WITH HIM, A CONFUSED RAGE

I am not a queen because I rule. I rule because I am THE QUEEN.

Birthed in my heart. Alive in my veins…

***************

When Zorgan was a short distance from his palace, he slowed his horse to a trot. His mind wandered, restless and tangled, spiralling from ordinary thoughts into troubling depths.

‘What’s happening to me? Am I going mad?

Could she be a witch? Have I been bewitched?’

Nothing explained the way he felt and there was no logic to it.

‘Why does she haunt my thoughts so? Why …why in all heavens can I not put her away?’

It would be expected to protect her honour, he knew. But this wasn’t an expectation; this wasn’t just for show.

‘I don’t want them speaking of her that way. I don’t want them thinking of her like that.’

He exhaled sharply. ‘Distance. That’s the answer. I must keep my distance- stay far, far away.’

He crossed the final stretch to his home and when he pushed open the heavy doors of the grand hall, the sight that met him had him halting his steps and his facial muscles relaxing.

Nadezhda was on the stairs, fast asleep.

Her chambermaids behind her were slumped in slumber, too. She was curled into herself- knees drawn close, head resting upon them.

‘Was she waiting for me?’ he mused.

‘No… this Rebel would sooner chew stones than await my return.’

Her raven hair spilled down her back, her lips soft in a silent pout. He approached carefully, crouching before her. He took in every detail, his gaze lingering on her sleeping face- the delicate sweep of her lashes, the smooth curve of her face, the calm.

His hand rose, drawn by something he couldn’t name, pining to make the briefest of contacts. But right before the skin of his finger could graze the silkiness of her cheek, he dropped his hand.

He pulled away and straightened.

She stirred before he could rouse her. Her face tensed, then softened as she saw him. Her eyes drifted to the window- dusk had fallen.

She lifted her face to his, the dim light casting a bronze sheen upon her features. ‘‘It’s late,’’ she said softly, though her words bore more weight. Beneath a question lingered, unsaid- ‘Are you well?’

The last time he had left these walls, he had returned bruised and angry and now his eyes held shadows of something sorrowful. It was bleeding on his countenance.

‘It is,’’ he replied, his voice stripped of warmth.

She rose another step upon the stair, placing her gaze level with the breadth of his chest. Their eyes found each other and held, silent and searching. He beheld her like a riddle he couldn’t solve, as though understanding her might grant him an understanding of his own unrest.

“It is nearly past the hour of supper,’’ she offered again, a delicate bridge between words and meaning.

‘‘It is,’’ he repeated, voice flat.

Something unsettled stirred between them, an invisible current shifting. She turned to pass, but his hand shot forward, clasping hers in a quiet command.

Her eyes fell to the point of contact- cool olive skin against sun-bronzed fingers. Before she could speak, his voice emerged, low and edged.

‘‘A wife shouldn’t walk ahead of her husband.

You take too much for granted Nadezhda’’

Then, without waiting, he descended the stairs.

Puzzled, she followed, pausing only to gesture lightly to Dorian, who stood by the doors.

She asked him to rouse her chambermaids and send them to rest. The poor girls had fallen asleep mid-conversation, exhaustion overtaking them after the day’s tasks.

She entered the dining chamber to find Zorgan already seated, his posture rigid, his eyes unfocused.

The kitchen staff had begun laying on the evening’s fare: a feast of wild stag, seared and basted with redroot glaze, accompanied by lavendered bread and dark berry sauce.

As was their custom, she took her place across from him.

Yet something in him had shifted- he ate with a vehemence, each bite torn as though the creature had offended him in life. She watched, disturbed by the intensity with which he devoured the meal, but she held her tongue. The tension settled upon the table like a huge veil.

Her appetite had waned beneath it.

At last, she rose.

‘‘You will remain until your husband has taken his fill,’’ Zorgan said, his voice rough as flint.

She drew herself upright, her gaze narrowing. ‘‘Is this the promised recompense for failing the games? Is this what you meant to grant me?’’

He said nothing, only chewed in the grim silence.

The punishment he had intended for her- he had forgotten it in the chaos of the Stonehall, but his mind still had a firm grip on it.

‘‘No reply?

So be it, may your night and morning be as bitter as your temper, Husband.’’

She swept from the room. But he was rising even as her back turned.

She raced up the stairs, hauling her robe as it trailed behind her like smoke. He followed, taking the stairs two at a time in bounding strides. She reached her chamber door, slipped within, and tried to shut it, but his hand held firm upon the frame.

She braced herself against the door, willing it to shut with her weight.

‘‘You know you cannot stay here,’’ he said, voice lowered.

‘‘You forget I went for a joiner this morning.

Your viper’s tongue ordered your men to restore my chamber anew. It’s in good shape now all thanks to you.

I waited to dine with you. I waited to show you.

But you brought back a rage from the den of wolves and unleashed it here. You do not command me Zorgan. That was never our agreement.’’

He heard her words, but one fragment drowned the others. It echoed louder than the other things she had said.

‘‘You- you were waiting for me?’’ he asked.

She hesitated.

Her fingers smoothed hair behind her ear, her breath catching in her throat.

‘‘Answer me Nadezhda.’’ He pressed.

‘‘It no longer matters. It was in the past.’’

He inhaled- not out of rage, but because his own heart was beating too quickly to allow calm.

“Then just answer this honestly-”

She cut him off with a bitter laugh. ‘‘I may despise you severely, but I have never been dishonest to you.’’

‘May despise?

You loathe me. You tried to drown me. Promised to burn me alive should my skin touch yours. You flinch when I draw near…’ he thought.

Still, his voice was low when he asked again, ‘‘You wanted to show me your room?’’

She swallowed.

‘‘That, I wanted,’’ she admitted at last.

‘‘And dinner? You waited?’’

‘‘That… that I did.’’

With a breath, he pushed the door gently but firmly until he could enter. She stumbled back and he reached for her, gripping the folds of her robe.

She spun, half-tripping, and landed against him. His hand found her waist, steadying her.

‘‘Do you have a desire for death?’’ she hissed, trying to break free.

‘‘Yes. I think I do’’

She glared, her mouth lifting in a bitter sneer. His gaze fell- briefly- to the curve of her lip, then darted back to her eyes with forced control.

‘‘I behaved poorly,’’ he murmured. ‘‘For that, I do apologize. It is for such actions that perhaps makes me harbour a desire for death.’’

She studied him, uncertain whether to strike or step back.

In that breath of stillness, her robe slipped from one shoulder. His gaze moved and her eyes narrowed. She yanked it back into place and shoved him.

This time, he released her.

With her back to him, she fixed her garment and his eyes roved about, quietly taking in the new warmth of her room.