25. TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVE
Mina
Darius and our soldiers work to clear out every corner of the city and execute the remaining raiders. The citizens are all eager to give them up, having been under their violence for the better part of a week.
No one was allowed to leave. Every soldier loyal to Veloria was strung up. These poor citizens were trapped and pillaged for days, and somehow, we didn’t know about it—no travelers concerned with the lack of movement or rumors from visitors turned away.
The timing and silence are too coincidental with our arrival for my taste.
A small contingent of guards remains to watch over our caravan and get everything settled. We busy ourselves with burying allies and foes alike in rows of roadside graves.
I speak over each one, wishing the souls a peaceful life among the stars.
The only body missing is Mayor Veleskov. Lady Natalie left an hour ago to bury him at their family memorial. I offered to join her, but she insisted I stay behind. I understand needing time alone to process such a loss.
She rarely speaks of herself, but when she does, her pride in Brastrova and her father were obvious. Now both are lost. One gone forever. One to be rebuilt.
Sympathy stirs up a familiar grief, but I bury those emotions behind my queenly mask. Natalie can never know just how deeply I understand her pain.
As far as the world knows, my family is healthy and alive back home. Kalisham is still a thriving queendom, void of war and hardship—a lie that chips away at my heart each time I speak it.
I command most of the caravan to head in for the night as the last rays of light guide us to our lodging. The royal suites at Natalie’s home were pillaged, so we selected a row of small inns that escaped relatively untouched.
The soldiers set up watch around the gates, making camp just inside the wall. That only leaves a few guards to escort us, but they are hardly needed.
The tear-stained faces we pass pay us no mind. They care only for their broken homes. Buildings are scarred with burn marks and shattered glass, plucked dry by those vultures. I offer my condolences to the few who glance our way. Their haunted stares weigh heavily on my heart.
Are my people in a similar state? How long will they be forced to suffer with Zala on the throne?
Fresh tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back, mustering as much confidence as I can.
They don’t need my sympathy. They need my action. The broken can be mended; the lost mourned. This city will recover. I will make sure of it.
Darius and I are given a corner suite on the top floor that is easy to defend. After unloading my chests, I dismiss Jaime before she can protest. I appreciate her desire to stand by my side, but she deserves time to rest and process the day’s events as well.
She stayed hidden in a carriage, safely behind the circle of protection I fought to secure.
I saved my people this time.
It is odd to think of these people as mine now, but they are. I care what happens to my companions and their homes. The moment I became queen, they became my responsibility. For as long as I am in Veloria, I will protect them just as fiercely as the citizens of Kalisham.
My room is composed of dark wood with delicate carvings—inviting images of flowers and small, furry beasts dancing across the beams. An unlit fire sits in the corner with a hearth covered in wildflowers. Under normal circumstances, the room would be quite cozy.
But my memories and exhaustion from battle make the dark walls creep closer. Each panel of wood a coffin door closing shut.
My pulse pitches as I hurry to the window and pry it open.
Calling the wind, I let it wash away my anxiety with each jagged breath. My cheeks grow damp as I sink to the floor and sob. My body trembles as I cry for Natalie and her home.
For the lives I cut down without hesitation today.
The act of killing came so easily in the moment, but I’m not used to the weight of those souls. A sick part of me relishes the power of it all. Where others cowered, I fought, exacting justice with my blade. Not one raider made it past me to the carriages.
Still, I wish I’d saved more. We lost nearly a dozen guards, with twice as many injured from our group alone.
I was so naive to think myself a goddess of war when I had never seen what a battle truly holds. The pawns on paper are living, breathing people with fears and weaknesses. Mock wars could never teach the weight of another’s life.
No training prepared me for the scent of a man’s last meal on his dying breath. Or the sounds a person makes when faced with their final moment. Even those who deserved death remain in the memorial of my mind.
I allow myself another moment to grieve before pulling myself up. I lean against the wall and fight for composure. A shadow crosses the window, undoing my hard work.
I unsheathe the dagger from my thigh and hold it out of sight.
“Mind putting that down before I come in?” Alexi’s voice filters in through the open window.
A strange sense of relief washes over me. We haven’t spoken since my wedding, but the knowledge that he lurks around all day is a bit comforting.
I sheathe the blade and cross to the bed. Alexi drops in and tucks himself against the shadow of the curtains. He crosses his arms and studies the ground with furrowed brows.
At least he looks unharmed.
“I’m glad to see you are well.” I hit his boot with my foot to catch his attention. “How long have you been there?”
I know the answer already, but a small part of me hopes he missed my breakdown.
“Do you want the truth, or do you want me to make you feel better?”
“Truth. Always the truth.” Lies are my life now, so I prefer to avoid any unnecessary ones.
He taps my foot back and nods. A small acknowledgment without flaunting that he witnessed my moment of sorrow, crumpled on the floor. I wait for him to say more or to explain why he decided to show himself again.
Instead, he remains a statue against the wall. His only movement is bringing the tip of his boot against my shoe every few minutes to remind me of his presence.
A comfortable silence broken only by the soft tap.
For all the warmth and comfort it brings, it’s as if Alexi is wrapping me in a bear hug. The motion grounds me, pulling me from the dark corners of my mind.
He’s an odd, perceptive young man. We don’t talk about what happened today, though he must have seen it all, aiding the battle in his own way. I don’t have to hide my grief in front of him or pretend that taking those lives didn’t change me in ways I do not understand yet.
His violet eyes are soft and understanding, a silent support as the last of my tears fall. When the sun finally burns out, I wipe my face and make my way to the washroom. Before closing the door, I turn back to the shadow I can’t quite figure out.
“Thank you, Alexi.” My chest tightens as he nods goodbye. I care for him as much as Jaime and the others. I’m so grateful he’s safe.
By the time Darius returns for the night, I have already scrubbed my tawny flesh raw, removing every fleck of blood. I have also eaten a light meal. My stomach protested every bite, but I needed to replenish my strength after using so much power.
His heavy steps head straight for the washroom, and he slams the door without a glance in my direction.
No greeting or updates. Gone is the worried, frantic man from the carriage.
I’ve never seen Darius lose his composure before.
His fear was sincere. He cares if I get hurt, but to what end, I haven’t figured out yet.
It feels deeper than just a political promise on the line. In that carriage, he held me like something precious. His dark eyes haunted by something deeper than the battle we just fought.
I set down my book and walk over to the door, knocking gently. I have been rereading the same page for nearly twenty minutes, anxiously awaiting his return. My questions demand answers, or they will not let me rest.
“We’ll talk when I’m done.” His gravelly voice is barely audible above the running water.
He probably needs a moment to himself to process the horrors we witnessed. I did. A part of me wants to give him that moment, but this strange pull to see him is too strong.
I push open the door, not bothering to knock again.
“Please, Mina. For once, do as you’re told.”
I suck in a sharp breath as I take in my husband for the first time.
His pants are all that remain. A shallow gash runs along his side, but that isn’t what holds my attention.
Scars litter his tanned white skin. They vary in size, some old and pale, others still a little pink around the edges still.
Several healed long before the years he was at war.
I close the distance between us, slowly so as not to startle him. His muscles tense like a wounded animal ready to bolt. His dark eyes are stuck on the ground as I grab a cloth, wet it, and start cleaning his fresh wound.
My once urgent questions are silent in the face of my task.
His shoulders relax a fraction, and I feel his gaze wander over me. My pale pink nightgown is cool against the rising steam of the bath. I pray it keeps any flush at bay as I wipe the blood from his abdomen, dipping as low as his pants allow.
Carved muscle hides behind each scar, toned through years of training and resilience.
I trace a particularly nasty scar from his navel to his rib cage, and my heart throws itself at the walls of my chest. It’s old and stretched with age, like his body grew around it with time.
He grabs my hand, breaking my trance.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
“I think I’m clean enough to bathe. Unless you want to see my other scars, I suggest you leave.”
Not even an ice bath could hide my blush. The warmth burns a path to my thighs as I cover my eyes. “I still have to get your hair.”
I wait for him to argue but hear only a deep sigh. Fabric hits the floor a moment before a splash of water does. I peek through my fingers to make sure he is ready.