Page 10 of Queen of War and Ruin

I turn away, feeling almost like I’m watching him undress. It seems horrible that I’m here, the woman he was tied to, the marriage he wants to annul. It’s not fair that he has to drag me through the wreckage of his past. Gods, I told him I could make this journey alone.

But, if I’m being honest, I didn’t want to do this by myself. And, when I turn back to Zarek, I can’t deny that some part of me is ready to sing praises to all the gods that I’m not here alone. A large part of me, actually.

Zarek stands in front of a pile of blackened stone with his arms crossed over his chest. Or, no, it’s not just stone he’s staring at. There’s a bush there too, something ragged and wild. I grab the canvas bag containing today’s lunch and walk toward him, clearing my throat so he’ll know I’m here.

“Hungry?” I ask, holding the bag out to him like a sad little offering.

He smiles, wipes his eyes, and takes the bag. Then he turns back to the bush. It’s a scruffy little thing with small, serrated leaves and wild runners covered with tight little buds that run riot over all the broken stones. I follow one of the runners up a crack in the wall and find a cluster of delicate pink blossoms.

“Oh!” I gasp. “It’s a rose bush.”

Zarek is still smiling, but in a way that makes me think something inside of him is breaking.

“It’s my father’s,” he says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere very far away. “He planted it at the front door. Mother said it was her wedding present.”

My mouth goes dry. I stare at the pile of stones pushed against the castle wall. It’s the same in Vsenrog, isn’t it? Little homes built into the castle’s courtyard, places where the servants live?

“This—” I stammer. “This is where you⁠—”

His expression shifts, and for a moment he looks almost ashamed. Like I’m looking down on him, on the ruins of his childhood home, from my princess tower.

Gods, no, that’s not what I meant at all! I clear my throat, desperate for a way to shift the conversation, and I seize on the first thing that comes to mind.

“What was your name?” I ask.

Zarek turns to me with an eyebrow raised.

“I mean, before you went to Vsenrog,” I stammer. “Surely, they didn’t call you Zarek too. Not if that was the prince’s name.”

He shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair, and then leans down over the sprawling wild rose. He cups a dried rosehip between his fingers. It’s the color of old blood.

“My mother collected these,” he whispers. “She candied them. Used them as decorations for cakes.”

I swallow hard. He’s not going to tell me, of course. Why would he?

“I-I’m so sorry,” I manage to say, although my voice is rough, like I’ve been screaming. “About your parents. Your kingdom.”

The pile of stones shimmers as my vision fills with stupid tears. I wipe my eyes.

“Thank you,” Zarek says.

His voice cracks, and I reach for him without thinking. My fingers brush his arm, but he turns away.

“Come on,” he says, with his back toward me. “Let’s see who’s coming down the road.”

Chapter 6

Zarek

STEAL A WOMAN LIKE THAT

They’re not soldiers, thank the gods.

Not that I was expecting any of the far-flung kingdoms beyond Vederill Pass to come to the aid of Vsenrog, but hells, with the way things have been going, I wouldn’t have been entirely surprised. Malrik seems to have outmaneuvered me in every way, idiot that I am.

I glance at Lilias. She’s watching the motley crowd make their way out of the forest and biting her lip. The rough cloak she’s wearing blends in well with the stones. If we can keep the horses quiet, this group will pass right by the ruins of Dungal without even noticing us.

“Or we could join them,” I whisper.