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Amira lifted an incredulous golden brow. “Really?”
I swallowed and nodded. I knew I looked pale and sickly because Ifeltlike shit. “Bereille is still far better than me with a blade, my queen.” I tried to send her a cocky grin, but I’m sure it came off as more of a grimace.
“Yes, well.” She waved a regal hand. “I require you in the throne room.” Amira held Bereille's gaze, and I saw him tense further. “Huntsman, you come too.”
Shit.This couldn't be good.
Bereille and I exchanged glances as we followed Amira. The look in Bereille’s eyes was to remind me of what he had told me, and I nodded subtly. After a moment, he touched my arm briefly with his fingertips. It was for comfort—something men tended not to do for each other, but I was exponentially grateful to him for it. He had given me his comfort and friendship tenfold tonight, seen me in a weakened state, and had done nothing but lend me reassurance. I had always leaned on Bereille, but I realized tonight how strong his shoulders were for burdens, including my own. It was not something I would soon forget. He had my undying gratitude, and I dipped my chin at him. Bereille closed his eyes with a small smile—sensing all of my appreciation in that keen perception he had.
The queen entered the regal throne room and gracefully stood on the first step of the dais. That she didn’t take her seat showed me she likely would not just be talking to Bereillle, and my heart tripped in my chest. What was going on?
A few more guards filtered in, and I saw Bereille glance around the room with unease, which caused even more fear to course through my veins. If this man was nervous, I had reason to be downright alarmed.
“Your use in Catalan has run out, Bereille.”
“Excuse me, my Queen?”
Amira glanced at her nails, then flicked them. They had grown longer since the last time I’d seen her, more talon-like. I didn’t even want to think what they would feel like raked over my skin. The thought made me nearly piss myself.
“You heard me,” she said with disdain.
“But my brother—"
“Is long dead, and with him any good left in this wretched world. So now it will all fall at my feet. But you…” Her eyes roamed over him.
Bereille was still in prime condition, despite his age. Which, if I had to guess, was only a few years older than the queen—at least what age she should be. Bereille was muscular, fit, and had strong features. His hair was still inky black with no sign of gray. I suppose he was a rather handsome man—not that I’d ever thought about it before.
“Once I had thought perhaps you could be more, but I cannot stomach it.”
I held my breath. What was she insinuating?
Bereille’s voice went very soft as he said, “I had thought that once too, my Queen.”
Her eyes snapped up, and surprise was written across her features for a moment before she reigned in her emotion and set her face back into its usual haughty mask.
“Kneel,” Amira said with strength, but a slight tremor shot through her. If I’d not been right in front of her and not been paying attention, I wouldn’t have seen it. Confliction lined her body.
“My Queen.” Bereille’s eyes widened, and he took a shuddering breath before doing what she commanded.
“You can no longer resist my commands, Knight.”
“I wouldn’t resist anyway, Amira.”
I had never heard anyone use her name, and it shook her. It sent another tremor through her, and I saw remorse in her eyes—a shred of sorrow.
“You can't anymore. Or ever again.”
His eyes cast down. “My Queen…Amira… The contract…”
“The contract is no more.”
His eyes lifted, and a history stretched between them as their eyes held. A history that hadn't taken the path either of them wanted. Perhaps if the queen had allowed her feelings into fruition instead of holding herself back from everyone and everything human, she might have seen something right in front of her. I could see her coming to conclusions, but she pushed through them and masked her features again.
“But that's impossible."
The queen produced a blade from the side of the throne. She twirled the sword in her hands, looking like a capable warrior. I sucked in a breath. She held Bereille’s eyes, then lunged, plunging the blade through his heart.
I stepped forward as if to stop it, to stop her, but Bereille’s eyes flickered to me, and he gave me a slight shake of his head. His soft, knowledgeable brown eyes glazed in pain. I watched in horror as he slumped forward. The evil queen pulled her short sword free of the Knight’s body, and blood-soaked his shirt and vest.
