Page 60 of Blood of the Fairest

Fury fills me at the thought.

Quickly, I check to see that no guard is watching—but no one stands sentinel at the end of the hall leading to her rooms.

Do they care nothing for her welfare?

Swearing in Hjemic, I throw my weight into my shoulder, slamming into the door.

It only takes two tries before the doors burst open, a broken lock clanking to the plush rugs along with splintered wood.

Shutting the doors as best as I can behind me, I turn and scan the room.

She's not in the bed. Not dead on the ground. I step into the garderobe, but she is not slumped over at the vanity in here with a slit throat as my worry has imagined, either.

A small clicking sound in the queen's room draws my attention. It's soft, followed by the careful footsteps of one sneaking about.

They do not sound like the footfalls of a woman to my hunter's ears.

Leaning back, I catch the barest glimpse of a man stepping out of an entrance hidden behind the mirror. The sight of this stranger in Verena's private space, where she was meant to be safe in my absence, fills me with enough rage to bring back the dead wild spirits of old.

I'm upon him at once, my movements brutal and swift. He cries out in surprise and pain as I pin him face down to one of the rugs.

Forcing his head up by his hair, my knife nearly bends the flesh at his throat.

I bare my teeth against his ear to snarl, "Where is she? What have you done to her?"

Terror makes speech difficult for the coward. Though he is a smaller man than I, his attempts to break free are almost pathetically weak.

"I—" He chokes, flinching back from the cold edge of my knife.

"Get off of her," the puddle ghost shouts, catching me by surprise when he slams against the glass of the mirror. "That's Verena, you damned brute!"

Are his eyes under some enchantment? This is clearly a⁠—

I do a double-take, realizing the short hair twisted in my fist is changing. It is lengthening to become a rich, dark red that I have only seen on one person.

And this familiar, delicate soul scent around me…

Immediately, I release the man from the painful hold. My knife drops from my hands next as I watch the stranger's features morph and shift before my eyes, becoming the beautiful face of the queen. Her clothes, too, have changed into a simple dark grey dress under the cloak.

Soon, it is Verena who scoots quickly away from me until she sits with her back against the stone wall, knees drawn to her chest. She blinks moisture out of her eyes and rubs her neck, shoulders hunched inward.

No.

No, this cannot be.

How could I have terrorized and hurt her again?

"Forgive me," I stammer. "I…I did⁠—"

"You didn't know. Yep, I put that together somewhere between your knee digging into my spine and that knife grazing my throat."

When she reaches up to rub her scalp as if it still stings from my grip, I want to drive the fallen knife into my gut.

She swallows hard. "I guess I'd be worried if you didn't attack a strange man sneaking into the queen's...wait, how did you even get in this room?"

Verena's question is answered when she spies the broken lock on the rug nearby. Dread of the purest degree passes over her face.

The mirror ghost sees her expression and speaks in a surprisingly soft tone.