Page 22 of The Queen's Line

I wrinkled my nose. I wasn't so sure what kind of privacy was normal in my mother's court, but Thao wasn't about to give me lessons on my own preferences.

"If the state of the palace, of hiscity, weren't enough of an offense, this is," I said with a nod. "He has to go."

Thaohmph'edin agreement, and Wendell hid a small chuckle behind his hand.

8

Cresswell

Iwas nearly done pulling on my armor when a knock sounded on my door from the guard's bunk room.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and I strained to remember the name of the face I was staring back at.

"She's asking for you," the younger guard said. Stanley! That was his name. He'd been in the army before being let off duty for an injury, and then almost immediately being turned around and given a position as a royal guard. We were meant to be the best of the best, and instead, I was getting the impression we were the leftovers.

And then, finally, his words sunk in as he stared expectantly back at me.

"Oh! Yes, all right," I said nodding and fumbling my last buckle in my haste.

"She's in the garden study," Stanley offered as I made to pass him.

"Who's with her?"If you aren't, I left off at the end.

"Yorley's outside cracking jokes," Stanley said with a roll of his eyes before blinking quickly. "But I don't think she can hear him."

I stifled my growl in front of the others and headed for the door.

"He looks like he thinks he's on his way to be Chosen," one man said under his breath.

"The queen's line don't take mutts like him," another hissed back.

I paused, back stiff, wondering if they meant my skin color or my status as a shifter, either of which might make me unlikely to be picked as a Chosen, although only my second nature prevented me from going to the choosing ceremony.

Just go, she's waiting on you, my human brain sighed.

Tear into them, the animal snarled.

I kept moving, rushing as much as my armor allowed, up to the decrepit palace. This was no place for a princess, and I couldn't understand why she'd come at all.

Yorley was leaned against the doorframe when I arrived, pretty clearly listening in, but he shrugged at me as if it were part of his job description.

"Not fucking, far as I can tell," he whispered.

"That's not for you to know," I answered.

He rolled his eyes, and I knocked on the door. "Guard Stark, Your Highness."

"Come in, please."

I stepped in, already bending to a bow, aware of the shadows of the figures in front of me.

"At ease, Guard Stark." The voice was feminine, almost laughing too, and I tried to fight the urge to stare as I stood up.

Whatever I'd expected of the princess, the young woman in front of me was not it. I'd heard mixed rumors as men returned north from the choosing ceremony. That she'd cut the ceremony short, she hadn't sampled a single man, she dismissed three-quarters of her first selection without a second glance. After Camellia's choosing ceremonies, men always spoke of the younger princess like a lion—conquering men, dragging them to the floor to be devoured. I'd imagined Princess Bryony as some cross between Camellia and the dowager queen—tall, fearsome, and maybe cold.

Instead, the woman in front of me looked…edible. Kissable. A temptation to devour, rather than the predator who conquered men. Her hair was down and draped in curls over one shoulder, a golden version of brown that I thought would look especially nice mussed over a pillow.