Queen & Commander (Book One of the Hive Queen Saga)

Chapter Twenty-Three: With My Body

Victor had spent five days curled up in the warm red shadows of his cell, shared with Gwyn and Gavin. Often Gwyn rested her head against his shoulder, thigh, or stomach while Gavin kept to his own side of the large room. Four times a day, someone dropped three food trays into the comfortable cage. Other than that, their captors let them alone. The food-giver, a man with grey plaited hair, called them things like harmless and spare and not worth watching over.

Victor wondered how the others were doing, if they were even together or rent asunder yet again. Did they merit a guard? Possibly. The Queen-Commander, pilot, and resident genius had so much more to offer than he did. So much more to hurt them for.

At some point, he knew, their captors would give up on this gentle treatment. Wasn’t it an evil-doer’s requirement to harm innocent victims? Still, for now all was right. He had his health and his love. He had his best friend. His freedom could wait.

He had nothing to do but cuddle in the dark nest he’d made, cocooned in silken privacy panels. He’d refused Gavin’s attempts to continue his quarterstaff training with poles they’d found. What was the point?

Gwyn sighed against his neck. He felt her melancholy all along his side where she pressed against him. “I always thought we’d have more time. Maybe kids and a farm.”

He wished he could give her those things. “All I have is this velvet captivity, but I’m glad to share it with you.”

They wallowed in woe together, content as sheep in a small field. Daringly, her hand snuck under his tunic to lay flat against his stomach. Just resting there. Warm connection and unspoken promise of further touches in some alternate future. The touching could go no further, of course. Not with Gavin in the room.

Gwyn said in a soft voice, “We could have some goats and cows, running around over wide open acres.”

Victor played along, adding to her dream. “They’d all line up to be milked at ten of the morning. We’d have two barn cats named Cat-Gwyn and Gwyneth.”

She kneaded her nails into him, imitating the imaginary cats. “Would you call me Lois?”

That surprised him, but not enough to make him move from his comfortable place in order to look at her. Her parents had given her one name, but—

“But I’ve always called you Gwyn.”

She sighed again, air puffing against his Adam’s apple. “It’s not my name. Not really.” She’d gone by Gwyn for longer than Victor had known her. Every year on the first day of school, all the teachers called Lois and got corrected. Corrected by her, by him, by someone else. “Rhi nicknamed me for my white hair. I think we were ten.”

And wasn’t that statement an open emotional well? The gods all hate me, don’t you? “Don’t you like it?”

He hoped that was the right sort of answer. He’d known something was going on between Gwyn—Lois?—and her best friend, but he tried not to think about their potential troubles. He tried not to think about his girlfriend and his Queen in the same sentence at all.

He wanted to keep them separate in his mind. Wanted to compartmentalize his lover’s love far away from his Hive life. Not like his father. His father who abandoned his non-Hive family whenever his Queen or his Hive mates called.

Gods. Victor didn’t even have a true Hive life to call him away. He’d never even said the words. Never pledged his Devotion.

Gwyn wrenched herself out of his arms, but stayed close enough that he could smell the starchy morning gruel on her breath. Her intense eyes turned almost green. “It’s not my name.”