Page 11 of The Queen's Line

"Very little that should concern you," I said.

I stopped in my step and crossed my arms around the books I cradled, watching Sam ruck up Camellia's thin white skirt. It was a little stained, and his eyes slid away from Camellia's pale skin to find me. He looked tired…or bored, I wasn't sure, his lips chapped and his eyes too absent and unfocused to be lustful.

Camellia frowned and turned, blocking my view of her Chosen. "I don't understand you," she said to me, passing the words over her shoulder before pushing the man down to his knees.

I sighed and shook my head, heading for the doors. I didn't really understand me either. I thought I understood my family even less.

I tried to read on my way to my grandmother's suite, flipping through the pages of each book as I rotated them in the stack in my arms, searching for some mention of royals without the Hunger. The closest I found was a princess who died of a fever before reaching adulthood. Searching for the information provided a welcome distraction from my nerves as I made my way through the castle, my eyes down and avoiding any stray glance from the servants.

When I reached my grandmother's wing, I set the pile of books down on a side table before stepping up to the door, smoothing back my hair. I hadn't bothered dressing for the day, partly to avoid the giggles of the maidservants, and partly to avoid Aric and the others in my bedroom. But it wasn't so uncommon for the queen's line to look disheveled, although I was lacking the usual excuse.

The servant posted outside of the door stepped in to announce me, waving me through after a sharp "Send her in" from my Grandmother. I stalled in the doorway however, when I saw my mother. It had been several weeks since I'd seen her last. She preferred to remain shut up with her Chosen in her wing, leaving Grandmother as the mouthpiece to the queen's line.

My mother was small, like me, with rounded hips and small breasts. Camellia took after Grandmother, tall and thin, although all four of us had the same sharp chin and high brow. Mother, Queen Peony of Kimmery, was reclined on Grandmother's chaise, her feet in the lap of one of her Chosen, who smiled warmly at me before going back to massaging Mother's feet.

"Darling," my mother said, hands reaching for me, although she made no other move in my direction.

"Your Majesty," I said, dipping into the lowest curtsey I could give and then turning my bowed head to my grandmother. "Your Majesty."

"Bryony, come here and kiss my cheek," Mother said.

I was keenly aware of my grandmother's stare scorching into my cheek as I stepped further into her chambers and headed for my mother. Technically, my mother held the real command in our hierarchy, but it wasn't in her nature to wrestle the control away from Grandmother, and I was sure at any moment I was about to be chastised.

My mother's eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed, and her curls were braided softly over her shoulder. She went without a corset generally when I saw her, and at the moment she was wearing only a silk robe over a night dress. I bent, and she turned her head side to side for me to kiss her soft skin.

"Do you know…I think she might be Michael's," my mother said, and it took me a moment to realize she was speaking to her Chosen and not to me. "He has those eyes too."

The man answered her with a docile hum as my mother stared absently up at me.

"Bryony," Grandmother said, patience at an end. I turned and curtseyed to her again before she snapped. "What are these?"

White sheets were fisted in her hand, piled high on the floor.

I opened my mouth to give her the simplest answer and then shut again. Saying 'sheets' would only earn me ire.

"I did not make use of my Chosen last night," I said.

Grandmother glared at me, and I wondered if it might've been better to play stupid instead. "I know you did not make use of them, girl, because the sheets are practically untouched, although they smell of—ofhorse."

I almost wanted to smile. That would be Owen, who seemed unrefined but sweet and patient. Horses would like that, and I had been grateful for it the night before too.

"Oh, Bryony, you took Chosen?" my mother asked, her voice high and bright at my back.

"Oh she named them, but she did nottakethem," Grandmother answered for me. "I should have known when you refused to even sample. You exhibited a complete lack of interest, but I'd assumed we'd given you enough time—"

"I don't have the Hunger," I blurted out.

Mother gasped, and I heard her rustling softly on the chaise. Grandmother only gave me a look of triumph, and I bit down around the question in my mouth.

But you knew that didn't you?

"Oh, Bryony," my mother sighed, and I was surprised to find her hand on my shoulder. I saw my mother rarely as it was, and I saw her moving of her own accord even less. She reached for my cheek next and turned me to face her, blue eyes sorrowful and studying. "What do you mean, darling?"

I had cried in front of the men last night, but I refused to do so in front of my grandmother. She was too sharp, and I knew she'd turn my tears into knives to use against me. Instead, I bound the exhaustion and turmoil tight in my chest and met my mother's stare.

"I do possess lust, but it—it isn't the same. I can't feel desire for a stranger."

My mother frowned, puzzled, and glanced to my grandmother and then back to me. "And…women?"