Red Ruse

Chapter Two

It's a ghost I still feel as I make my way to the courtyard, the thin mountain air squeezing my lungs. I'm still not used to it, even after all these months. Even after the Premier offered to move my chambers to a lower elevation. A nice way of trying to shift me to the barracks.

I burn. I don't want to fight, not anymore. Not after Shade. But he insists that a queen must lead her subjects. That I am the one they listen to the most.

I clutch my cardigan around myself, a chill bleeding to the bone. We're in the throes of winter now, Maven's birthday passing a couple days ago. Adults, both of us, but I don't feel it, my crown hanging by a thread as I try to make sense of it. A queen, yet not. Red, yet not. I'm a girl who shouldn't exist. A girl who reached for more than she could ever handle.

I slide down the nearest tree, searching the courtyard for my newbloods. Sure enough, Cameron sits on a nearby bench, glancing up as I stride closer. A book is perched on her knees. A frown is perched on her face.

I settle atop the furthest arm, fingers brushing the wood. Last time we met, we were packed in a train car, her in uniform as I picked at my bloody wedding dress. I swallow. "So–"

Cameron raises the book, burying her nose in it. I try again, louder. "About you and the rest–"

She cuts me off, voice dead. "You're not searching for him."

It isn't a question.

I suck in a breath. "It's not up to me."

"Is it." She eyes me over the rim, teeth grit. "Because I certainly haven't seen you try."

Air hisses through my teeth. "You're not in the council meetings, Cameron."

"Neither are you."

"I will try, I can promise you that." I bite my lip, eyes meeting the ground. "But I am barely a queen, Cameron. No one here listens to me."

She huffs, shoving the book between us once more. The look in her eyes chills me to the bone, fingers trembling as she turns away.

I think I saw her cry.

My throat bobs. I don't visit the barracks often, and I don't plan to anytime soon. Still, it's hard to deny the distance growing between us, the whispers of my new status ghosting my every move. The Red queen. Maven's wife. One cannot exist without the other. Yet I don't feel like a queen in the slightest. Not when everyone seems determined to shut me out.

My fists clench. No matter. I'll get through to them eventually. For now . . .

I hold my head high as I march towards the council room, something glinting in the corner of my eye. Gwendolyn lowers the blades in her palm, then her head, hair tied back in a severe braid. "Your Majesty."

I nod. "Lady Samos."

"Please, call me Gwendolyn." Her smile is guarded, wavering as she stares down the hall. "They don't seem to like noble titles here.

"Don't I know it." I exhale, unsteady. A hand nudges my elbow, and I tense, only to find Maven looking down at me. His fingers tap his sides, and I cock my head. My breath comes out in a sharp huff. "You know, you'd make more friends if you stopped using yours."

His hand reaches to graze my cheek. "Which one?" He cocks his head. "Because I'm proud to call myself your husband."

I flush, turning away. He's bold, I'll give him that, if a bit reckless. I still remember his hands the night of our wedding, the way they traced my hips and sank between them. A final goodbye, I'd told myself. It seems it never is that easy.

"Ready?" Maven breathes.

I shake. "Never." My fingers graze his, but don't entwine. "But I suppose there's no stopping it now."

And then I open the council door.

Nortan council meetings are not unlike Montfort ones, in the sense that they're crowded, tense, and overflowing with danger. I attended many as Maven's Red ambassador, wavering as noble house leaders bickered around me. But few as his queen.

"Your Majesties." Premier Davidson bows his head, gesturing to a set of seats at his far left. Maven has been to a few of these, I know, though they nearly stopped after the garden incident. "Please, have a seat."

Maven obliges, face smooth as stone, fingers tapping the dark, polished wood. His lips tug as I sit beside him, the buttons of my uniform a perfect match to his.

And then his hand closes over mine.

I flush, brushing a hair behind my ear. Of course. It makes sense to position us as a united front, to use the fact that I am Red to mark him an ally. But the implication is there, ever-present, the ghost of affection I can't bear to truly give.

I left for me, Mare. Not you.

"To business." Premier Davidson adjusts his papers, eyes swooping over the council. Representatives are here, as are appointees, a mess of common people fighting for their own ends. No lords. No ladies. It seems too good to be true. "Ibrahim, if you will."

A man steps forward, an easy smile, exhaling as my eyes find his. "The Scarlet Guard is set to make contact in ten minutes." He tips his head, dark curls falling in his eyes. "They're still working on recruitment. They don't seem to trust us, but they're running low on options."

Beside me, Maven cocks his head. "Oh?" He raises a brow. "And how do you know this, exactly?"

Ibrahim turns to him, shaking his head. "I have two brothers, and we're . . . connected. I can receive messages from those around them, and send messages from those around me." His fingers tap the desk. "And both my brothers are in the Scarlet Guard camp."

I still. I resist the urge to shout, to clamor, to shake the answer out of him by any means necessary. "Where's Kilorn?" I bite my lip "Captain Farley, the Barrows, the–"

Ibrahim cuts me off, waving a hand as Davidson draws a breath. "In due time." He gestures to the wall, where battle formations are sketched, Cal's room echoing in my eyes. The burning paper that once floated around me.

An interesting development.

I clear my throat. "Are they safe?" My throat wobbles. "You can tell me that, at least."

A hand moves to my shoulder, and I tense. But it's only Maven, his voice lowering to my ear. "It's alright, Mare." His voice is smooth, balm on a wound. "We'd know if they were dead."

I shake. Around us, the council members murmur, some in agreement and others in protest. My nails dig into my thighs. "Don't pretend to know how I feel."

He exhales, sharp. Davidson sighs. "They're alive, your majesty. That we know."

Your Majesty. A comfort, an insult, a cage–I don't know where one ends and one begins. My breath hitches, and I force it steady. "Good." I swallow. "And Cal–"

"The king is still out of our reach." Davidson's face is still, placid. "But he doesn't know where you are, I'm certain."

Maven leans back, a lazy hand. "He's not a king."

Davidson clears his throat. "Functionally? Yes. It's not my place to say who deserves it. But he is the one the Nortan people recognize."

Maven smiles, though I catch the irritation beneath. I extend a hand. "Husband." A strained word, but one that soothes his ego. "We can dethrone your brother later. For now . . . " I shake my head. "Let's not waste time on semantics."

Semantics. Maven darkens, tightening his grip on my hand. Cal haunts his thoughts as much as mine, the echo of Elara rattling his bones. He'd told me as much as we lay in the sheets, as I buried my head in his shoulder and tried not to think. "Of course." He sighs. "Continue."

Ibrahim rises, hands splayed on the table. "It's time." His voice echoes through the room, sending shivers down my spine. I won't back down. Not here. Not now. I only stare into the distance, and let Maven's hand tighten on mine.