A Vow So Bold and Deadly (Cursebreakers, #3)(27)

The girl shrieks and drops a plate. Bits of food scatter across the floor. She blanches, dropping to her knees, stammering an apology.

Grey and Aria exchange a glance, and then his eyes shift to me.

“It is fine,” I say in Syssalah. “I’m fine. It was—a misunderstanding.”

The girl is gasping, almost crying. “Forgive me, Your Majesty—forgive me—”

“It’s all right.” I’m gasping a bit myself. “Rise. Please.”

The tavern owner rushes over, an older woman with a mass of curly gray hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head. She grabs hold of the trembling girl’s arm, dragging her upright. “Forgive us, Your Majesty. I will see that she is punished.” Then, without hesitation, she draws back a hand as if she’s going to slap the girl across the face right there in front of me.

“No!” Furniture scrapes as I find my feet. I catch the woman’s wrist. It was a strong swing, and I only dull the blow.

But the woman stumbles back. “I—Your Majesty—forgive me. I thought—I thought …” She looks appalled. The girl’s breath is hitching in her chest as she looks from me to the tavern owner, her expression stunned.

They likely thought I would have appreciated the abuse—or that I would have taken any disappointment out on her.

My mother surely would have.

“I know what you thought,” I say. “But I do not revel in punishment. The girl did nothing wrong.” I straighten and look at Aria and Grey. “Put up your weapons. No one meant any harm here.”

They do. The girl curtsies and ducks to pick up the fallen platter. She’s whispering apologies again, and her hands are trembling. The tavern owner is wringing her hands, uncertain.

I look at her. “Prince Grey spoke highly of your tavern, and I am pleased to discover that the food has been excellent. Your girl has been dutiful. We are grateful to you both. I will be sure to tell my Royal Houses to dine here as well.”

The woman gasps. “Your Majesty.”

My heart is beating at a rapid clip in my chest. “We would like to finish our meal, if you please.”

“Yes.” She curtsies. “Yes, of course. I will send another bottle of our finest wine.”

She retreats. We sit. My cheeks feel hot, and I’m not sure I can meet Grey’s eyes. I’m embarrassed that I caused a scene.

But then he leans in. “As I said,” he murmurs, and there’s pride in his voice. “You are stronger than your fear.”

That makes me look up. I just flinched at … at nothing. I almost caused a girl to get slapped across the face—and maybe worse. “I don’t feel very strong.”

He looks pointedly at the serving girl, who is now on the opposite side of the tavern, speaking with two others. They glance in our direction a few times.

“They seem to think you are,” says Grey.

I blush. “I am glad you brought me here.”

“As am I.” He reaches out a hand to brush his fingertips along my jaw, and I go still. Much like the moments when I’m gentle with him, his softness takes me by surprise, especially since he was just on his feet with a weapon in his hand. It’s a side of himself he so rarely shows, especially in public.

He draws back and sighs. “Though I cannot be off the training fields all day.” He hesitates, his eyes holding mine. “Perhaps your soldiers should see their queen.”

“I’m glad you’re my ally now,” I say. His eyebrows lift, and I blush, because it sounds so sterile out loud. “I wouldn’t want to face you on a battlefield.”

“I wouldn’t want to face you on a battlefield either.”

“Liar,” I say, and I’m teasing, yet also serious. “I could never defeat you in battle.”

“On the contrary.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips. “You know all the ways to make me yield.”





CHAPTER TWELVE

GREY

I’ve spent what feels like a hundred lifetimes being a guardsman, but I’ve never truly been a soldier. Even still, I know how to fight, how to train as part of a unit. I know what it looks like when soldiers are committed to a cause, unified in their desire to support their leaders.

I know what it looks like when they’re not.

Under Karis Luran, the soldiers and guards were fiercely united. There was a sense of honor to serve their queen—but also swift and brutal punishment for those who failed to perform. I remember standing on this same field with Karis Luran at my side, watching a commanding officer put a dagger through the hand of a man who was repeatedly too slow during an exercise. She’d nodded her approval.

Lia Mara would never have stood for such a punishment.

These soldiers expected Nolla Verin to take the throne, a girl who, at sixteen, was every bit as vicious and calculating as her mother. But by law, Lia Mara is queen, and soldiers who’ve been trained to be as merciless as possible seem to be faltering when confronted by a leader who eschews brutality.

I’m not sure if I expected the soldiers to be better or worse in Lia Mara’s presence, but they’re the same—which says enough. They’re never truly insubordinate, but they’re a second slower to follow orders than they should be. They hold my eyes a moment longer than necessary. They mutter and shift and exchange glances when they think I’m not paying attention.