***
The bacon at the base of my plate made a smiley face with egg eyes—the only smile I could stand to see today. David confirming in his own words last night what I already knew had hit me harder than I thought it would. So hard I couldn’t bring myself to face a dawn walk to the Stone this morning, in case I saw Lilith and had to endure an I-told-you-so speech. Not that consulting the Stone would help, anyway. It didn’t matter now if he was cursed to hate me. Clearly, it was for the best. Everyone had me so convinced David still loved me. All those little things people had been saying—all those little moments he’d been nice. To wake up and realise how wrong they all were was so crushing I couldn't breathe when I first opened my eyes. And sitting at the table now, I couldn’t find my appetite either, despite my tummy growling.
Everything else in the world was normal today; the people, the staff, the clank of spoons and glasses under quiet chatter, except that something had shattered apart while I slept and I was the only one that noticed the giant hole showing through my chest. Quaid and Blade didn’t even notice I was upset. They sat there discussing the shopping trip Emily, Mike, Jason and Pepper had returned from late last night and were still sleeping off, and Arthur just sat there with a pair of narrowed eyes, focusing intently on the silver dish in front of him, his fingers in a steeple by his mouth. I wasn't sure I’d ever seen him that deep in thought.
I tried to get his attention, but a small, quiet voice came through my own thoughts.
Ara?
My eyes darted up to meet David’s, but I stopped them before they got past Falcon, and smiled at him instead, pretending I didn’t hear.
Ara. Please, talk to me,
he tried again.
“You at the clinic today, Falcon?” I asked pleasantly.
“For half the day. Then I’m back here for a few hours’ study with Arthur.” He whacked Arthur on the back, waking him with a jolt.
“Yes,” Arthur coughed, wiping his mouth on his napkin. “Though it seems I have very little left to teach you.”
“I’m a fast learner.” Falcon winked at me, sipping his juice.
“Good. Because if this baby gets stuck,” I said suggestively, laying my hands out flat over my bump. “We’re screwed.”
“Stuck?” David looked up, cutting off the conversation he was having with the man beside him.
“Yeah,” Blade said. “Didn’t Ara tell you? Her skin is completely solid around the baby. We can’t just cut it out.”
A few people cringed, including me. This really wasn’t breakfast conversation.
“No,” he said. “She didn't mention that.”
“It’ll be fine,” Falcon assured. “If it gets stuck, we can just knock her unconscious and cut it out the end it normally comes from.”
I shut that image out of my mind along with the horrified gasps around me.
“She’s penetrable there?” David asked, although it really sounded like more of an accusation. “You’ve
tested
this?”
“Of course not,” Arthur cut in, no pun intended. “We’re not a pair of brutes, son.”
“But her bones break,” Falcon added lightly, clearly finding this amusing. “I can just snap her hips apart and reach up to
drag
the kid out.”
I put my fork down. No breakfast would enter the gob of eternal hunger now. Any traces of my appetite had been squashed along with my pride, and was finished off with seeing Falcon mime the action of his arm going elbow-deep into my most sensitive cavity.
Everyone watched Falcon, but David’s concerned gaze stayed on my face, I could feel it. I, however, maintained a steady interest elsewhere.
“Ara?” he said aloud.
This time I was forced to acknowledge him. “Mm?”
“Are you okay, sweetheart? You’re very pale.”
All heads turned, eyes finding me and my pasty complexion.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and somehow managed to say the stupidest thing I could think of. I blame the ogre. “Just thinking about New York.”
“New York?” Nate asked. “Why New York?”
David sat back heavily in his seat, one elbow propped on the arm, a fist supporting his turned head. I watched him watching the day outside, then smiled down at Nate, rearranging my napkin in my lap.
“I’m thinking about visiting the IVRS soon, that’s all.”
That sparked a few conversations around the table about science, the topic coming slowly back to Drake and what he might do once the IVRS swore allegiance to me.
Falcon and Blade debated with Ryder and Quaid about the kind of protection we should be offering the children and the village now, and David just kept his eyes on the terrace outside. Meanwhile, my teeth berated my tongue for stirring him up that way when I knew, and my mouth knew, I had no intentions of going with Jason. Not in a million years. But the scared girl inside me wanted to see what David would say if he really
did
get his own way. He claimed he had no feelings for Pepper, but he was pretty eager to get rid of me now that she was back. And when that girl sat down to dinner with us tonight, it would be the perfect opportunity for me to see just how in to her he was.
“Isn’t Jason heading to New York soon?” Margret asked. “I heard he was offered a position there.”
David sat up in his chair, grabbing the very end of his fork to poke at his breakfast.
“He is, in fact, yes,” Walt said. “I’m not sure he means to accept, but he’s made plans to at least see what is on offer. Did you intend to travel with him, Queen Amara?”
I tried not to look at David as I said it, but I couldn't help myself. “Yes. And I might stay for a while.”
The king showed no signs of either caring or not caring. Falcon did, though, frowning at me then at David and back again. When he realised what was
really
going on, he sat back with a grin and nodded. He knew me better than anyone at this table, and he knew damn well I wasn’t going with Jason—not even for a visit. So did Blade, who shook his head, rolling his eyes as he went back to his conversation with Emily.
“Will you be making your intentions toward the king’s brother official then?” Walt asked, and the entire table hushed.
David grew slightly taller in his chair.
“Uh, um.” Oh crap.
Not
the direction I planned for this to go.
“I would say it’s about time,” Margret added, placing her blood goblet down. “The queen
is
allowed more than one husband and we’ve all seen the attraction between the two.”
“Yes, but our queen is not a bigamist,” Arthur growled defensively. “She has no ‘intentions’ toward the king’s brother.”
“Yet, it’s no secret she’s been spending time with him—that the king and queen have slept apart for months now,” Margret said in that snooty tone. “It’s not healthy for a girl to be alone so long.”
“How does the king feel about it?” Roger Freeman asked David directly. “Surely you must have some say.”
“Yes,” an old Rune Reader added. “In these modern times it’s just not heard of for a wife to marry another.”
It was David’s time to shine—to finally have his say, in public, on the matter.
He stilled himself, composed and kingly as ever, and lightly drummed his fingers once on the table, bringing them up to rest by the corner of his mouth after.
The whole room waited, barely anyone breathing.
“The queen knows my wishes on the matter.” He stood up calmly then, flicking his napkin down onto his plate. “She is free to do as she pleases.”
No one expected that.
I could tell from the open mouths all up and down the table. But they went back to eating quietly, beginning light conversations again on matters that nowhere near related to royalty or bigamy. And as David’s shadow shrunk out of sight beyond the doors to the Great Hall, I slumped in my chair, wishing I’d just been brave enough to say how I really felt—to tell him and everyone in this room that I loved the king wholly and unconditionally and would never ever in a million years ever want to be with anyone else.
None of it would have mattered—wouldn't have made him fall back into my arms, but at least he’d have known.
Yet that was the problem, really, wasn’t it? He may be guilty of spite, but I was guilty of pride. I just wasn't ready to face that rejection all over again in a room full of people. Not even for the sake of sparing his heart.
***
The last page fluttered in the light wind, sitting restfully on top of the ‘finished’ pile. I sat back in the chair and crossed my hands on the desk, propping my feet up on the small wedge under it to enjoy the bright morning light—the way it made the shelves look almost yellow and the books kind of white. An old portrait of either Eve or Lilith as a child kept me company in these long hours of queenly duties, and I’d looked at it many times, seen it from many angles, but found myself staring a little harder today. The child stood facing the eye, with hair of gold in long waves over her shoulders, a pair of black boots over black and white striped stockings, only just visible from under the folds of her deep blue dress. Her eyes shone out unnaturally like gemstones, as it seems all the eyes in this bloodline do, and it was those eyes that always distracted me. A strange feeling came over me every time I searched this painting, and that same sense of déjà vu lingered again today, except that it seemed like her eyes had changed—as if she was trying to tell me something. Warn me of something.
“My queen.”
I jumped out of my skin and sat up straight, composing myself as I politely acknowledged the man at my desk. “Roger. Hello. What brings you here? I thought we were done for today.”
“We are, Majesty.” He slid a cluster or papers toward me. “But this adoption contract needed
your
signature.”
“Contract?” I picked it up and turned it the right way. “But Walt usually handles these. Why has it come to my desk?”
“The Master of the House thought it best if you oversaw this one.” He bowed again and walked away, leaving me with the sour taste of confusion and a mild sting of concern in my mouth.
With unsteady hands I opened the contract to the first page, and when the words Max, Josh and, further down the page, Michael Christopher White, jumped out at me, I jumped straight out of my seat.
The ever-dutiful Mike was up early this morning for work, despite having a rather tiresome day with Pepper yesterday, and I knew exactly where to find him.
A thick storm cloud whirled overhead as I marched down to the Training Hall, contract in hand. What was he thinking? He’d submitted this application weeks ago, and his closest most bestest friend was only just finding out now. From a third party. A third party that was a piece of paper, nonetheless.
As I burst through the doors of the Training Hall and held the contract up, a room full of stunned faces turned on me.
“Ara?” Mike looked up, a marker poised by an unfinished word on the whiteboard in front of him. “I mean, Queen Amara. What brings you here?”
The room of men rose then from their classroom seats, and dropped down simultaneously to one knee, rapping a fist to their chests.
“Um—” I put a hand up as a proverbial white flag. “At ease. I uh … I just came to sit in.”
As the men sat down at their desks again, Mike frowned at me, miming “What?”
I showed him the contract and his eyes widened, his head moving in a very obvious nod.
“See me after,” I mouthed, aiming a finger at the third party, then I sat my butt down on the bench by the mirror and listened in.
“As I was saying.” He finished writing the word on the board, his hand shaking slightly. “There are a few different types of swords, but our soldiers only use one type. Which is?”
A man in the back put his hand up and said, “The short sword.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s effective in close combat, can be used with one hand and can cut as well as stab.”
“And?”
“And it can be hung from a sword belt,” another man added.
“Correct.” Mike capped the marker and reached behind the whiteboard where he’d stored a number of different types of swords on the table. He presented a fat silver blade to the class that shimmered as he angled it down his arm, comparing the length. “Our aim is quite simply to cut the flesh as fast and effectively as we can, or to perhaps perforate a vital organ. Vampires have tough skin, impenetrable to the human hand, but not to the bullet, and not, also, to a blade wielded by a vampire. We have the strength to cut them with a butter knife if we choose, so why do we use Lilithian steel?”
“Because it’s a faster cut, being that even a human can cut a vampire with this steel, which is more effective in battle, particularly if we’re already weak,” a guy said.
“Right. And why don’t we use our teeth?” Mike asked the class.
“Because it would require getting too close to your opponent, which, in some combat situations, can be tricky.”
“Especially since our enemies, being Blood Warriors of the old king, typically use swords. They’d have an unfair advantage. Another reason we don’t use our teeth?” he asked, pointing blindly to a random soldier.