“Then you’ll have to figure out what to do with her.”
Gods, he was serious. Norah scoffed in frustration as she looked back out across the hall. She knew she’d offended him, but she didn’t really care. He was offensive. The Shadowlands were offensive, with their slaves and their bloodlust. This was a mistake; she couldn’t marry this man. She had to get out of here. She had to… escape… somehow. Get back to Mercia…
And prepare for war. Because that’s what she would cause: war.
Norah sighed. She couldn’t leave. She had to make this work. But she vowed to herself that she would change things.
The celebration wore on through an endless evening. Mikael settled. She felt his eyes on her, often, but didn’t look at him. Finally, she bid her parting and, thankfully, slipped away. As she walked to her chamber, her mind spun around her. She had to find a way to live here, despite her abhorrence of the idea. She had to learn how to live as queen of the Shadowlands.
Norah opened her chamber door and jumped at the figure inside. “Hammel’s hell,” she breathed as she recognized the woman—the green-eyed dancer.
The woman bowed low. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She gripped the side chair close by, her heart still racing. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m yours now,” she said quickly.
Norah drew in a sharp breath and clipped it out again. “No, you’re not mine. That’s not… no.”
Panic flashed across the woman’s face. “Do you not find me pleasing?”
“I don’t,” Norah said shortly. “You have to go. No one can see you here.”
The woman fell on her knees in front of Norah. “Your Majesty! I’m sorry I displease you. But I beg of you, please don’t send me away! Let me try again.”
Norah shook her head as she swallowed back the awkwardness of the situation. “There’s nothing to try again, I don’t want”—she waved her hand—“whatever it is you do.”
“I’m most discreet. And trained in pleasure for both men and women.”
Norah’s cheeks flushed hotter. “That’s exactly what I don’t want,” she insisted. “Please, go.”
“Do you have a need for a maid?” she pleaded.
“No, I—” Norah paused. She did need a maid. She thought she’d be given one, but that seemed unlikely now. She eyed the woman doubtfully. “Are you trained as such?”
“I’ve been in Kharavian court for three years. I know the ways of Kharav, and I know what proper maids don’t.” Her deep-emerald eyes sparkled, begging. “I can help you.”
But Norah pushed the idea from her mind. “No,” she said. “I can’t have you as my maid.”
The dancer bowed low on her knees. “Please, Your Majesty! I can’t stay at court if you won’t have me.”
Why would she want to? “You don’t need to stay at court. Go. I free you.”
“But I can’t live freely in Kharav as an outsider. They won’t allow it. I’ll be killed.”
Norah let out an exasperated breath. “Why don’t you go home?”
“I can’t return home. I was a gift to King Gregor. Nor can I return to Japheth. If I can’t stay at court, I have nowhere. Please, Your Majesty.”
Norah felt a twinge of guilt. What was she to do with this woman?
The dancer’s emerald eyes found hers. “Your Majesty, I know what it’s like to be a stranger in a strange land, to not trust anyone or anything around you. Please, let me serve you in whatever capacity you see fit.”
Norah pushed out a long sigh. She did need a maid, and this woman might be able to help her in other ways she hadn’t anticipated. “What’s your name?”
“Vitalia, Your Majesty.”
“Do you have clothes, Vitalia? Appropriate clothes?”
The woman gave a breathless smile. “Yes. Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Very well,” Norah relented. “We’ll try it out. Fetch your things. Take the side room, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
Vitalia jumped up, smiling and bowing. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you! Thank you!” She bowed again and fluttered from the room.
Chapter thirty-nine
Norah made her way down to the dining room for breakfast with her new maid close behind. She hoped no one would recognize the dancer in a more conservative dress.
Mikael’s gaze locked on her as she entered. He straightened, and his mouth opened slightly, but he didn’t speak. He only stared at her, and a flush came to her cheeks.
Salara-Mae rose from her seat and stood, as proper courtesy dictated, then gave her a stiff nod and sat after Norah did, returning quietly to her breakfast.
Norah wondered if breakfast in the dining hall was a routine for Salara-Mae. She also noted the commander’s absence.
“I trust you slept well?” Mikael asked. His tone seemed unsure, if the Shadow King could be such.
“I did.”
Just then, his eye caught the sight of her maid standing in the wing, and he looked back at Norah in surprise.
“Is everything all right?” she asked him, feigning ignorance to what pulled his attention.
He looked at his mother, who took a bite of her biscuit, clearly unaware and indifferent to their conversation. “Perfectly,” he said with some amusement.
“Does the lord commander not take breakfast here?” Not that she missed him.
The question was enough to catch Salara-Mae’s ear. “No, he does not,” she said sharply. “Breakfast is my time.”
Norah smiled to herself. She felt a kinship with this woman who disliked the commander as much as she did.
After they finished eating, Salara-Mae excused herself, and the king rose from the table. Norah turned to leave.
“North Queen,” Mikael called, stopping her. “Will you walk with me?”
Walk where? But his voice had come gently, and she gave a small nod.
He offered his arm, and she paused. It was the first time he’d extended a public physical connection toward her. A courtesy, she told herself. She swallowed, but then looped her hand under, accepting. His skin was warm, and he covered her hand with his own.
Damn the gods. She didn’t hate it.
He led her through the halls. “I see you found yourself a maid.”
“I needed one,” she said. “So, I’ve put her to use. But”—she met his eye—“she’s no longer a slave.”
“Will you be freeing all my slaves around the castle?” he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.
She didn’t care. “Probably.”
His nostrils flared, but he didn’t reply. His skin warmed, perhaps from his anger returning. She stiffened. Let it. Slavery wasn’t something she’d pretend to be okay with. He glanced down at her, his eyes ablaze, but she only returned his glare.
Unexpectedly, he seemed to calm again. And so did she.
He was an interesting man, crafted of fire and war, quick to anger, quick to fight. But as he looked at her, she noticed that he was also quick to yield.
She felt it too. She didn’t want to fight him either. “Where are we going?” she asked, changing the subject.