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CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
FOR MY QUEEN
Valdred
She screams. She kicks me. She fucking bites down on my hand, harsh, hard, and all I can think is that she'll be all right. She'll survive this world. She'll survive us. There's fight to her. She would even have made it through the fighting pit of the court of bones, little violent thing that she is.
I know there's no universe where she'll ever trust me. I ruined that, ignoring my instincts and listening to my cock. She is irresistible, and honestly, no one I know would have questioned fucking some useless lord's sex toy. But I should have seen that there was more to her. And I sure as all hells should have anticipated that she was under a spell.
She'd had spunk, sass, an attitude when I first spoke to her. Then Junis took her aside, and she lost her light. I figured nice food, some wine, and a good fuck would cheer her up.
If I'd known then what I know now, I would have gone straight to her master and demanded he release her to my care. I would have offered him whatever he wanted for it. A favor, a life debt, the support he desperately needs to keep his court and his head. And I would have had a queen's trust for my effort.
I didn't fight for her then. I'm fighting for her to stay alive now. But that's another strike against me. Because at the end of this, her parents will be dead and she'll hate me even more.
My arms are bleeding in several places, she’s hit my balls twice, and I almost let go at least a handful of times, but at long last, I'm there, away from the crowd, in front of a small, sealed doorway on the western side of the high keep. It must have been a staff entrance, meant for the maids to go in and out in Morrigan's day. I know there are larger openings—stable gates, large enough for horses and carriages, on the other side, but this will do.
I have to risk letting her mouth go to free my bleeding hand, but we're far enough for her screams not to draw immediate attention.
"Let me go! Let me go, you monster!"
She's erratic, struggling with renewed vigor like her life depends on it. I grab her by the wrist and press her hand against the dark, faded door.
Before our eyes, the wood comes back to life, shifting from a dull, grayish, almost stone-like hue to a vibrant reddish mahogany. The metal hinges forming an elegant design were black and rusted moments ago, but now, they look like solid gold.
Shit.
That's a lot more conspicuous than expected.
She even stops fighting for half a second as she stares at it. "What the?—"
I don't give her time to come to her senses. I open the now unsealed door, and shove her through it, harder than I mean to. I wince as she stumbles, falling to the paved ground of a courtyard no one has walked in for a thousand years.
Darina shifts, and her eyes widen as she takes me in. "You!"
Yes. I fucked this up so badly, on so many fronts.
But she'll survive the day.
I shut the door in her face before she makes it back to her feet, and press my weight against it, when she bangs on it, screaming obscenities, punching it, bruising her feet and shoulders trying to make me budge.
"Let me out! You're a fucking brute! A bastard! I'll never forgive you for this. Let me out!"
In her ire, she doesn't think to try another entrance, thankfully for both of us. I doubt she could work out how to open the main doors, barred by metal gates, but she could have gone for the servant's carriage way on the other side if she knew the place better. Instead, she keeps hitting the door and screaming, tiring herself for what feels like days.
When her hoarse voice fades and the banging stops, I should feel better. But then, what I hear on the other side are heart-wrenching sobs.
"I can't let you go to them, Darina. It's a trap," I tell her. "One you won't survive."
She can barely breathe through the all-out bawling, but she manages, "They're my parents!"
I suppose I don’t truly understand her plight. How could I? I don't have that type of parents. The kind that I'd fight for. If someone was trying to set my father on fire, I'd hand them the matches.
But I understand caring. I understand honor. I've read enough about love to know that it exists, too.
I don't tell her they're mortal and would have died within the next half century in any case, while she'll live for hundreds, thousands of years. I don't tell her the moment she gives herself over to her tormentor, he will kill them anyway.
Instead, I tell her,"You can kill me. When it's over, if it makes you feel better. You can take your revenge on me."
