The Promised Queen (Forgotten Empires #3)- Jeffe Kennedy Page 0,13

hand from his hold. “We both know you hated being My husband. Court life felt like a cage to you.”

“No—you don’t get to do that.” He folded his hands around my head, holding me there and staring intently into my eyes. “Did you hear me when I said I love you?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean—”

“It does mean,” he interrupted. “I don’t care about the rest of it. I’d wear salt-encrusted armor made of rusty blades if it meant I could stay with you. I was never happier in my life than I was being your husband.”

I nearly laughed, but he looked far too serious. “Con, please. You were miserable.”

“I was too stupid to know what I had,” he insisted. “And now I have a second chance. At least, I hope you’ll give me one. We’ll get married again. If you want to,” he added with less confidence, searching my face.

“It’s not necessary,” I said, feeling my way through it. Not succeeding, because his face hardened into disappointment.

“You don’t want to,” he said, not exactly a question.

“I don’t know what I want right now. I can’t think.” I really couldn’t. I pressed fingers to my temple, willing the dizziness away.

He relaxed, smiling ruefully. “Sorry—stupid of me to push. We’ll talk about that when you’re stronger.”

“Do you really think I will get stronger?” I asked hesitantly. It seemed impossible right then.

“You? Absolutely.”

“I don’t feel like it, Con. I’m not the same as I was before.”

“You are queen of Calanthe and more powerful than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Con.” I hesitated to give voice to this, too. “Calanthe is crumbling, out of control.”

“I know. It’s a bad storm, but you’re back now and everything will be fine.”

I was shaking my head as he spoke. “No. You can’t understand. All that blood at Cradysica, and Me ripped from Her. And those wizards—I can feel their magic tearing at Her, making it worse. It will not be fine.”

“Then we’ll fix it. Ambrose and Merle will help you. And the orchid. It’s a powerful magical thing, right? That’s why the wizards wanted it. But they don’t have it. You do.”

“Con, you just don’t—”

“Isn’t this what you were born to do?” He interrupted, gripping my shoulders and staring me down. “How many times have you told me that protecting Calanthe and your people is your sacred duty and you’d die before you failed in that?”

“I did die,” I pointed out, a bit taken aback by his ferocity—and that he was exactly right.

His mouth cocked up on one side in a half grin. “Yeah, but you’re not dead anymore, so that’s no excuse.”

“I’m not making excuses! I’m explaining that I face impossible odds.”

“Hey.” Con curled his fingers under my chin, lifting it. “We’ll figure it out. Step by step, all right?”

I managed a nod, mostly to make him happy.

“How about we start with food?” he suggested.

“I need to bathe and dress.” Get out of this bed and find out what was going on, try to do something.

He cocked his head dubiously. “I was thinking you eat and go back to sleep.”

“How can I sleep when Calanthe might dissolve beneath us? I have to try, Con.”

With a sigh of resignation, he threw off the covers and strode naked to the stand where he’d left his robe. “I’ll get Ibolya.”

Gathering up his bagiroca and rock hammer, but with no place to put them, he stood awkwardly a moment, holding them and gazing at me. “You’ll be all right for a bit if I go?”

“Conrí.” I managed a hint of an imperious tone. “I’ve been alone all My life. Yes, I can manage for a few moments.”

He smiled wryly, a shadow behind it. “Yeah.”

The door clicked closed, and I sank back into the pillows, closing my eyes a moment, the fatigue dragging at me. I forced my eyelids up so I wouldn’t fall asleep again and unwrapped the light bandage around my left hand, making myself look at it. The pale skin of my forearm below the wilted orchid ended in furious reds and purples at my wrist. The skin there furled in ridged waves of angry flesh. Five twiggy fingers emerged from it, like saplings sprung from bloody soil. Wispy green tendrils connected them below the first joint, but otherwise each was a long extension broken into four segments. I wiggled them and they flexed with spidery grace, clicking softly.

Curious, unsettled, I touched the tip of one with the index finger of my other hand. No sensation in the twig finger.