I Threw the King Over My Shoulder

My new chambers were smaller than the ones Marina had taken.

Quieter too.

That suited me.

I slept almost immediately.

The journey had taken more from me than I wanted to admit.

When I woke, two days had passed.

Or so I later learned.

At the time, all I knew was this:

Someone was beside my bed.

My body moved before thought.

In the desert, a sleeping woman who hesitated died.

I grabbed the intruder’s wrist, twisted, and threw him over my shoulder.

A heavy body hit the floor.

A muffled groan followed.

Outside, a guard called, “Your Majesty? Is something wrong?”

I froze.

Your Majesty.

Oh.

I looked down.

King Adrian of Valoria lay on my floor, one hand pressed to his lower back, face pale with pain and shock.

I knelt at once.

“Your Majesty, forgive me. I deserve death.”

His pride seemed more injured than his body.

“No,” he said stiffly, pushing himself up. “No harm done.”

I kept my head low.

“I have lived too long among rough men and border thieves. I woke and thought Your Majesty was—”

I stopped delicately.

“Was what?”

“Someone unclean.”

A faint expression crossed his face.

Embarrassment?

Guilt?

Good.

Let it sting.

He helped me up himself.

“When I heard you had slept for two days, I came to see whether you were ill.”

“I only slept because I have not rested safely in a long time.”

A perfect answer.

Pitiful enough to soften him.

Untrue enough to amuse me.

His eyes filled with something almost like regret.

“I know I was harsh then,” he said. “From now on, remain in the palace and recover properly. Do not trouble Marina anymore.”

There it was.

The old wound.

No matter what he regretted, her name still came first.

I lowered my eyes.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

He looked relieved.

Men like Adrian adored obedience after damage.

It let them call themselves merciful.

He ordered dinner sent to my chamber and insisted on eating with me.

He placed meat into my bowl.

“Eat more. The desert must have had little meat.”

I smiled.

“In the desert, there was only flatbread.”

Flatbread, roasted lamb, wild beef, dates soaked in honey, mare’s milk warmed with spice.

Azar had fed me better in a tent than Adrian ever had in a palace.

But Adrian believed hardship made me more forgivable.

So I let him.

After dinner, he said he would assign maids to me.

“I am unused to being served,” I said.

“You were raised by my mother. You should not be alone.”

Mother.

The word struck softer places than I wished.

Then I saw her.

Among the lowered heads of palace maids stood Maya.

Dark eyes.

Still hands.

A desert dagger hidden in the way she balanced.

Azar’s woman.

My heart leaped.

I pointed lazily.

“That one.”

Adrian glanced at her.

“Only one?”

“For now. I need to adjust.”

He nodded.

Before leaving, he told Maya, “Serve Princess Selene well.”

She bowed.

The moment the doors shut and Adrian’s footsteps faded, Maya dropped to one knee.

“My queen.”

I rushed forward and pulled her up.

“Don’t call me that here.”

She grinned.

“Forgive me. Habit.”

“What are you doing here?”

“His Majesty sent me.” She took a folded letter from inside her sleeve. “And this.”

My hands trembled despite myself.

Azar’s seal.

I turned away before opening it, because Maya was absolutely the sort to laugh at my face.

The paper unfolded.

Inside were only two words.

Wait for me.

I stared.

Two words?

He sent a trained guard into the royal palace for two words?

He could have had Maya say them.

I held the paper against the candlelight, looking for hidden ink.

Nothing.

Still two words.

Behind me, Maya made a suspicious choking sound.

I folded the letter carefully.

Pressed it once to my lips.

Then burned it.

Evidence had no place in a palace.

As the paper turned to ash, my chest warmed.

For the first time since returning to Valoria, I slept without dreaming of locked gates.