North Queen (Crowns Book 1), page 30
“So this is why they call you the Bear,” she whispered, touching the crown head of the beast on his shoulder.
His voice came in barely a breath. “I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”
Her lip trembled, and he stepped closer. She couldn’t stop herself—she swept forward and threw her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly. Tears fell as she breathed him in. If this was the last she’d see of him, she wanted to remember everything about him—how he felt, how he smelled. She only wished she could kiss him. She wished she could tell him she loved him. But that wouldn’t help either of them now. Especially not with the commander so near.
The commander.
Remembering his presence, she pulled back, wiping her cheeks and inhaling deeply. “I’m going back today,” she told Alexander.
His breath quickened, and he shook his head. “No, stay. You said you would stay until tomorrow.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and held the letter out to him. “For my grandmother.”
He reached out and took the letter. “Norah, you can’t.”
“Will you tell her I’m well?”
Alexander reached up and gently brushed the bruise that still marred her cheek. His eyes were thick with emotion. She’d forgotten about her face. It had healed mostly, but there was still evidence of a fight. How difficult it must be for him to see her this way.
“What have they done to you?” he breathed. His gaze shifted back to the commander.
“This isn’t their doing.”
“All of this is their doing.” He shook his head and dropped his voice. “Norah. You can’t do this. You can’t go.” His words broke. “I can’t let you go this time.”
“Don’t you see? It’s the only way.”
“What about Aleon?”
“If I wed Phillip, there will still be war,” she argued. “Yes, Aleon gives us the means to fight, but we still have to. You saw the vision. With Phillip by my side, this war carries on. Thousands will die.”
His brow dipped. “You think Phillip won’t bring a war if you marry the Shadow King?”
“With what? He can’t fight Japheth and the Shadowlands and Mercia. He won’t be happy, but there’s nothing he can do. Alexander, an alliance with the Shadowlands is the only alliance that can bring peace.”
“Norah, please,” he begged.
Norah put her hand on his cheek and shook her head softly. “It’s too late,” she whispered through her own tears. “I made a promise, and I can’t break it now. Look around us. These men, they’ll all die. You’ll die. I have to do what’s best for Mercia.” And what was best for him.
“This isn’t it,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t marry him.”
Norah’s heart broke. “I’m sorry.”
She stood up on her toes and brought her lips to his cheek, kissing him a longing goodbye. Then she pulled away and stepped out of the tent and into the winter.
Chapter thirty-six
Norah and the commander rode in silence back up the pass to the Shadow army camp where the king met them with surprise. Mikael called out in the Shadow tongue and the commander responded in kind.
The king reached out to help her as she slid down from the mare. She could tell he was at a loss for words over their early return. “You said you would send more provisions,” she reminded him, forcing her voice steady.
“That I will,” he assured her.
She gave a small nod and walked past him, toward the large tent. She was starting to fall apart and needed a place to be alone. The king let her go. Tears streamed down her face by the time she ducked inside, and she fell onto the bed and wept.
It was daylight when she woke to the sound of the king’s voice outside the tent. She wiped her eyes and sat up, surprised she had fallen asleep, and even more surprised it was morning. A thick fur had been draped over her. She heard the king enter and looked up to see him holding a bowl of steaming soup and a wineskin.
He held the bowl out for her. Norah took it and drank down the savory broth. Her stomach grumbled. She’d eaten nothing the day prior, and she was famished. She finished the bowl quickly.
He held out his hand for the bowl, and she slowly gave it back to him.
“Do you want another?” he asked.
Yes. “No.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. He moved to the flap of the tent and extended the bowl to a soldier outside. “Another,” he said.
He held out the wineskin, and she took it, eyeing him.
“Why did you return?” he asked.
She took a drink of the wine. A deep one. It was good, and she hated it. “Because I said I would. Did you not expect me to?”
He didn’t answer.
The realization came to her. “That’s why you sent the commander with me, wasn’t it? To kill me if I tried to leave?”
“He was to kill the Bear.”
Her heart quickened. “We agreed—”
“It was only if you would have broken our agreement,” he interrupted her.
Anger pulsed inside her. “But I didn’t.”
“And the Bear is still alive.”
“Stop calling him that,” she snapped. “He’s my lord justice.”
She pushed a breath out to slow her heart. The name didn’t even bother her. She just needed to be angry at something—at him. She needed the anger. It was the only thing holding her together. A soldier returned with another bowl of soup, and Mikael held it out to her.
Her eyes welled, and she took it.
“Do you want some bread?” he asked.
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she shook her head.
He gave a gentle smile and sat down beside her. Then he held out a bread roll.
Another tear fell as she took it, but there was a warmth about him that surprised her, and settled her.
He sat in silence with her as she ate the bread and drained the second helping of soup. She could have downed a third, but she didn’t dare say it. When she’d finished, he said, “My kingdom has good food.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “That’s important to you, yes?”
She wiped her lips and held her empty bowl. “What?”
He shrugged. “You eat a lot.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugged again. “That you eat a lot.”
She stared at him. Was that a bad thing? She ate like a perfectly normal person. Yes, Alexander may have occasionally teased her…
She jerked. Alexander. They’d be heading back to Mercia. She set the bowl down. “Have they departed?”
“They’re preparing now. Go to the cliff. You’ll see them.”
Norah rose quickly from the bed. As she pulled on her cloak, the fastening caught in her hair. She tried to pull it free, but it held in the braid. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she fumbled with it in front of him. He rose and stepped forward, stopping her. Gently, he untangled the locks from the clasp and straightened the cloak over her shoulders.
She wavered for a moment. “Thank you,” she breathed. Their gazes caught each other, and they stilled. The darks of his eyes held her, quieted her.
Alexander, she remembered.
She peeled herself away, and then she ducked out of the tent, hurrying toward the cliff and freeing her tresses from the disheveled braid as she went. She reached the edge, out of breath. The wind blew her hair wildly around her as she looked down at her army. She saw the horses and the wagons of food the Shadow army had delivered.
And she saw Alexander.
He was already mounted on his horse, conferring with his soldiers. One pointed up at her and he spun to see her.
The army started their march. The cold of the wind burned her skin, but she stayed and watched them leave. Alexander waited for the last soldier to depart, still looking up at her. He raised his sword to her—a silent vow. With a last longing look, he turned to join the army back to Mercia.
Norah made her way to her tent. She expected another rush of emotion to come. But it didn’t. Perhaps the weight of everything had taken all the emotion. Maybe she had nothing left. She reached the tent where the king still waited inside.
“We’ll depart shortly,” he told her.
“I’d like to change, if that’s all right.” Tahla had given her a leather-and-linen layered dress to meet her army, and like Mercian dresses, it wasn’t made with comfort in mind. She’d rather wear the riding dress for the journey to the Shadowlands.
“Of course,” he said with a small nod, and stepped out to tend his army.
She stripped off the heavy dress and stood for a moment, naked, letting the chill of the air clear her mind and quiet her soul. Then she put on her breeches and boots and pulled the riding dress over her head. She cursed under her breath as she found she could only tie it loosely behind. Why must all dresses have fastenings in the back? She reached behind awkwardly, trying to pull the leather lacing tighter, tempted to don the weapon boy’s clothing once more instead.
Mikael entered, startling her, and she quickly turned her back to him, flushing.
“I’m sorry. I thought I’d allowed enough time,” he said.
Norah turned her head, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She paused for a moment, gathering her courage, then asked, “Can you help me?”
He stepped toward her slowly.
She reached up and pulled her hair away, waiting.
“Would you like it tighter?” he asked.
“Please.”
He pulled the hastily tied bow undone and paused, letting his fingers skim the skin between the edging. Her skin prickled.
“I want to see you,” he said, his voice low and thick. “Would that imperil your honor?”
She looked back over her shoulder. His brazenness astonished her. “No, but it doesn’t mean I’ll let you.”
He chuckled and fixed the lacing tighter. Then he stepped closer, and she felt his breath in her ear. “Are you unmoved by a man’s suffering? You’d make a decent torturer.”
A flush crept up her skin. She knew it was a jest, but there was an underlying message of desire. What bothered her more was that she liked it. She turned around, eyeing him boldly. “You’d make a decent lady-in-waiting,” she said, then ducked out of the tent to prepare for their departure.
The Shadowlands were well suited to their name. They rode between the canyon cliffs that towered over them and held back the light—they were dark and foreboding, like the men they homed. It took a full day to reach the end of the labyrinth, where the trail opened and the rocky darkness fell away to reveal the beauty of terraced mountains, even in their winter slumber.
Norah’s eyes widened. It was like stepping into another world.
Mikael nodded out over the terraces. “In the spring and summer, this will all be lush and green. It will be beautiful.”
“It’s already beautiful,” she said. She hadn’t imagined a place of such dark renown could be so lovely. She noticed the paddy fields. “The Shadowlands grow rice? Is that your trade?”
“Our main one, yes.”
“Is that what you trade with the Horsemen?” That must be how he’d become so close to the tribes.
“It’s what we trade through the Horsemen, with everyone,” he told her. “Including the North.”
Norah’s brows creased. “Mercia doesn’t get their rice from the Shadowlands.”
He chuckled. “The whole world gets their rice from us. They just don’t know it.”
Norah shook her head, amazed. “The Horsemen take it to market for you?” she asked. She thought longer. “Do you feed them as well? Is that what Tahla meant when she said Abilash dare not defy you, unless they want to starve?”
He didn’t answer, but his smirk told her it was.
“Do you control all the Horsemen tribes?” she asked, her curiosity growing.
“Most. Not all.”
She thought about their departure from King Abilash and what Tahla had told her. “Do you think there will be consequences with Abilash now?”
“If so, I’ll deal with them, but they’re of no matter.” He looked at her. “I have what I want.”
A wave rolled through her stomach, stirring feelings that confused her. Despite their history and start, he had been kind to her, protected her, this Shadow King with his destroyer of men. “Tahla told me what happened at Choan, how you saved the Uru.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. “You believe her?”
“I have no reason not to.”
He pulled up his horse and looked at her with a steely gaze. “Don’t.”
Her brow creased in confusion. “Don’t believe her?”
“Don’t mistake me for a good man, North Queen,” he warned. “You’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Norah’s chest tightened, surprised at his sharpness, and they continued on in silence. The terraced mountains gave way again to the black rock of the Shadowlands. Her pulse quickened as an enormous castle loomed in the distance against the skyline. It was like nothing she’d ever seen. “Even your castle is black,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“It’s made from the black mortite under our earth,” he told her. “It’s also why the canyons are so dark. It would have been a greater feat to build a castle any color other than black.”
As they neared the castle, it was even larger than she’d originally thought, larger than Mercia’s castle and with an even larger city sprawling out from its walls. The gates, adorned with gold scripts, were as ornate as they were strong, and she marveled at them as they passed through. The expansive courtyard was packed with people craning to see the king and the strange woman he’d brought back with him. They brought their horses to a stop, and Mikael dismounted.
She slid off her mare, and murmurs rumbled through the crowds as they recognized her. She immediately became self-conscious remembering the beating to her face and pulled the hood of her cloak over her. The throngs of people parted as Mikael led the way, and they cheered their king as he passed.
They reached the polished stairs and intricately sculpted doors, and Mikael led the procession inside. As the great doors closed behind him, he turned and called back to her, “Come.”
Then he and the commander started through the castle. Did he think she was a dog? Norah rolled her eyes but reluctantly followed. They turned down a large hall, larger than the great hall in Mercia but just as beautiful. Dark, polished tile patterned the floor and sprang up the walls to the arched ceilings overhead. Symmetrical geometries created intricate designs, weaving complex patterns that drew the eye to every corner of the room.
At the end of the hall, a woman stood, regal and majestic. Silver kissed the long hair that had once been a brilliant black. She looked at Mikael with warmth and affection as he walked toward her.
“Mother,” he greeted her, kissing her cheek and bringing her hands to his lips.
Norah immediately felt a wave of anxiousness in anticipation of being presented to the king’s mother. It would have been nice to have cleaned up first.
The woman’s brow dipped as she grazed his beard with her fingertips. “What happened to your face, and your hand?” she asked as she reached out and touched his arm in horror. She turned to the commander with a scowl, clearly annoyed at his poor keeping of the king, but her eyes widened in seeing his wounds and accompanying limp. “From the Northmen?” she asked.
“Not the Northmen,” Mikael said, stepping back and turning to Norah. “The North Queen.”
It was not the introduction Norah had been hoping for.
The king’s mother looked at her incredulously, her eyes darting from Norah to the lord commander and then back to Mikael again. She drew closer and looked over Norah in astonishment.
“Your Majesty,” she said to Norah, with a cold steel in her voice. While her eyes were rimmed in loathing, she held her etiquette, much as Norah expected Catherine might do. The woman looked at her son, searching for direction, but he gave none.
Apparently, Norah’s arrival was as unexpected to his mother as it was to her.
The king’s mother turned back to Norah. “We’ll see you comfortable during your stay here,” she said stiffly. “I’ll take you to your chamber.” She looked back at Mikael with displeasure and then turned toward a side hall. “Come,” she called to Norah.
Norah pursed her lips. She was beginning to see the resemblance.
The woman led her down the hall to a large staircase. At the top of the stairs and at the end of another hall, they came to an open chamber.
“You’re surprised I’m here,” Norah said, breaking the silence.
“I’m surprised you’re alive,” the king’s mother said bluntly. “And yes, that you’re here.” The woman turned and looked at Norah more closely, disappointment brimming in her eyes. “But I am sorry for your condition. It doesn’t please me you’ve been handled in this manner. It’s not right for a queen.”
Norah realized she was referring to the bruising and cut on her face. “This wasn’t your son’s fault.” The woman seemed as surprised at Norah’s defense of him as she was herself. “I mean, most things are,” she added, “but not my appearance.”
The king’s mother was quiet. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Maids filled a tub with steaming water and draped a linen gown over a side chair.
“We’ll find you an appropriate gown for the evening,” the woman said stiffly. She gave Norah a small nod. “Your Majesty,” she said, and left her to the bath.
Norah waited as they all made their way out and closed the doors behind them. She looked around the room. It was ornately decorated with dark, heavy furnishings and tapestries of black and gold. The windows in the room were tall tri-sets of thin glass panels, separated by iron staves like a beautiful cage. Even if she was no longer a prisoner, she still felt like one.
