Page 2 of Queen of War and Ruin

I turn back to the window. Wind ruffles the glassy surface of the lake, breaking the reflection of the mountain peaks into shards of white and gray. I think about Zarek, sitting in the shadows, telling me our marriage could be annulled. And then I remember Blayne and the way his lip curled as he told me he wouldn’t raise the snake’s spawn.

And then something else comes to me, something so bizarre it must have been a dream.

Zarek, sitting next to me in the forest with pine boughs swaying behind him. The sun setting, sending shafts of golden light through the trees, turning every speck of dust into a shining, dancing gem. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted back.

And he was singing.

The fading light played across his face, and the wind tugged at his hair. He looked pale and exhausted; still, he was singing. They sounded like prayers, the soft melodies that spilled from his lips, although they weren’t any prayers I recognized.

I snort, then shake my head against the pillow as the room dissolves in a fresh flood of tears. That much, at least, must have been a dream. I don’t even know if the man I called Zarek is still here, wherever here is.

And, whatever else he might have done to keep me alive while he brought me here, I cannot imagine the snake of Vsenrog praying.

Chapter 2

Zarek

THE PRINCE OF DUNGAL

“Oh, gods help me,” I groan as my traitorous eyes blink open, allowing daylight to cut through my hangover and stab me directly in the skull.

I roll over, then wince as something thuds to the ground. Something hard and hollow. I squint at the floor, confirming my suspicions. It’s a wine bottle. An empty wine bottle.

Well, maybe it’s empty. I’d better make sure.

My head throbs as I roll over and reach for the bottle. I shake it, confirming my worst suspicions. Fucking empty.

With a groan, I lean back against the wall and run my fingers down my side. Someone wrapped me in bandages, an older woman with her hair in a bun, but I can’t remember a name. I was pretty drunk at that point, and she looked like she trusted me about as far as she could kick me. Not that I blame her, of course.

There’s a knock on the door. Before I can say fuck off, it opens, bringing another flood of painful sunlight.

“Morning, sunshine,” a man’s voice says.

I growl. He sets something heavy on the desk by the window, pulls out a chair, and then sits down next to me. The scent of fried meat fills the air, and my stomach makes a very impolite sound. I blink until I recognize the man in front of me.

“Fuck,” I mumble.

It’s the prince, the real prince. The actual Zarek of Dungal, the son of the king and queen. And he just happens to be godsdamned handsome.

“Yeah, nice to see you too,” he replies.

He’s smiling, but in a strange way, like he’s about to deliver bad news. I blink blearily at the desk and see a tray with a plate and a steaming mug. The prince follows my gaze, then hands me the mug.

Great. The true prince, the man who is technically married to Lilias, is thoughtful as well as handsome. How wonderful.

The tea is scalding hot, but I drink it anyway. The burn in my throat is a nice counterpoint to the hangover trying to split my skull and the dull ache from my ribs. Through the rising steam, I watch the man whose life I once stole.

We used to be friends, or at least as close to friends as a prince can be with a commoner. His nursemaid said we were two peas in a pod, although that always seemed vaguely like an insult.

“Agnes,” I say, suddenly, as the name of Zarek’s nursemaid comes back to me. “She’s the one who⁠—”

My voice fades as I wave at my bandaged ribs. I don’t think I recognized her last night, not with her gray hair. And with all the wine I drank, fucking idiot that I am.

“Yeah,” the prince replies, with that strange, tight smile. “She asked me to talk to you.”

I finish the last of my tea, then set the mug back down on the tray. The back of my mouth still tastes like wine and bad decisions, but at least the headache has settled somewhat.

“She said you’re taking it pretty hard,” he continues, looking around the room like he’d rather stare at cobwebs in the corners than meet my gaze. “And, hey, I get it. It’s terrible, losing a pregnancy.”