Cold Queen - K Webster Page 0,38
wouldn’t be that insufferable Volc if he didn’t.”
He smirks at me before guiding me into the room Mazon has commandeered as his healing room. I sober up upon seeing Mazon fussing over Ryke’s lifeless body.
“The gappenoil?” I ask as I rush over to Ryke’s side.
His eyes are closed and his brows are furled together as though he’s in pain. He’s no longer wearing his cape or shirt. The stab wounds are open and angry looking, yellow-tinged blood rolling down his sides.
“He drank the gappenoil. The rest is up to him,” Mazon says.
But it’s not.
It’s up to me.
I summon my ice and run my fingertip along his gash, closing his first wound. Then, I work on the other. The two men in the room remain quiet as I work.
“Roll him on his side so I can do the back,” I bark out. “Quickly now.”
Danser and Mazon move him over and I repeat my action on his back. Once he’s no longer bleeding, they settle him as I take his hand in mine.
“That’s all we can do?” I ask Mazon.
He lets out a sigh. “As his body fights the poison and heals, his fires will come to the surface. We must keep the fever down.”
This, I can do.
“Tend to the other injured men,” I instruct. “I’ll stay with the king.”
Mazon smiles at me before grabbing his bag and leaving. Danser watches me with a curious look.
“He’s safe with me,” I assure him as I press one of my hands to his chest and the other to his forehead.
“Of course he is,” he agrees. “And you’re safe with him.”
I summon my gift and chill his flesh beneath my palms to cool the burn that emanates from him. “Do you have a point you’d like to make, Danser, or are we playing a game? I’ve just slaughtered thousands of The Damned. I’m rather exhausted. Perhaps another time?”
“Perhaps another time,” he says, smirking. “Keep him alive. He’s the son I never had.”
As soon as he’s gone, I focus on Ryke. Beautiful, strong, powerful Ryke. He saved me and brought me back from near death. I’ll do the same for him. After all, it’s what a queen does for her king.
Ryke
I hate him.
Cruel, rotten bastard.
Love is for the weak. At least that’s what my father always told me. And when my mother was caught with another man, desperate for love and affection my father never gave, she was driven from our lands. He wasn’t even man enough to do it himself. Simply had his men pull her from his bed one morning, taken to Equatoria, and forced into madness along with the others who’d wronged him in some way. When he told me, I nearly lost my mind. Spent weeks battling The Damned in search for her. Maybe she’d survived. Maybe she hadn’t succumbed like the rest of them. But then I’d seen her. Her soft, silky brown hair she’d once taught me to braid was stringy. Her loving eyes were vacant. And she was hungry. On a warm day with a broken heart, I had slain my mother because my father was too weak to do it himself.
Mercy.
I showed her the mercy he should have.
With her blood on my hands, I stormed the castle on a hunt for my father.
Each and every man beneath him nodded to me as I passed on my quest to see him. They saw the look in my eyes. The fury. The hate. The thirst for vengeance. And they let me pass because they loved my mother too. She was the sweetness and loving and kindness our kingdom always lacked. Without her, we were just another kingdom under the rule of a cruel tyrant.
Not anymore.
As I stare at his sleeping form, I know it must end. It ends with him. I vow to be like my mother, choosing more than just cold killing. A Truth Seeker demands answers, not blood. I will always demand answers. I unsheathe my sword that, until recently, was too heavy. I’m almost a man now, just months shy of my eighteenth birthday, and finally have harnessed my gift. My age is irrelevant, though. I’m the heir to the throne no matter my age, and with my newly discovered powers, I am a force to be reckoned with. I summon my fires, hotter now because of my rage, and light up my sword with flames. Father stirs and I press the tip of my blade on his bare skin over his heart.
“Why?” I demand, waking the