Page 101 of Crown of the Courtesan

Her words make me stagger backward. A new wound slices open deep in my belly when I recall how Ashland and Valora kept me in the dark about all of this.

My kingdom. My home. My family.

They knew that if I learned these things, nothing would have stopped me from escaping. Nothing would have prevented me from getting Klara away from Balor. Instead, I barely even tried while my sweet cousin was sold to that demon.

I close my eyes. “What about Finn Wellcrest, Klara’s betrothed?”

“They proclaimed the captain dead too,” Beatrix says softly. “The same day as your death announcement.”

Dead.

I picture his shining Queensguard armor and his brooding silences. My throat tightens as I struggle to breathe.

Before I can respond further, there’s a pattering of footsteps in the hall, and the schoolroom door bursts open. A flurry of swishing velvet and silk skirts flutters in, and around twenty or so courtesan students of varying ages surround us. The youngest pupils cling to Beatrix’s plum-colored gown, whimpering and sniffling into their sleeves. The older ones stand straight, their faces hardened but curious as they study me.

The tallest among them steps forward, her onyx hair pulled into two braids, her eyes a striking sea-moss green against her pale skin. She extends a tentative, plump hand. “You’re the queen, aren’t you?” Her voice trembles, but she’s clearly trying to be strong.

I swallow, meeting her gaze. “I am.” My tone is deceptively steady despite the news I’ve just received.

“Did you come here to help us?”

“I’m going to do everything in my power to make things better for all of us.”

She gives a strained smile in return, dark circles pronounced under her eyes. There’s a moment of silence before the room erupts into chatter, and I field the influx of questions they throw my way.

“We’ll be gone by first light. I do not want anyone from the castle to discover we’re here,” I say as I survey the girls’ rounded, youthful faces; the thought of them being stolen is unbearable.

Beatrix addresses the group. “You heard your queen, girls.” She puts a slender finger to her lips and makes a shushing motion. “Not a word about our new guests to anyone.”

I pause at the doorway’s threshold and look at my friend, who lifts a crying five-year-old onto her hip. “Thank you,” I mouth to her.

In return, Beatrix wordlessly mouths, “Welcome home, Tabitha.”

* * *

I run across the muddy yard as Rett pushes off the twisted oak tree that he’s leaning on. He’s been waiting with his arms crossed. The same as our first encounter at the tavern.

“Did you know about Alexandria when you rescued me?” The news of everything rushes out, the words tumbling in a knotted mess.

He goes still, his expression flashing with something that’s gone in an instant. “No. I left the day after your coronation. I’ve been traveling with my warriors, escorting my little sister to the Citadel—where she’ll be safe for her studies.” He clenches his fist and his face darkens. “I only learned of your capture because of a traveling caravan. Please believe me when I tell you that this is the first I’ve heard of your kingdom being usurped.”

“You truly didn’t know?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. I already knew the chancellor and your uncle couldn’t be trusted.” Rett spits on the ground. “This changes everything.”

I cycle through a dozen emotions while listening to Rett’s outrage, but there are more pressing matters. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before asking, “Have your men received what they need? Food? Bandages?”

“Looks like it,” he replies, his tone deliberately measured. He clasps his hands together, standing firm. “Their wounds will heal, and while they recover, we’ll mourn our dead.”

Valora’s swift beheading of any orc coming toward us flashes across my memory, and my stomach twists. “If they need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

The world tilts. Exhaustion, like a relentless attack, pounds through my muscles. My vision blurs, and I reach out, fingers clutching the oak’s rough bark for support.

I can’t stop the guilt that squeezes around my heart when I think of Balor on the throne. I wasn’t strong enough to get rid of him when I had the chance, and now everything is worse than I could ever have imagined.

A wide, warm hand spreads across my back. Rett whispers, “It’s a lot, I know… You don’t deserve what’s happened.”

I peer into his friendly eyes. He doesn’t understand half of it, yet he’s here supporting me when I need it the most. But his touch, comforting at first, becomes irritating as I remember his proposal on the night of my coronation. I stand and steel myself. “I should check on them,” I say, leaving the shade of the oak and stepping into the sunlit yard.