Chapter 19 The Queen’s Guard
NINETEEN
THE QUEEN’S GUARD
The following morning, Creatchin is her normal—as close to normal as a hell-fae-Night-Witch-queen-of-hell will ever be—self.
“Zilo, are you enjoying the new flame feast swords I had made for our guards? I saw them practicing in the arena today,” she says, her hand swooped rather intimately in the crook of Zilo’s bulging arm as a small group of us walk the flower garden she had reestablished.
Daisies and pretty carnations bloom with ashen petals that glimmer in the sunlight, like fresh dew forever lines the little blossoms. How does she do that? How does she make everything around her look so perfect when I can feel that it’s not?
Something is off with her. Not that I can trust Ravar, but I believed his warning. That’s what happens when someone dies: you instinctively have to know the final words they utter are spoken with importance.
First and final words, those are the ones that count in life . . .
“Zilo, stop! You’re making an old woman blush.” She almost smiles but as for blushing . . . no. I don’t think she knows how to show real reactions. A blush would never get past her carefully plotted emotions.
For some reason, it makes me stomp behind them a little harder. I glare at her shining black hair with a bit more force. And I have to watch them so much more closely to really understand what she’s getting at.
Because let’s face it, Zilo wouldn’t know how to make a woman blush if he gave them an allergic reaction. Why is she smiling at him like he’s charming?
He isn’t charming!
Infuriating, maybe. Obtuse, definitely. Handsome . . .
That isn’t the point.
The point is—
“You like him,” a voice whispers at my side.
I peer up at the slender woman who now walks in pace with my own ungraceful stomping.
She, of course, does it in a swaying fluid motion of gliding steps.
Her black glittering gown hugs her lean frame, and the shining hair that cascades down her back blends right in with the threads of her clothes as the curling locks brush along her waist.
“You’re her daughter. Seelvie’s granddaughter,” I whisper right back like an accusation.
“You didn’t answer me.” She doesn’t look my way, but she is right.
And I won’t.
“You didn’t answer me either.” I arch a brow at her, and the small group of us turns a corner to head back to the east wing entrance. And once we go in, that will be the end of happy chatter. “Are you . . . are you dragon born?”
Ravar would have mentioned an heir. This girl looks like a replica of her mother, though, so it’s really hard to tell if there are any slight features of Ravar hidden in her angular face.
The Dragon King Roman mentioned … he has to be her father.
Her delicate wings shutter against her back, wafting her long hair as we walk toward the enormous double doors.
“Clearly, I’m hell fae,” she answers flatly.
Well, clearly. But . . . she must be part dragon. Right? Or perhaps she only takes after one parent rather than both… Like that dragon king I heard so much about last night his traits could have been recessed … or something. Right?
“You have no dragon traits at all from your father?” I can’t help but pry because this is the first actual useful thing anyone’s spoken about since Creatchin took the throne and turned this kingdom—queendom—into a renovation party.
“Shifters don’t work like that. How little do you even know of your own kind, girl?
” She glares at me with unsheathed disgust gleaming in her big black eyes.
“Fae can be half-breeds. But the beast within shifters only allows one alpha. The dominance of a monster will overpower any other trait from either the mother or father. And I thank our Goddess every day I inherited my mother’s dark magic rather than the lazy powers of a dirty animal I can’t control. ”
With that, she pushes past me and strides inside behind the others. The door closes behind her.
And the group has left me alone.
Thank. Fuck.
My eyes close slowly, and I sag into the shimmering black stone wall.
“This queendom is exhausting,” I mutter to myself because I’m just good company like that.
“As are you,” a rumbling tone says from far too close.
My eyes flash open, and there stands all six foot five inches of the largest man I’ve ever gazed upon.
Fucking Zilo.
The sun halos around his long dark hair, giving him a godlike appearance that he honestly always seems to have. Why are his cheeks so naturally glistened like a pixie stripper sneezed glitter on his obnoxious face? Really, could the world dampen his complex, just for a moment?
Can I have one moment alone in this ridiculous place? Please?
“You need to watch your mouth. And your eyes, for that matter.”
“Watch my eyes? Really? Do tell how one accomplishes such a feat.”
He flicks his annoyed glare away for only a moment before pinning it right back on me. “Stop glaring at the queen.”
“It’s wrong for me to glare but a-okay for you to want to sink your little cock into her?” I arch a brow at him but he’s quick to reply.
“I’m sorry, little?”
Ah, his complex just can’t take it, can it?
“Stop making a fool of yourself and flirting with a woman who’s clearly only using you as her guard.” My arms fold hard, but he takes an even harder step forward, his chest suddenly pushing against my arms as I stare up at his insufferable face.
Even his beard is pretentious. No one’s beard is that nice. Stop grooming so hard. It’s embarrassing.
“Listen. She’s skeptical of you,” he whispers. “You were nearly the king of Hell’s bride. Everyone here is watching you, Cersia. Avian and Roman can’t always be around to protect you from yourself.”
“No one needs to protect me. I manage just fine, thank you.”
His eyes widen, and his head dips low, his voice growling against my flesh as he speaks once more, “Then why did I hear the word dragon following me around this morning as you whispered behind my back?”
“Why aren’t you afraid of what’s to come? Why do you trust her? Why?” I don’t understand the pain that shoves into my chest as my voice shatters over that last word.
I guess . . . I guess it’s because I know he doesn’t treat me the way he treats her. He’ll never hang on and believe every word that I feed him. I’m not . . . I’m nothing to him.
I was a means to an end. That end has come.
But I’m still here.
“Get inside. Go to your room and calm yourself down. Take a fucking nap or something.” Sharp teeth snap against his lips and he seems to have to breath slow exhales to get the beast inside him to tame.
With another slow breath, he turns on the heels of his boots, and his back is to me as his big paw grips the door handle to head back inside.
But I just can’t take it. The pressure within me feels like it’s ready to blow. The anxiety is turning too quickly into something else.
Something weak.
I won’t let it.
I’ll fight it.
Just like I’ll fight this fucking infuriating man before I ever let him disregard me ever again.
My nails sink into his wrist, and I push my way between him and the door just to fully look into his shining green eyes.
“I’m not something you can use and toss aside. I fucking live here now, Zilo. I’m going to be around. You can’t just send me to my room whenever you’re fucking tired of looking at me!”
“I’ll never grow tired of looking at you,” he whispers suddenly.
My heart stumbles.
His eyes widen just as mine do, as if he himself is just as surprised he let those words out of his traitorous mouth.
I’m all too aware of how little space there suddenly is between us.
His chest is warm against mine. His arm brushes my side with every apprehensive breath he takes.
And the way he’s looking at me, it feels like he sees all the flaws I keep hidden away.
He sees those nasty traits within my flawless features.
And he’s still gazing at me like he might kiss me.
Oh. My. Goddess.
Zilo wants to kiss me.
Does he—does he even know how that interaction works? Would he really allow himself to kiss someone without murmuring obscenities between tongue strokes?
“Um . . .” I try to step back, but the door just clatters behind me as I stumble right into it. “I should . . . nap.” Yep. I need to sleep this off. My brain is flashing red lights, and a siren is sounding somewhere in the distance.
This realization just broke my brain.
Luckily, one of us still has our good senses.
Zilo nods, drops his hand, and takes a firm, rational step back from me.
Good boy.
Smart boy.
His queen would cut his cock off if he had the stupidity to kiss me after cooing at her all morning.
Creatchin likes power. Zilo is the captain of the High Hell. He’s the most powerful creature in her kingdom.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure things out.
“She likes you,” I admit under my breath, and it hurts to say it out loud. I don’t know why it hurts, but I can’t seem to stop the pain from shuddering through my chest, either.
“She likes power and protection. She doesn’t like me specifically.” He doesn’t meet my eyes. He keeps his focus on the high arches of the steeples above.
But he’s right. Zilo is the epitome of power and protection. He’s pure raw and relentless strength.
“But that doesn’t mean a woman doesn’t want you because of those things. It’s—it’s nice to feel safe in a world full of danger. You—you make a woman feel safe, Zilo.”
And fuck me, here we are again.
He’s gazing down at me once more. Except this time, his focus is along the pout of my lower lip. His tongue slides out and rolls along his own lips, and I’m so fucking broken, I think he just hypnotized me with that single gesture alone.
His hand lifts, and in a swift motion, he opens the door for me.
“Get some sleep, Cersia.” He nods to me.
Like a friend.
A good, good friend indeed.
Except . . . we don’t know how to be friends.
And judging by this strange turn in emotions, we’ll never know how to be anything more than what we are now to one another.
Which is absolutely nothing.