by Kyra Gregory
“Why leave this to me?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound judgemental. He wanted to know why. Why now?
“You and your family were most troubled by the betrayal,” she said, “and you have more than enough sense to be able to deal with it.”
Hanging his head, he found the breath catching in the back of his throat, stifling his next. He had almost grown used to the prospect of allowing her to judge the punishment by herself. It would save him the trouble, save him the fear of making the wrong move—something that could come back to bite him the day he took the throne again.
Sliding back into her seat, closing the ledger in her lap, she made herself more comfortable. The Queen in her was gone and, while she had softened, his mother spoke to him in a stern tone. “When my father deemed me impulsive, deemed me immature, he robbed me of every opportunity to learn and to make the decisions I would be called to take in the future,” she said, speaking through a tense jaw and vacant eyes as she recalled that time in her life. “I vowed early on that I wouldn’t make the same mistake. No matter how you felt towards the throne, you would be given an insight into the workings of this life and it would be your choice to take it.”
He smirked. “Hardly ever felt like a choice,” he whispered.
Finding the amusement in his words, she smiled, “I know,” she said. “I was a little hard on you, always wanting you involved, never wanting you to squander the opportunity.”
He knew that. Tough as both she and his father were, he always knew they were well-intentioned and that it was always meant to prepare him for the day he took her place.
“I never quite went all the way though,” she said, sighing. “There were times I treated you more like a messenger than anything else, times when I might have been better off making it a teaching moment for you.” She shifted in her seat, tugging at the lace sleeves on her dress, “I suppose we have King Niles to thank for that,” she said.
He resisted scoffing. He wouldn’t thank him for anything.
“I mean it,” she said. “You have enough sense, enough insight into every perspective, to deal with the matter of the traitors by yourself.” His shoulders dropped as the softness of her expression, persuasive in its own way, burrowed into his soul and brought him the peace of mind he’d been after. “You’ll need to deal with the nobles in the future and, however you choose to leave the impression you desire, I will stand behind it.”
Having gone in there expecting something entirely different—expecting her to buckle down and insist that the traitors would be dealt with in her own way and in her own time—he found himself speechless when faced with this.
After everything they had endured the last few months, even the last year, being surprised shouldn’t have been new to him. Allies had betrayed them, his mother had been sentenced to death, he’d taken the throne and then conceded it upon his mother’s return from the dead—this shouldn’t have nearly as surprising.
“I must confess, I received the names from Jared on our journey over here,” she said. “I have had our spies watch them closely and they have yet to make a move to escape. I would think you have a bit more time to consider your actions, should you need it.”
Smiling at her consideration, he hung his head. Wrestling with his decision, hesitant to speak it, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve given it enough thought,” he said.
“And your Queen?” she asked, smiling softly. “Have you consulted her?”
He couldn’t help but break out into a grin. Malia—how he loved her. “Always,” he replied.
Chapter 24
TURNING THE CORNER AND faced with the sight, Malia stopped, hands on her hips. “Out here again, are we?” she asked.
Sat in the clearing again, hunched over his work, Thane tore his attention away from it, raising a brow. “Have you mistaken me for your children?” he asked, somewhat slighted by the tone of her voice. The fighting spirit hadn’t left his own, even if the words lacked a punch of volume.
“Perhaps if you didn’t act like one of the children—” She cut herself off when he sat back in his seat, clutching at his side, his fingers digging in deep. “What’s the matter?” she asked. As much as they both wanted to act like nothing had changed, and that she didn’t need to treat him like some fine porcelain, the sight of him doubling into his pain did plenty to dash what little she could attempt.
“It’s nothing,” he said, a slight groan cutting though the words. “Hunger pains, that’s all.”
“You’ve stopped eating?” she asked.
“Just for the day,” he replied.
She shook her head, not just in disbelief but in passionate disagreement. “The moment you stop eating, you’ve given up,” she said.
He leaned into the griping pain for a moment longer before forcing himself to stand, likely his attempt at proving to her he was still capable of it. “I just needed a break from the retching,” he said.
And she could understand why. It had taken its toll, taking far more out of him than he had the ability to give at this point. His throat had been burnt raw, hardly soothed even when quenched with water, with his voice developing an almost painful raspiness.
She dived into her skirt pocket, plucking out a small vial and a dainty tea spoon. “This will help,” she said. She ignored his look of disgust and confusion, pouring out a spoonful and moving it to his mouth. “Open,” she said.
The scent of it reaching his senses, his nose crinkled, his look of displeasure growing more evident. He knew there wasn’t any point in arguing, taking the mouthful before withdrawing while he swallowed the sickly sweet substance. “You really have mistaken me for your children,” he said.
“My children grow stronger by the day so I must be doing something right,” she quipped, unfazed. She pulled a second vial out of her pocket, tipping its contents onto the spoon. “And I won’t apologise if I can do the same for you,” she said.
He took one more glance at the medicine before taking it, a sour look on his face that certainly wouldn’t be out of place in the nursery. “What is it?” he asked.
His trust in her, enough to take the medicine before even bothering to ask that question, had her smiling. “It should strengthen your stomach,” she said, “so less excuses for not eating.” She placed the two vials into his portable writing desk, tucking them beneath some paper before turning to face him. Her gentle chiding had sunk in and, although he smiled, she could see it all weighing on him heavily. She saw it in the sluggish way he drew his attention away from the ground and in her direction, in the weary upturn of the corners of his lips, and the lack of conviction he did it all with. “Have you changed your mind?” she asked. She’d sworn to be a pillar of support and to keep his secret for as long as he wanted to keep it that way, but, the truth was, she didn’t think she was the pillar of support he really needed.
Pursing his lips together, he shook his head. “I don’t think I can—”
She put on a smile, reaching out and tilting his chin so he’d look at her. “You can,” she said, “but when you’re ready.” She gave his hand a quick squeeze, then turned to leave, knowing she needed to get back.
“Malia,” he caught her by surprise, not in being called but in the weakness and determination in his voice. When she looked back, he found her looking at her, a torn look on his face. His shaking hand at his side clenched and unclenched, going through a motion as he thought about what he was going to say. She knew, torn between thanking her and apologising, he didn’t know which he deemed more important to say and which would be less likely to gain an argument.
Whichever he decided to say, her short, succinct reply, absent any of her disagreement or reproach, would be the same. “I know,” she said, stopping him short from ever having to say it.
He gave her a short, weary smile, though not quite appreciating the words taken out of his mouth. He wanted to be strong enough to say them. Her reply told him he didn’t need to be.
Walking through the
gardens, her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a guard marching towards her, away from the palace. Although peace had mostly been restored to the place ever since the Queen and Riffin’s return, she couldn’t help but dread the next bout of bad news a messenger might bring. “You’ve been summoned to the throne room, Your Highness,” he said.
“Do you know what this is about?” she asked.
“No, Your Highness,” he replied.
Light on her feet, clutching her skirt in one hand, she rushed towards the throne room. The doors were thrown open as she approached and her heart thundered in her chest, rivalling the sound of them shutting behind her.
Having expected to find most of the family gathered, she found Deros alone, seated at the marble-topped table and hunched over whatever it was that he was reading. “That was quick,” he remarked, never lifting his gaze from the pages in front of him.
She shrugged a shoulder, blinking in confusion, “I was summoned so I came,” she said. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”
He didn’t look at her, seemingly debating long and hard about what he was about to say. His brows met in the middle, furrowed, and, when he licked his lips, she knew the words that would follow confused even himself. “When married men and women meet in secret, away from prying eyes, in places they wouldn’t normally frequent, passing handkerchiefs with the slight of hand of a thief, holding lingering gazes and short, subtle nods, one makes certain assumptions,” he said.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she didn’t say a word and she betrayed nothing on her features. She didn’t need to stretch her imagination to wonder what he was talking about, though he’d certainly stretched his own, even if she could see his point.
“The trouble, I find, in this case, is that I know you and Thane to be far too loving and far too loyal, and not at all stupid,” he said. Finally, he glanced her way, meeting her eyes with an intense, inquisitive stare, riddled with confusion, hurt and anger. “So, what’s going on?” he asked.
She shook her head, “You’ve misunderstood,” she said, in the sweetest tone possible. “You and Riffin left me with the task of caring for him and—”
“Is that what this is?” he asked, lifting his brow. “Caring for him?”
She licked her lips and doubled down. While she’d always shown Deros the respect he deserved as the Queen’s husband, there were some matters in which she recognised he had about as much power as she did. “Neyva is worried he’s pushing himself too hard too soon,” she said. “I’ve merely been advising him that, should he wish to remain in this marriage, he might do well to listen to her.”
Chuckling, he shook his head, “I know Thane is stubborn but I don’t see this many repetitions being necessary to get the message across,” he said. Before she even had a chance to utter a rebuttal, all laughter disappeared and the amusement fell from his lips, “I know you’re lying to me,” he said.
“I’m not lying.” She wasn’t—technically.
Deros rose to his feet briskly. It would’ve almost been enough to intimidate her if he hadn’t come to a stop, wiping at his mouth, contemplating his words. “Thane has taken matters into his own hands and gone rogue before,” he said. “If you are unhappy with the decision Riffin has made then you need to—”
Wide-eyed, mouth agape, she advanced towards him. “That’s not it!” she countered.
Closing the space between them, staring down at her, he asked, “Then what is it?”
Lips sealed, she didn’t dare speak. She’d made herself clear.
Shifting his weight, turning his anger to vulnerability, he took a softer approach, “I have stepped out of line before,” he said. “I almost lost the woman I loved because of it and—”
“We’re not betraying anyone,” she retorted through gritted teeth, sparing herself the lecture on loyalty. “There are no disagreements that would push either of us to betray anyone.”
Taking a deep breath, scrutinising her every feature, he believed her. But believing her wasn’t good enough. He wanted to know. “What are you hiding?” he asked.
She shrugged her shoulders, not ready to deny that she was hiding anything, but incapable of allowing herself to utter Thane’s secret.
“You have to know this secrecy will do no one any good,” he said. “You know this family is stronger when it works together.”
“Trust me when I say there’s nothing this family can do to make this any easier,” she said, “except, maybe, put an end to this conversation.”
He shook his head, refusing. “You keep this up, I’ll have to confront Thane next,” he said. “Should he refuse, Riffin may be better suited to get the answer out of you.”
She threw her hands up at her sides, exasperated, “Please,” she said. “I have never acted with anything but loyalty to this family and you know that.”
“Then tell me what it is you’re hiding,” he said.
Her shoulders dropped. “And what if doing so betrays a loved one?” she asked, softer this time. “What if forcing me to say tarnishes the loyalty I’ve already established?”
Deros sat on the edge of his seat, hand on the table, playing with the corners of some letters as he gave her words some thought. “Your loyalty is to Riffin,” he said. “If it matters more to you that he not know, your best chance is telling me, so that I might vet that—”
“Thane is dying,” she said.
He was right. Thane had asked her not tell anyone but if keeping the secret involved telling Deros to help curb anymore suspicion, she had no choice.
Winded by her confession, his gaze dropping to the floor, she spared him no details. She told him everything. She told him how the poison inflicted irreversible damage to his insides. She told him how it was too late. She told him Thane had every intention of leaving, but that she insisted he stay behind to be cared for.
Deros’s expression worsened with every detail. She needn’t ever doubt Thane’s part in this family when Deros became almost viciously protective of him as he would his own son. “Why hasn’t he told anyone?” he asked.
Stifling the wave of emotion that threatened to overcome her as best she could, she shrugged a shoulder. “I think he wants to be able to live,” she said. “I think he wants to go on as he always has.”
Deros wiped at his mouth as though to rid himself of the shock, blinking the stinging sensation from his eyes. He eased himself back into his seat, requiring the support to keep himself upright. “How has he taken this?” he asked.
Her smile quivered on her lips. Once she was telling the truth, she may as well go all the way. “Badly,” she said. He shot his gaze to look at her, almost sick to his stomach as it was but beckoning her to elaborate—for Thane’s sake. “I think, when he was poisoned, his mind was on making sure we were well,” she said. “He was preoccupied with thoughts of how he might’ve been poisoned, whether we were in danger of the food we ate or if we—”
“Thane being Thane,” he said, understanding.
She nodded slowly. “I think he had distraction then—it gave him little time to think about it,” she said. “This—this has given him the worst sort of time.”
He cleared his throat, rising to his feet. “And your meetings?” he asked, still a touch confused.
She shrugged, offering an uneasy smile, “Merely moral support,” she said. “If it’s a good day, all I need do is ask how he’s feeling. If it’s a bad day, I see that he allows himself the chance to say so, and convince him to get some rest. I’ve done my own research, sent word to a few physicians and have looked into medicines I hope will help.”
Arms folded across his chest, he stood in silence and took in her every word. With each one, he hung his head deeper, more and more shameful of the accusations he’d made. Even so, she clarified everything. She wouldn’t allow him to put her in doubt ever again. “The handkerchief you saw him passing back—I gave it to him when he coughed up blood.” He scrunched his eyes shut at the sound of it, grimacing against
the obvious pain knowing all of this caused. “There’s no betrayal—of any sort—here,” she said, softly. “Not from either of us.”
A knock on the throne room doors resounded before they opened. At the sight of Thane entering, Malia turned to face Deros slowly. Her wide-eyed expression concealed from Thane, she shook her head subtly.
Deros saw it, clear as day, and returned a stronger shake of his head with a glassy-eyed stare. “This cannot be done alone,” he said.
Thane came to an abrupt stop at the doors, sensing the tension between them.
Without another word, with Malia having no choice but to concede, Deros marched towards Thane. Heart racing, rushing towards him as he got closer, he threw his arms around him and held him close.
The dread at the thought of having betrayed him had her hesitating to look at him. But he’d look to her for an apology and she would offer one willingly.
Looking back, Thane paid her little mind instead. He wasn’t filled with anger or frustration, no hatred that he eagerly glared her way. He remained still and passive instead, listening attentively to whatever it was that Deros uttered into his ear.
Whatever he said had his fingers scramble across his shoulder blades, gripping the back of his coat as their embrace tightened.
Burying his face in Deros’s shoulder, no longer visible, she knew she’d done the right thing. There’d be no anger or frustration. Whatever happened, Deros understood and Thane was grateful for it.
Chapter 25
ADMIRING MALIA’S AIR OF confidence, Riffin cleared his throat, masked by the sound of the throne room doors opening. He lowered himself into his mother’s throne, filling his lungs with a deep breath as he steeled his nerves. Embodying his mother’s regal posture while looking at ease was as difficult as he remembered, but paramount if he was to get his message across to the nobles that filed into the room.
Loyalists and traitors stood together, those that had betrayed him never separated from the rest. Unlike the last time he had confronted them, Caterina now stood amongst them.
