Page 73 of The Fox Heir

Nalina gives him a suspicious look. “I had nothing to do with it. If things went my way, I wouldn’t tolerate southerners here in Annwyn.” Her eyes shoot toward me.

Hunter nods. “I understand.”

“Do you?” she asks sharply.

I feel the words slice through the air as surely as a dagger. “None of this is his fault, Nalina.”

“No, you’re right.” She turns to me slowly. “It’s yours.”

I stare at her for a long moment. “Did you need something? Or are you just here out of morbid curiosity?”

“The queen wants to see him.”

I shake my head. “No. It’s too soon. He only just woke up.”

Nalina holds the door open wider. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you expecting tea first?”

I roll my eyes and turn to Hunter. “There’s a lot I need to tell you. Meeting the queen won’t be what you expect.”

Hunter moves the blankets off his legs and shifts to step out of the bed. “It’s fine. I saw her before, in Ellyll.” His knees tremble when he stands.

I rush to help him, but he waves me off. “No, I don’t mean that she’s frightening. There’s more to it than that.”

Hunter locates a pair of boots by the hearth and steps over the cold floor to retrieve them. “Sienna, I can handle it.” He bends to tie his laces. “I’m not an invalid. I’m just tired. Do me the decency of allowing me to make up my own mind about the Dead Queen.”

“Hunter, I need you to sit down, to listen to me⁠—”

He holds up a hand, irritation clear on his face. “Please stop.” He gives me a level look. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

My lips snap shut. All I can do is follow a step behind him as he trails Nalina through the cold, dark halls of Gwyllion Castle. Toward the throne room.

Toward Grandmother.

Chapter 24

The winter storm is in full force when we enter the throne room. Wind howls through cracks high above us, and tiny flecks of snow drift down from the rafters. The tapestries depicting sacred trees flap and sway, as if dancing to the music of the storm.

Not for the first time, I’m reminded of how inhospitable this castle is. No one should live here, but there aren’t many places for the people of Annwyn to go. I’ll have to explain this to Hunter.

Next to me, Hunter’s eyes dart from window to window as hail pelts the glass. Nalina doesn’t even flinch when thunder booms, followed by a floor-shaking crack. Outside, something heavy tumbles to the ground. I wonder if it’s a crumbling stone wall or one of the many leaning towers. Hopefully, no one was in it when it fell.

Upon the dais, the Dead Queen waits.

Her long veil drapes over her face and black gloves cover her arms, but I can’t shake the memory of what’s underneath. Scars and festering wounds. Skeletal hands and dead flesh. She sits on the blackened wood and iron throne, her posture straight and unbreathing. The throne suits her. A cold, dead throne for a cold, dead queen.

“A Hunter has arrived in the den of Wolves.” The queen’s voice booms in this cavernous space, and I notice Hunter flinch out of the corner of my eye. The Dead Queen leans forward as we approach. “Did you think you could sneak into my kingdom? You are no fox. Deception does not become you.”

I expect Hunter to hesitate like most people would when confronted by the infamous Dead Queen, but he doesn’t. When we reach the dais, Hunter kneels, ever the courtly knight, despite his lack of armor.

“Your Highness, thank you for taking me in and saving my life.”

The Dead Queen laughs humorlessly. “You have your Fox Heir to thank for that.”

Nalina passes us and walks up the dais steps. She stands in her usual spot behind the throne, settling into the posture of a guardian with her shoulders back and head held high. Her mouth is pinched in its usual way. Now she has two southerners to tolerate. I can only imagine how much fun this is for her.

“You may stand.” The Dead Queen waves a gloved hand impatiently.

Hunter rises to his feet, trembling slightly. I study his face. It’s grown pale, but I don’t think it’s from fear. He’s still weak, but if I know Hunter, he’ll never admit that he’s weary. The only hint of emotion I catch is when his eyebrows draw together in momentary confusion. I follow his gaze and see his eyes are resting on the silver moth necklace around the queen’s neck. The necklace he once gave me to remember Grandmother by.