Page 132 of North Queen
Salara-Mae rose from her seat and stood, as proper courtesy dictated, then gave her a stiff nod and sat after Norah did, returning quietly to her breakfast.
Norah wondered if breakfast in the dining hall was a routine for Salara-Mae. She also noted the commander’s absence.
“I trust you slept well?” Mikael asked. His tone seemed unsure, if the Shadow King could be such.
“I did.”
Just then, his eye caught the sight of her maid standing in the wing, and he looked back at Norah in surprise.
“Is everything all right?” she asked him, feigning ignorance to what pulled his attention.
He looked at his mother, who took a bite of her biscuit, clearly unaware and indifferent to their conversation. “Perfectly,” he said with some amusement.
“Does the lord commander not take breakfast here?” Not that she missed him.
The question was enough to catch Salara-Mae’s ear. “No, he does not,” she said sharply. “Breakfast is my time.”
Norah smiled to herself. She felt a kinship with this woman who disliked the commander as much as she did.
After they finished eating, Salara-Mae excused herself, and the king rose from the table. Norah turned to leave.
“North Queen,” Mikael called, stopping her. “Will you walk with me?”
Walk where? But his voice had come gently, and she gave a small nod.
He offered his arm, and she paused. It was the first time he’d extended a public physical connection toward her. A courtesy, she told herself. She swallowed, but then looped her hand under, accepting. His skin was warm, and he covered her hand with his own.
Damn the gods. She didn’t hate it.
He led her through the halls. “I see you found yourself a maid.”
“I needed one,” she said. “So, I’ve put her to use. But”—she met his eye—“she’s no longer a slave.”
“Will you be freeing all my slaves around the castle?” he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.
She didn’t care. “Probably.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t reply. His skin warmed, perhaps from his anger returning. She stiffened. Let it. Slavery wasn’t something she’d pretend to be okay with. He glanced down at her, his eyes ablaze, but she only returned his glare.
Unexpectedly, he seemed to calm again. And so did she.
He was an interesting man, crafted of fire and war, quick to anger, quick to fight. But as he looked at her, she noticed that he was also quick to yield.
She felt it too. She didn’t want to fight him either. “Where are we going?” she asked, changing the subject.
They walked a little longer, and then he paused in front of a hall with a single door. “As I said before, after we’re wed, you’ll stay in the villa, but this will be your sanctuary away from everything. It’s for you alone.”
He led her down the hall and opened the door to reveal a sprawling suite. A bed sat centered against the wall with abundant pillows and furs, and there was a plush settee by two windowed doors that opened out onto a balcony.
She walked to the balcony.
“It faces north,” he said, his voice softer, “so you can look to your home sky.”
The notion brought a wave of emotion she wasn’t expecting, and she bit her cheek to hold it back. She looked over the rest of the room. There was a small bath chamber off the side, and a vanity against the far wall.
“No one will visit or disturb you here,” he said. “Your guard will stop at the end of the hall, not outside your door. No one will enter without your invitation. Not your guard, not your maid,”—he paused—“not even me. It’s here you may come when you want to be alone and be left alone.”
Warmth rolled through her. “I don’t know what to say.”
