Page 29 of The Dead Queen

The knights shift, uneasy. My father never gives up so easily. We listen to his footsteps as they walk down the hallway. Moments later, he returns with a blade in hand.

“Strip his shirt.”

Hunter reaches forward, ripping the stained, thin shirt. In a moment of shock, I realize it’s still the one from his wolf costume. The black silk hangs in tatters, and its crusted with mud and dried blood.

My father takes a step back when he sees the Wolf’s chest. The starburst scar from his arrow wound is on full display. Father’s eyes narrow, then dart toward me with suspicion. I feign surprise as best I can.

“Who else was in here?” Father yells.

The guards’ faces pale. “No one, Your Highness!” Of course, they would never suspect a scullery maid to be a ‘someone.’

“Well, he didn’t heal himself, did he?”

Father lurches toward me, his face purple with fury. “What did you do?” he growls.

The foxhounds yip around us, attuned to his moods.

I shake my head. “N—nothing!”

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asks lowly, almost a whisper in my ear.

“I don’t⁠—”

“That man was at death’s door only hours ago.” He points toward the Wolf. “And now he’s completely healed.” Father brings his head closer to my ear. “You and I both know, not just anyone could have brought a dying man back from the dead.”

I keep my face neutral, but my growing fury shows up in other ways. Sweat prickles at my temple and my hands tremble.

Suddenly, I’m a child again, standing in front of Father’s fox hearth as the flickering flames cast sinister shadows on the walls. He’s just told me that Grandmother is dead, torn apart by a pack of corpse wolves at the border. I’m shaking and I’ve wet my skirts. He calls her death “unfortunate” and chalks it up to a “tragedy.” Yet another death to blame on the Dead Queen of Annwyn.

Someone less familiar with him might believe his act of grief, but I notice how the corners of his mouth turn upward slightly. He’s delighted though he tries to hide it. My terror transforms into something more powerful. Rage overtakes me for the first time. I want to kill him. I want to claw his eyes from their sockets, take the nearest sharp object and thrust it through his grinning mouth.

“Of course, a big man like you would torture a frightened girl.”

My eyes snap open at the Wolf’s voice, dragging me back to reality.

Father turns slowly, his eyes burning with cold fury. “What did you say to me?”

The Wolf raises his head, squinting through swollen eyes that gleam with defiance. He spits a glob of blood onto the filthy stone floor. “I said, pick on someone your own size.”

My father smiles. It turns my insides into ice.

Father takes a few steps forward, rolling up his expensive silk sleeves. He pauses in front of the Wolf. “All right.” He punches the Wolf in the nose.

A sickening crunch makes me flinch. I can’t take it anymore. I leap toward my father, grabbing his arm with a feral growl.

“Enough!” I scream. “Llwyn is supposed to be better than this! We’re healers, not torturers!” In mere seconds, a knight grabs me by the waist, pulling me back. My limbs flail, punching, kicking, scratching at copper armor—to no effect.

The king rights himself and leans forward, inches from my face. “Llwyn only survives because I do whatever it takes to protect it.” Then he turns and attacks the Wolf, like a man possessed. He grunts with each blow, landing punch after punch into the Wolf’s face until it’s bruised and bloodied, like a slab of meat.

My body flinches with each hit. Bile rises in the back of my throat and I’m not sure I’ll keep the tears of fury at bay much longer.

“Release him,” my father orders, finally. The Wolf drops to the ground like a limp sack of grain. My father continues to kick his motionless body where it lies curled up on the cold, filthy ground.

“Stop!” My voice shakes. “What good does it do to beat an unconscious man?” I grit my teeth in rage.

There are smears of blood on Father’s hands and chin. “It does me a great deal of good, Daughter. He will continue to feel my wrath for days.” He shrugs. “Weeks, perhaps.” His eyes grow dark. “Unless someone disobeys my orders again and heals him.” His voice sounds like a threat. Or maybe it’s another one of his tests. Either way, I can’t stand to watch him beat this man anymore, enemy or not. I can’t stand to bear witness to my father’s cruelty again and again.

I was safer on the borderlands, among the war-wounded and the corpse wolves.