall to wear the royal colors without being related to the royal family. It’s a fashion choice punishable by death.

She steps around the bushes and two things become immediately apparent.

First, I know her. She’s Hunter’s cousin, Elena. A once-shy girl a little older than I am.

And, second, she is pregnant. Very pregnant. A copper bow rests upon her distended stomach.

I’m not related to her, but I’d be willing to bet that I am related to the baby in her belly.

Chapter 6

Music and laughter leak from the great hall, traveling down the marble corridor to where I wait, dressed head to toe in a scarlet gown. The sound is ethereal, almost ghostly, as it echoes off the gray stone walls. Everyone is here for the biggest party in decades. It may be in my honor, but I feel very much like a lamb destined for slaughter.

One of my two guards taps his foot to the music. The soft clink of his armor keeps time with the distant melody. I wonder if he resents being stuck out here with me while everyone else is inside, partaking in the festivities. We’re waiting for the music to change, the signal that it’s time to prepare for my grand entrance. That it’s time to “meet” my royal fiancé on the dance floor. Never mind that I’ve known Hunter since we were children. I suppose that’s a luxury previous generations didn’t have.

I try to plaster a smile to my face, but it’s still difficult. I’m horribly distracted, as if I’m not really here. All I can think about is Grandmother and how she should be here for this day. How I’m still no closer to finding the answers I need.

Time is running out.

The music slows and the tempo shifts like the tide. The guards at my side straighten. It’s time.

Reluctantly, I walk toward the closed doors that lead into the great hall. My heart flutters in my chest like a caged bird and the edges of my vision darken, threatening to pull me under. Wouldn’t that be a surprise to the guests? An heir, lying unconscious on the ground in a pretty dress.

But when the music stops and the doors open, there’s no time to daydream about an unconscious escape. The sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the collective intake of breath from the assembled crowd.

Hundreds of eyes watch me from behind black masks, a sea of faceless observers dressed as spider webs, peacocks, celestial beings, and even hens. This, too, is tradition. Everyone at the ball dressed as something else. All in midnight black, with masks to make the engaged couple stand out all the more.