Chapter 35
Mary’s heels tapped softly against the corridor stone, while her quiet humming moved beneath the flicker of the wall sconces. Her arm remained looped through Veya’s as though they were taking a pleasant garden stroll rather than crossing a house steeped in mourning and preparing for war.
Leena’s door stood ahead of them, tall and fashioned from black wood, with silver etchings inlaid across its surface like frozen breath.
Mary reached for the handle.
“Are you sure?” Veya asked.
Mary turned toward her with the tired, immovable kindness of a woman who had survived centuries of grief without allowing it to make her cruel.
“Leena would not have wanted you wandering the halls in torn clothing like a forgotten servant. She would have made you tea, found you something comfortable to wear, and placed you beside the fire until you stopped trembling.”
Veya looked at the closed door.
“I’m not his.”
“No,” Mary said smoothly. “You are not. You are living with the consequences of something Rhen chose, and that does not make you his.”
The door opened with a long, quiet sigh.
Leena’s scent remained faintly present inside the room, carrying lavender, firewood, old parchment, and the cream she had used upon her skin. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed since her death. Her boots rested beside the hearth, her journals formed a neat stack upon the table, and an unwashed cup remained where she had last left it.
The room contained evidence of a life interrupted rather than a life carefully packed away.
Veya stepped inside slowly.
“Sweet girl,” Mary murmured.
She trailed her fingers over the dressing table.
“Leena kept everything in order, especially when the rest of the house was in chaos. She ruled this place without needing to remind anyone she was queen.”
A fond smile moved briefly across her face.
“The brothers would have burned the roof down without her. Malakai brought her wildflowers whenever he returned from the grounds. Cole sharpened every kitchen knife because she once complained that none of them could cut a tomato.”
Mary’s expression softened further.
“Rhen never allowed anyone else to walk on her left side when she was outside after dark. He claimed he did not trust the shadows there.”
Veya turned toward the narrow panel of stained glass and the muted light passing through it.
“Did she love him?”
Mary considered the question carefully.
“She loved him fiercely, as she loved all of those males. Rhen was family to her, one of the broken creatures she had decided belonged beneath her protection whether he wanted it or not.”
“And he loved her.”
“With every ruined piece of himself.”
Mary’s gaze remained on Leena’s belongings.
“But Sule held her heart, darling. Entirely. Rhen knew that, accepted it, and would have torn out his own throat before betraying either of them.”
Veya absorbed the distinction in silence.
