Page 56 of The Crowned Queen

Araya slid behind the screen, splashing her face with water—still warm—from the basin before raking the brush through her hair and braiding it tightly with quick, practiced motions. Araya sucked in a sharp breath as she let the shift settle against her skin, the rough fabric rasping against the constellation of freshly healed but still-tender cuts Caylin had left scattered across her body the last two times.

She probably wouldn’t get to wear it long anyway. Caylin liked to strip her completely before strapping her to the rack, giving her an expansive canvas to work with.

Jaxon looked up as she stepped back out, his gaze dragging over her braided hair and the simple shift with slow hunger. “You look nice,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Araya stared at him, nonplussed. “What?”

“You don’t have to do this.” He straightened, crossing the tent to stand in front of her. He took her hand, warm fingers tracing over her skin. “We can go back to how things were. When we worked together instead of opposing each other. We made a good team, Starling.”

“We were never a team, Jaxon.” Araya pulled her hand away, putting a much needed step between them.

“We could be,” Jaxon said earnestly. “He’s not coming for you, Starling. He’s in Aetheris, fighting battles that have nothing to do with you. He blocked your connection. Isn’t that supposed to be some sort of terrible insult?”

“He put his people over himself.” Araya swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears that wanted to well up fall. “That’s what a good leader does, Jaxon.”

“And what about you?” He leaned forward, invading her space. “You just languish here, at the mercy of his enemies? I can protect you, Starling. I can stop all of this. All you have to do is choose me.”

Araya could only shake her head. “That’s never going to happen, Jaxon.”

“So that’s it then.” Jaxon stared at her. “You’d rather suffer for him, even though there’s no point? I’m twice the mage he is⁠—”

“He’s my mate.” The words came out sharper than Araya had intended, falling like a blade between them. “I chose him. I love him, Jaxon. And there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

Jaxon’s expression hardened.

“You loved me too, at one point.” His hand snapped out, crushing her wrist in his iron grip before she could put any more space between them. “So I can’t help but think your affections are somewhat changeable.”

He marched her across the camp in silence, guards flanking them on either side. At least with the camp just beginning to wake there weren’t so many soldiers out. The few already awake were more interested in poking cook fires back to life than listening to Jaxon Shaw’s pet fae scream.

A bleary-eyed healer was already waiting in the tent they’d outfitted for this, his foot tapping on the bare dirt floor. There was no furniture besides the long table against one wall and the rack in the center, its dark wood stained with the blood of Gods only knew how many fae that had come before her.

“Strip,” Jaxon ordered.

Araya complied, shivering in the chill of the spring morning. Jaxon looped the shift over his arm, standing back as the healer examined her.

He clicked his tongue as he worked, prodding her bruised flesh and the freshly healed cuts that peppered her arms and chest with clinical efficiency. “You need to lighten up on the blade,” he said.

“Inquisitor Pryce won’t like that,” Jaxon said.

The healer shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me either way,” he said. “But if you continue as you have been, you’ll both end up having to wait days for her to heal naturally. I can only speed healing along if you leave me healthy skin to work with.”

“I’ll tell her,” Jaxon said. “Thank you.”

The healer pressed a fist against his chest, dipping his head before exiting the tent. Caylin ducked through a moment later, her gaze flashing over Araya’s naked body.

“You’re late,” Jaxon snapped at her. “You’re supposed to be here for inspection.”

Caylin waved him off. “I passed the healer on my way in,” she said. “Go ahead and strap her down so we can get started.”

Jaxon didn’t move. “The healer said you need to ease up on the knife work,” he said. “He can’t heal her if you don’t leave him some uninjured skin to work with.”

“Ease up?” Caylin scoffed, turning to the table of glittering blades. “I haven’t even gotten started. Isn’t the point of this to cause as much pain as possible?” She picked up a thin, curved blade, considering it for a moment before setting it back down. “Put her face down if you’re so worried. She has plenty of skin on her back.”

Jaxon glared at Caylin’s back, and for a moment Araya thought he wouldn’t do it. He was angry—hurt. But he’d been against this from the start. No matter how much he hated her, he had to hate watching Caylin carve into her more.

But then his expression shuttered, his gaze turning cold.

Araya flinched as he grabbed her, shoving her hard against the bloodstained wood. She didn’t cry out, but she couldn’t stop the tears that welled up in her eyes, trailing down her cheeks as Jaxon tightened the straps around her wrists with practiced pulls, leather biting into tender flesh.