My Beloved Queen

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

xxv. the queen and the king

husband
// he is of unworked stone—harsh and unfeeling. lacking heart; lacking warmth. but in his eyes there lies a cold, determined light: desire, but for what she does not know.

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King Orelus was already seated at the dinner table when you arrived. The smell of dinner pooled in the room, and upon the king's plate sat a half-eaten meal, but at the sound of your advent, he briefly took pause. He did not turn his head, nor make any attempt to break the silence that pressed prickling and firm upon your mask and flesh, but for a moment, he paused, and it was in that brief span that the silence turned sharp and hot.

The tip of a knife was perched at your neck, but the sight of the temple was fresh in your mind, and you could still feel Edite's gaze, her careful eyes, watching the space just behind your head. Wisdom, just a crumb or two, enough to tide you over until tomorrow's dinner.

She would give it; she'd never let you starve.

You swallowed a cold breath of air, and then, with careful, lithe feet, you crossed the room and settled in the chair across from the king. You could not feel his eyes, but you knew he was listening, was offering your motions a pinch of his attention.

The dining table chairs were fashioned for comfort, but the air was made of nettles and thorns, and unease ran its cold, spindly fingers along the ridge of your spine. Glass was settling in the silence, creeping like the night—dusk, now falling, now setting the sky ablaze. The heat was lapping at the back of your skull, growling a warning that echoed low and severe in the hollows of your inner ear, but a sour taste was already pooling your mouth, and a frown attempted to press itself into the lips of your mask.

The king had begun dinner without you, but you hadn't been so late as to give him reason to do so. Perhaps if you were a guest less familiar to the heart, or a stranger by some other means, but you were the queen—you were his wife.

Were tyrants truly so deprived of common decency?

You straightened yourself, and despite the bitterness staining the flesh of your tongue, you managed still to keep your tone smooth and sweet. "My deepest apologies for being so late," you started carefully, "I lost track of the time."

Briefly, King Orelus paused once more at the sound of your voice, and slowly, his gaze rose to meet yours. His dark eyes were firm but not sharp, and without speaking, he inclined his head and lowered his stare.

The tip of the knife retreated, and a steady, slow breath escaped your lungs. Thoughts pressed adamantly at the back of your skull, but you allowed silence to fall once more. Your plate was filled, and quietly, you ate. Quietly, you waited, and the thoughts arranged themselves into neat little plans. A moment passed, and King Orelus did not move to break the silence. He continued on placidly, as quiet and collected as he must've been before you'd arrived, and in the calm, you spoke.

"Does my lord know how many years has the augur?" you asked. Your tone was quiet, and the words that curled off your tongue did so warily.

The king paused, and this time, his stare rose promptly. "Sixteen," he replied, his voice low. A frown sat upon his lips, but though he watched you now with care, his stare didn't narrow.

"Sixteen?" you echoed. Your eyes widened, and surprise warmed your cheeks, but the confirmation settled uncomfortably upon your chest. He was Dadya's age? "How young." You tried then for a smile, small and soft, and the mask bent willingly. "The gods surely blessed him; he's surpassed his master at such a young age."