Page 39 of The Dead Queen

I hold his gaze. “Only if moths mean something to you.”

He sucks his teeth, then leans forward over the counter toward me. He smells of tobacco and old paper. “I think you’d best leave my shop before I call the king’s men for shoplifting.”

“We didn’t steal anything,” Hunter says, indignant.

The shopkeeper points his chin toward the silver moth around my neck. “Says who?”

I glower at him. “Fine.” I turn to leave. For now.

After we leave the filthy shop, I pause to peer through the newspaper-cluttered windows just in time to see the old man dart toward the door and lock it behind us.

Chapter 13

When Hunter finds me the next day, I’m in the library again. This time I’m sitting on the floor of the nature section, books about insects scattered around me. There’s something more to the moth around my neck than meets the eye. I know this now. My new problem is, I don’t know how to learn what that “something more” is.

Footsteps echo across the marble floor before Hunter peers down the aisle, spotting me. He’s in his King’s Guard armor. The copper gleams in the sunlight cascading through the windows at the far end of the aisle. He looks every bit the dashing hero, ignited by unnatural powers and noble purpose.

He smiles at me where I sit on the ground. “I thought I’d find you here.”

I gesture to the towers of books around me. “I am nothing if not predictable.”

He chuckles, reaching out a hand to help me to my feet. “I don’t think anyone would call you ‘predictable’.” He looks down at the open book in my hands. Its pages are covered in sketches of moths, facts about their lifecycles, and mating habits—but nothing about their mysterious purpose carved into the paint of an old pawn shop.

I rub my tired eyes with my free hand. “I suspect I’m in the wrong section entirely, but I have no idea where else to look.”

He chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I’m not sure either. And by how the shopkeeper reacted, I don’t think it would be wise to tell anyone we’re looking.”

I rub a hand over the back of my neck where it aches from hours spent bent over tomes, flipping through page after page of moths. “That man can’t be the only one who knows.”

He nods, thinking.

“Hunter,” I ask. “Have you seen the moth symbol anywhere else during your assignments throughout the city?”

He shakes his head. “I’d tell you if I had.”

“Would you?” My voice sounds harsher than I intend it to. “Even if it’s related to whatever your father is up to?”

He gives me a long look. “Sienna, I …” He sighs. “I want to tell you everything. I truly do. But I’m a knight. My honor is all I have. You can’t expect me to⁠—”

I shake my head. “No, I know. I’m sorry.” I’m being unfair. I know this. And yet I can’t help but long for the days when Hunter and I shared everything. There were no secrets between us before I left for the borderlands.

“It’s just …” I sigh and close the book, tucking it under one arm. “Sometimes I don’t know how to handle the fact that you’re one of them now.”

He reaches out to grab my free hand. “Sienna, I swear to you. I can be loyal to more than one person.”

“Can you?” The words slip out with a bite I wasn’t expecting. I thought I’d forgiven him for his betrayal, but maybe I’m still holding onto some small slice of resentment. Some ember of heartache that’s hiding in the shadows, deep inside of me. Forgotten, but not entirely gone.

His face softens. “I can be a knight and your husband.”

“And my friend?” The implication is there. The fact that most husbands and wives have very different power dynamics than ours. Friendship isn’t usually part of the equation in arranged marriages. The woman is expected to obey the man in all things, but I won’t. He knows that. That’s never been me. And it’s never been us.

And I’m terrified marriage will ruin that.

He draws his lips into a thin line, then takes a step closer to me. “Sienna, do you think it’s wise to dig further?”

A small fire of irritation rises in me. “Are you willing to give up already?”

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just …” His eyes scan the gaps between the bookshelves on either side of us, to make sure we’re alone. He lowers his voice. “Your grandmother died under very odd circumstances. Yet her necklace shows up in a strange shop in the middle of White’s End.” He gives me a knowing look. “A shop that turns out to have a carving of that very same moth, despite the shopkeeper insisting he knows nothing about it.”