Page 230 of The Crown's Awakening
Jularin stepped forward, then dropped to her knees, her composure finally cracking. “I am desperate.”
The Queen Dowager lowered the fan slightly, one brow lifting.
“I see.” The theatrics were beginning to bore her.
She drew in a breath, gathering what remained of her control. “Majesty, I am now aware that there is new danger of great concern, and I am here to beg that you?—”
“Persavel, bring me some root tonic. I’m parched,” the Queen interrupted.
A servant rushed in with a goblet and handed it to her with a bow.
“Refreshment?” The Queen asked politely.
“No, thank you, Majesty,” Jularin answered patiently.
The Queen drank deeply. “Continue,” she said with a wave of her hand. She set the goblet beside her and picked up her fan.
Jularin drew in a deep breath. “As a mother, you should understand what I am about to say?—”
“Ah,” the Queen said softly. “You are a mother, aren’t you? How easy that is to forget.”
The sound cut through the room before she could finish.
Crack.
Jularin collapsed where she knelt, her body striking the floor with a dull, final weight.
No one moves.
Then the Queen exhaled softly, lowering the fan. “You are so crude,” she said, her voice carrying mild irritation. “She was just about to get to the interesting part.”
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Prince Tamal of Yorali.
He smiled as he looked down at the body, as though the moment had unfolded exactly as expected. “My mother served her purpose,” he said lightly. “The death I gifted was kinder than what my father or sister would have given.”
He reached down without hurry, removing the pin from her hair with a practiced ease, as though it had always been intended. The strands fall loose around her face as he straightens.
“Majesty,” he said, dipping into a shallow bow as he offers it forward.
He lifted his gaze to the throne, that same easy smile still in place. Then he reached over to the table beside her and took a sip from the goblet. “I happen to love root tonic,” he said smoothly. “The bitter undertone…”
“It has a tartness that is…colorful,” the Queen finished for him.
He took another small sip, then set it down. “Indeed.”
“Now,” he said, “shall we begin with the gate… or your son?”
CHAPTER 67
The Queen’s Essence
Iwake before the light fully reaches the room and remain where I am, aware of the warmth beneath me, the steady rise and fall of Colsar’s chest, the way my body feels different now, heavier in places, sore in others. The ache lingers, drawing a small shift from me, not uncomfortable, but unmistakable.
It has been too long.
I ease myself up carefully, mindful of him, though I should know better by now than to think he will not notice. The instinct to go to the pools comes automatically. Then I pause. My wound is healed. There is no reason for it anymore. And yet the thought lingers, the pull of the water, the quiet of it, the way it always calms me.
