Page 168 of Shadow Queen
“I’m salar,” he snapped. “There’s no one to blame but me.” He rubbed his hand over his face, and his calm returned. “Forgive me. I’m tired. I’m going to clean up.”
She squeezed his arm lovingly. “I’ll send for some food, and I’ll be right there.”
He nodded and turned toward their chamber.
Soren came up beside her as the king took the stairs. “Don’t speak to him of an alliance with Aleon,” he said with a warning gaze. “And have an answer ready on why your council still hasn’t sent the steel.”
She nodded.
“Go to him,” he told her. “I’ll send Vimal with a meal.”
Norah nodded again appreciatively and followed after Mikael. Now that he was back, she needed to show him she was with him, beside him. She understood his fears, the pressures closing in around him. They were pressures she felt too. They needed each other.
She reached the chamber and stepped inside, but stopped when she saw him. He stood by her vanity, oddly still and not yet stripped of his armor, his back to her.
“What are you doing?” she asked, giving him a curious smile. But her smile fell as he turned, and she saw the portraiture of Phillip in his hand. She cursed herself. Her earlier conversation with Soren had distracted her, and she’d forgotten to put it away.
“Why do you have this?” he said softly, but she could hear the upset inside him.
Norah forced a casual tone. “I was going through some old letters today. I was interrupted, and I forgot to put them away.” She silently praised Soren for having the good sense to burn Phillip’s latest letter. She felt like such a fool.
“Why do you have this?” he asked again. His words were slow, enunciated.
“I have everything. Every letter that’s ever been written to me, by anyone.” She nodded to the small wooden box. “It’s all there. You’re welcome to read them.” She paused—not all would please him, but that wasn’t the point. “I suppose I just feel like I have so little of my life. I try to hold on to everything. I don’t want to forget.”
“You want to hold on tothis?” he asked as he clutched the portraiture in his hand.
“It’s not like that.”
His nostrils flared. “Does he have a portrait of you?”
“My grandmother sent one,” she replied with a calm nod, “as is customary in conversations of marriage. I doubt he still has it, for I’m sure he’s quite moved on.”
“And you haven’t?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
A coldness seemed to settle over him, and it frightened her a little. “He still remains unwed,” he said.
“I haven’t followed his marriage prospects. Nor do I think about them.”
“Has the Bear not kept you apprised?” he asked. “It wasn’t so long ago he brought the news of the Aleon’s standing offer. And I doubt your council’s diligence in solidifying an alliance has waned. Have you thought about that?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she breathed. She could see his anger reaching dangerous levels, but she didn’t know how to pull him back.
Mikael shook as he crumpled the portrait in his fist and hurled it into the fireplace. Then he stopped—something caught his eye. He stepped closer to the hearth and knelt down to scratch at the melted wax that had hardened on the stone.
Norah’s heart pounded in her chest. The royal blue wax of Aleon.
“You burned a letter from Aleon?”
Well, Soren had burned a letter from Aleon, but she wouldn’t implicate him in this madness. “It was nothing,” she insisted. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. “I’ve told you everything he’s offered, and everything I’ve accepted.”
“Yet you don’t keep his letter, as you do with all your other letters. What do you hide from me?”
She shook her head. “Your mind’s running away with you. Listen to yourself. I’m your wife.”
“Then act like it!” he thundered.
