“I didn’t expect you to gain his trust,” Roiven’s sister continues.
“He doesn’t trust me.”
“Of course he does. He chose to bind himself to you. He’s practically proclaimed to anyone who wants to kill you that you’rehis.”
“Were you planning to assassinate me?” I growl, frustrated by this entire conversation.
“You’re a knight. Somebody was bound to try. But now…”
I make a tight fist as fury pounds through my veins. I canprotect myself. It’s no excuse to have trapped me in a marriage. Aria’s gaze flicks back to the mark on my hand.
It crosses my mind to wonder if the bond marks can be cut off like enchantment ones can. Could I carve Roiven out of my skin? Just the idea makes me dizzy.
“How long did that take you? To do that?”
“I don’t know. And I’m not interested…” I take a step toward the passage. This conversation is over.
But Roiven’s sister moves to block it, her step lithe and warrior-graceful.
“Was it more or less than a day of trying, before the first lines formed?” she asks.
Aday?I don’t think it even took us a quarter hour. I must not understand what she's asking.
“It… just get out of my damned way,” I tell her.
Her eyes are on mine again. I glare at her and wonder if I’m going to need to draw my sword. I somehow don’t think that killing Roiven’s sister is going to win me any favors.
“You can’t be a witch,” she says softly. Her voice is strained. “It’s impossible. You’re a knight. But… your eyes. They’re…”
“Get out of my way.Now. I’m not going to ask again.”
My hand goes back to my sword hilt. Aria doesn’t look annoyed at that. There’s a thoughtful look on her face, and she’s staring at me like she can see straight through me. But she takes a step to the side, opening my path back to the corridor. Without a word I stride back into the Tower, still gripping my sword’s hilt. So much for finding a peaceful place to sort through the mess in my head.
If Roiven’s been talking about me behind my back to these people, why did he keep who I am a secret from them? I refuse to be curious. I refuse to be anything but angry.
A boy stands inside, his hands tucked in his pockets, looking lost in thought. The moment my gaze snaps to him he straightens and pulls his hands loose. He’s dressed in crisp linens, not awarrior’s armor. The witch’s dark, curly hair hangs to his shoulders, and his face is youthful, near adulthood but just shy of it.
“Miss?” he says.
“What?” I growl. I don’t let go of my sword, and I don’t mind if he notices. These peopleshouldbe scared. I’m not here to be their toy.
“Ah…” I see him gulp, his throat bobbing. “The King asked me to find you and show you to your room? He thought you might want a, a, refreshment and a change of clothes?”
I glare at the boy until he ducks his gaze away from me.
“And this room. Is ithisroom?” Distantly, I can tell that I’m acting like an asshole to somebody who I’ve never even met before, but I can’t bring myself to care. Any good-will I had toward this place, any understanding I had for these people, is gone. Roiven ruined that, and I want him to know it. I hope the boy goes straight back to the royal asshole and tells Roiven how furious I am.
“N… no,” the boy says. I can see how wide his eyes are even though he isn’t looking at me. “He thought you might prefer… your own…” he gulps again.
For one horrible moment I am reminded of the peasant sailors who toiled on Rampage under my command. For a moment I remember when my words had the power to change someone's day, and I am ashamed I've used that power cruelly.
I grit my teeth, then slowly let go of the sword handle.
“Good,” I say, but I can’t smooth the growl entirely from my voice. “Then please lead me there immediately. And forgive my anger. It was meant for his ears, not yours.”
32
The chamber the boy leads me to is fit for a queen.
