The Queen's Mage

Serali looked back at her. “Why go to all this trouble? The lamps. The food. The baths. The mays. The apologies. You already know you can keep me here. You know I cannot leave. You know what I am worth.” Her mouth twisted. “So why bother making the cage comfortable?”

Because you are my mate.

The answer rose so quickly Allandra nearly stepped back from it.

No.

Not that. Never that. Not to Serali. Not now. Not while a cord circled her wrist and Allandra’s power sat between them like a drawn blade.

“Because you are innocent,” Allandra said.

It was true.

It was not enough.

Serali’s eyes narrowed, searching her face now with the same ruthless attention Allandra had been trying to hide. “Is that all?”

Allandra held still.

If Serali had been merely innocent, would Allandra have tried this hard? Would she have lain awake arranging choices like offerings? Would she have set half the palace into motion over lamps and honey and the right to refuse a salve?

She wanted the answer to be yes.

She feared the truth was less clean.

“No,” Allandra said.

Serali’s breath caught almost imperceptibly.

Allandra caught that too.

“There is guilt,” Allandra said, before the room could become too honest. “There is responsibility. There is politics. There is the fact that if I do not find a path through this, other people will gladly choose one for both of us.”

Serali’s expression closed by degrees.

Of course.

Of course that was the safer answer.

“I see,” Serali said.

Allandra doubted that she did.

She doubted either of them did.

“So what happens now?” Serali asked.

Allandra’s answer came too slowly.

Serali’s eyes sharpened. “Ah.”

“I have four days.”

“To decide what to do with me.”

“To present a decision to the council.”

“That is the same thing.”

“No,” Allandra said. “It is not.”

Serali laughed, brittle and low. “How very royal.”

Allandra let it pass.

Serali stepped closer, as far as the cord allowed. It brought her to the edge of the rug, still several paces away.

“The council knows?”

“They know there is a Night Fae mage in custody. They know you used a glamour. They know you were moved from the dungeon. They do not know whose daughter you are.”

Serali’s fingers tightened on the cord. “And if they did?”

Allandra did not lie.

“Some would call for your execution.”

Serali’s face went blank.

Allandra hated that she had caused that look. Hated, too, that Serali had clearly expected nothing better.

“Some would argue for using you as a bargaining piece,” Allandra continued. “Some would want you questioned under harsher conditions. Some would insist we announce your presence publicly. Most would claim they were acting for Avalusia.”

“And you?”

The question hung between them.

Allandra could have said a dozen true things.

I do not know.

I am trying.

I cannot let them have you.

I cannot let you go.

I am terrified of what I want.

Instead, she said, “I will not hand you to them.”

Serali stared at her.

“That is not an answer.”

“It is the one I have.”

“It is not enough.”

“I know.”

Serali looked almost angry at the agreement.

Good, Allandra thought.

Be angry.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Anger was safer than the other things moving in the room.

“You keep saying that,” Serali said. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying. Do you think words make softer walls?”

“No.”

“Then what do they do?”

Allandra’s voice dropped. “They keep me from lying to you.”

Serali inhaled.

The sound was barely audible.

Allandra should have left then. She knew it. She felt the moment tilt beneath them, felt the pull in her chest answer the sudden ache in Serali’s face. Distance. Discipline. The careful shape of a queen who would not take from a woman already bound.

But Serali looked tired.

Not weak. Never weak. Tired in a way Allandra recognized from soldiers after the third day of battle, when fury had burned down to something quieter and more dangerous.

“You should sit,” Allandra said.

Serali’s mouth twisted. “Do you command it?”

“No.”

“Do you advise it?”

“Yes.”

“Because I look faint?”

“Because you look like you are deciding whether to attack me or fall over.”

“Those are not mutually exclusive.”

“I know.”

For some reason, that made Serali sit.

She lowered herself into the chair by the fire, slow enough that Allandra understood the movement cost her. The tether pooled in her lap. Firelight touched her cheek, warmed the violet of her eyes to something almost impossible.

Allandra stayed where she was.

Serali noticed.

“Is this one of my choices?” she asked.

“What?”

“Whether you stand across the room like a guilty statue or sit down.”

Allandra hesitated.

Serali’s gaze sharpened in challenge.

It was foolish to accept.

More foolish not to.

Allandra crossed the room.

Every step felt louder than it should have. She stopped at the chair opposite Serali, leaving the low table between them, and sat. Close enough to speak without raising her voice. Far enough that no accidental touch could happen unless one of them chose it.

Serali looked at the space between them and smiled without humor.

“Strategic.”

“Yes.”

“At least you admit it.”

“I am learning.”

“Slowly.”

Allandra inclined her head. “Painfully.”

The fire cracked.

For a few breaths, neither spoke.

This close, Allandra could see the faint shadow beneath Serali’s eyes, the fine tension in her jaw, the place where a half-healed split at her lip had gone silver at the edge. She could also see that Serali’s hair, freshly washed, was not merely black. It held blue where the firelight failed and violet where it caught.

Beautiful.

Allandra looked at the hearth.

Look at her face, she ordered herself. Not her mouth. Not her throat. Her face.

But her face was worse.

Serali was watching her with a guarded intensity that made Allandra’s pulse shift. Was she wary because Allandra had come closer? Because the bond drew her too and she did not understand why? Because she had learned long ago to notice every change in a captor’s breathing?

There was no way to tell.

No honest way.

Serali’s voice came quieter. “Why haven’t you come?”

Allandra’s gaze returned to her despite every intention.

Serali looked as if she regretted asking.

“I thought it was better that I not,” Allandra said.

“For whom?”

The question was too accurate.

Allandra leaned back in the chair, putting another inch between them. “For both of us.”

Serali’s laugh was small and sharp. “That sounds like something people say before doing harm.”

“Yes,” Allandra said. “It does.”

Serali’s eyes searched her face.

Allandra could not tell what she saw there. She hoped it was nothing. She feared it was not.

“I thought you were deciding how to kill me,” Serali said.

The words were so matter-of-fact that Allandra felt them like a blow.

“No.”

“Trade me, then.”

“No.”

“Lock me somewhere worse.”

“No.”

“Keep me somewhere better.”

Allandra said nothing.

Serali smiled, but there was no victory in it. “There it is.”

“I am trying to find a way to keep you alive without making you a possession of the crown.”

“Trying,” Serali echoed.

“Yes.”

“And if you fail?”

Allandra looked at her.

“I do not intend to fail.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“No,” Allandra said. “It is not.”

Serali’s fingers worried at the tether in her lap. “You could let me leave.”

“You would not reach the harbor.”

“I reached Myrae.”

“Barely.”

“I survived.”

“You should not have had to.”

Serali’s mouth shut.

Allandra regretted the words instantly, not because they were untrue, but because they were too tender.

Serali looked away toward the fire.

“I can still run,” she said.

“I know.”

“You should probably be more concerned.”

“I am very concerned.”

“No.” Serali’s gaze returned to her. “You’re sad.”

Allandra stilled.

Serali looked almost as surprised as Allandra felt, as if the observation had escaped without permission.

Then her expression hardened. “Don’t be. I hate pity.”

“It is not pity.”

“What is it, then?”

There it was.

The room narrowed to the space between one breath and the next.

Allandra thought of Lia. Of recognition. Of Serali’s right to the truth. Of the danger of a bond felt in chains. Of secrets rotting if kept too warm.

She could not say it.

Not here.

Not with a tether around Serali’s wrist.

“I do not know what to call it,” Allandra said.

Serali looked at her for a long moment.

“That may be the first honest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“It is a terrible answer.”

“Yes.” Serali’s voice softened despite herself. “But at least it sounds confused.”

Allandra’s mouth curved faintly. “I am not usually praised for confusion.”

“You should try it more. It makes you less terrifying.”

“I was under the impression I am meant to be terrifying.”

“You are very good at it.”

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“I choose to receive it as one.”

Serali stared at her.

Then, unexpectedly, she laughed.

It was brief. Guarded. Almost swallowed.

But real.

The sound moved through Allandra with such force she had to grip the arm of the chair to keep from reaching across the table.

Serali saw her hand tighten.

The laughter faded.

Both of them looked at Allandra’s fingers, white-knuckled against carved wood.

Then at each other.

The fire snapped.

Allandra released the chair carefully, one finger at a time.

Serali’s expression had changed.

Not softened. Not trust. But attention sharpened into something more dangerous than suspicion. Allandra could almost see her noticing the restraint, the effort, the way Allandra held herself back from a touch neither of them had named.

Does she feel it?

The thought was immediate.

Shame followed it.

Do not make her reactions about you.

But Serali’s breathing had changed. Slightly. Her fingers had gone still on the tether. Her eyes had dropped, just once, to Allandra’s hand and then away again.

Fear, Allandra told herself.

It was probably fear.

“I should go,” she said.

Serali’s face closed too quickly. “Of course.”

“Not because I want to.”

Serali froze.

Allandra rose before she could make it worse. “Because I am trying to be careful.”

“With me?”

“With you.”

“With yourself?”

Allandra met her eyes.

“Yes.”

That answer cost too much.

Serali’s lips parted, but no words came.

Allandra stepped back from the chair. Not toward Serali.

Away.

“I will return tomorrow,” she said.

“To tell me my fate?”

“To tell you as much as I can.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“No.”

Serali looked at her with something too raw for mockery.

“Then bring better answers.”

Allandra inclined her head.

“I will try.”

She turned toward the door.

“Allandra.”

Her name in Serali’s mouth stopped her as surely as a hand on her wrist.

She looked back.

Serali’s expression was wary, angry, frightened, and something else that neither of them could afford to name.

“Did you order the lamps?” Serali asked.

Allandra’s throat tightened.

“Yes.”

Serali looked down.

For a moment, the only sound was the fire.

Then Serali said, very quietly, “I thought so.”

Allandra had no answer for that.

So she left before she crossed the room, before she touched the tether, before she touched Serali, before every careful choice she had made collapsed beneath the weight of wanting to make one thing gentler with her own hands.

Daravan stood outside the door, exactly where she had left him.

He took one look at her face and said nothing.

A mercy.

Allandra walked past him.

After three steps, she stopped. “Not one word.”

Daravan’s voice was solemn behind her.

“I was not even breathing critically.”

She closed her eyes.

“Daravan.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Walk.”

He did.

Inside the room, the lock clicked softly back into place.

Allandra felt it in her bones.