“You’re doing wonderful,” Archer whispered, his fingers tracing lines up and down my back.
“Thank you,” I said, blushing. “But you’re looking a little tired. Are you feeling well?”
Over the past couple of weeks, his skin had been getting paler, and I caught him sleeping in on more than one occasion. I was beginning to worry that making additional time for me was wearing on him, taking time away from his normal duties and stressing him out.
“I’m fine, love,” he replied with an easy smile before pulling me in for a tender hug.
“We need to go back to our guests.” I giggled. The words did come out of my mouth, but I did not want to leave the spot I was standing in, especially when he lowered his head and placed gentle kisses on my neck. This was utter bliss, and Archer knew exactly how to make me undone.
For a man who had appeared less than pleased after our first kiss at the wedding, he was surprisingly affectionate now. He always snuck away from his duties when he heard I was wandering in the garden and would steal a few kisses before darting back to his work. And, at night, he would hold me so tight, keeping me warm as the nights got colder. I had come to realize that his distance had been predominantly spurred by fear. He was terrified I would leave him; scared he would be abandoned in the middle of the night and shamed by the public the next morning. To me, it seemed ridiculous because I couldn’t even fathom being without him.
Now, Archer was grinning at me, easing his head upwards with a certain laziness. His dark brown eyes were unguarded and held a rare spark I had never seen before. I was almost amazed that I was once scared of this man. He had turned out to be so kind and gentle with me, always encouraging me to grow as a person. He was nothing like my first impression of him, and now, instead of running away from him, I wrapped my arms around his torso and squeezed myself against his body.
“You're right. We need to get back to our guests. My mother would kill me if she knew I left them unattended.” The king sighed as he slowly eased me away. When I gave him a small pout of annoyance and disappointment, he simply chuckled, adjusted the crown upon my head, and held out his arm for me to hold on to. I accepted his offer, and we wandered back into the gathering of people who hardly noticed our absence.
But when a few ladies noticed my reappearance, I was swamped with gossip—mostly about people I did not know—and I watched my husband slowly disappear into the hoard of men. There, his expression became serious, his eyes darkening and his lips pulled into an expressionless straight line. I almost laughed out loud, seeing the switch in his demeanor. Forever daunting and intimidating.
If only people knew the real king.
The real king spent long nights with me, holding me until I fell asleep, and I would wake up in the mornings after he has already gone to deal with the day, leaving me to rest while he worked. We didn't spend a tremendous amount of time together as his title didn’t allow for it, but I felt like I knew him better than anyone, and I was opening up to him as well. I told him about the few memories I had of my mother and life on the farm. He always listened and stroked my hair when the words became too much and I would begin to sob. His sweetness and his kindness never failed to amaze me. I had never felt so loved and wanted in my life. I felt like nothing could possibly go wrong.
Sadly, it seemed like I was tempting fate.
***
Another month trickled by, and he slowly became more distant. It happened so gradually that I had hardly any clue it was happening at all, but at the end of the month, I was barely seeing him over my promised dinners. Some nights, I would only see him when he slipped into my bedroom to make love to me, but he had since stopped spending his nights in my bed even when I begged him to stay for a few moments. He would always detangle himself from the bed and usually leave without even replying to me.
I tried not to frighten myself, but I knew that those two perfect months were behind us, and that this new month would bring hardship in some other form. Hell, I was so upset, even my food didn’t taste the same to me. I attempted to unravel the mystery myself before it consumed me but could not.
I decided to go seek help from the only woman I truly trusted on the royal lands. I just needed someone to soothe my mind and tell me everything was going to be alright because my husband was not currently capable of doing such things. It wouldn’t be much, just a few words of reassurance and maybe a hug for good measure.
But instead of advice, I was chided as soon as I walked into the manor.
“Queen Willow, you must wait for someone to curtsy to you before you walk away,” the previous queen admonished. Her brown eyes were still motherly but in a more disciplinary way.
“Sorry,” I blurted and curtsied to her without sparing another thought. My mind was only churning out various ways of explaining my conundrum.
“No, you do not curtsey to me. The only person on this earth that you must curtsey to is your own husband, and from what I hear, you haven't been doing that either. These women have very high expectations of you. Don’t you understand that?”
Though she had been a patient teacher at first, it appeared she was getting annoyed with the mistakes I was making due to my upset state. It only served to make me more frantic than before.
“I would really love to speak to you about your son,” I said as she grabbed my arm.
“We will have plenty of time to talk about Archer after we discuss the happenings at the last party you hosted.”
As it turned out, the queen had heard about many of my flaws, though I had been completely unaware that I had been serving food to spies and not my own guests and dear friends. Someone had reported to the queen that I had been giggling all day like a child, had not curtsiedto my husband once, and the food I had picked to be served was far from correct. The conversations I had been a part of were not something ladies talked about, though I couldn't understand why telling them about dear Jester was a capital offense. And when she began speaking about my gown, I felt like I was on the verge crying.
All I had wanted today was someone to reassure me that I was being a good wife to my husband, the king. I wanted to hear that my relationship was stable and that the change in his mood would pass. He was just dealing with things that I shouldn't concern myself with. I needed that caring reassurance more than ever.
But, instead, I was reprimanded for all of the things I thought were going swimmingly well and all of the complaints were coming from the woman I thought I could trust and rely on in hardship. Maybe that is why the king had become so distant—because he was seeing the mistakes I was making and no longer thought I would be such a good queen. Perhaps the mate bond and his affection for me were not as strong as his sense of duty.
But it wasn't until I was being pulled towards the door that I actually had a chance to speak.
“Please . . . I came to ask you about your son. King Archer isn't acting quite right—” I began, stopping myself just outside the main door. I just wanted to ease my anxiety after I had gone through such grueling and demeaningcomments.
“He is probably just bothered by the fact that you are not with child,” the previous queen dismissed.
“But why—”
“I'm sorry, Queen Willow, but my husband and I are already late. Have a good day.”
I was dismissed. Ignored.
And with the door closed in my face, and none of my questions answered, I lowered my head into my trembling palms and repressed the sobs that fought to take over. I could only hope no one would see and report the weak gesture to the former queen.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
By winter, I felt terrible about myself, and with the string of events that had befallen upon me, it was inevitable.
I had spent the last few months trying to be the perfect queen. I met with my husband's mother more regularly and religiously recorded and practiced her instructions on everything. I still hosted events, but I was now more picky with the food I served, who I invited, what I wore, and how I behaved.
I curtsied to my husband every time I saw him, whether I thought someone was watching or not, and I never dared bring up my beloved old horse again. I could see the difference in my guests overnight; they smiled and casted each other glances like they were saying I had finally become the queen I was supposed to be. Like every last reminder of my life as a slave were now gone and replaced with this new persona.
But the person I desired to see change in the most didn’t alter his behavior towards me at all.
In fact, he got worse.
I continued to tell myself that this would pass. It had to; I couldn’t live like this. Something must've come up in the kingdom and he didn't feel it was appropriate to tell me, and he was coping with it as best he could by himself. I told myself that he was doing this to protect me because he didn't think I was strong enough to handle it or simply because he didn't want to worry me. But a significant amount of time had passed, and he had said nothing. Seasons had changed. I was always listening to my staff’s gossip now and nothing they said led me to believe that anything was out of place in the kingdom. I decided that I would have to change tactics if I wanted my answers and my husband back. Perhaps, it was time to revert back into the rough-mouthed slave I once was.
Well, after midnight, on a bitter January night, I snuck into the king's bedchambers. I felt like a thief as I crept through the nearly-empty halls in my night dress. I knew that anyone who saw me would faint from my indecency, and if the king knew I travelled in such a public place with so little clothing, I would certainly get a stern lecture. And, heaven forbid, the previous queen found out. She would skin me alive. But I made it to my husband's room without a single person spotting me, despite the fact that his room was nearly all the way across the palace. It seemed like a miracle, and I took it as a promising sign.
I eased the heavy door open and slowly slipped into the almost black room. I hoped that my single previous intrusion would help guide me. The only light that came from the moonlight was reflected off of the mountains of snow that can be viewed through one of the king’s enormous windows. But it was enough light for me to see my husband's sleeping form wrapped up in what seemed to be a hundred blankets, and I couldn't help but smile to myself. I had never seen him sleep; he always stayed awake until I was far away from consciousness, and I never woke before him either. I crept closer, careful not to wake him as I studied the unbothered features of his face, finally not contorted in an expression that conveyed anger and power. Just one of soft neutrality. At least for a moment.
Even in sleep, he couldn't seem to escape whatever was weighing down his mind. Slowly, his expression shifted. His eyebrows pulled together and his mouth opened in what looked like a soundless cry. His hand clenched down on the blankets like he was trying to grasp something dear, something he couldn't bear to let go, but it was slipping away regardless. His facial features changed into an expression of sadness instead of pleading resistance, and I felt my heart ache in my chest.
I couldn't help myself; I moved until I was directly beside his gothic bed then extended my hand out. I foolishly thought I would be able to brush away the unwanted dream as I stroked my fingers over his forehead and down towards his cheek.I hoped for a sigh and the tensio to leave his body at my touch, thinking that I could affect him the say way he affected me.. All I had wanted to do was soothe him.
But my gentle touch did the opposite of what I had hoped.
King Archer's eyes flashed open as if my touch had scalded him instead of comforted him. I jerked away, feeling awful for disturbing him. I opened my mouth to tell him I was sorry and to dismiss myself before I could make the situation worse.
It only escalated.
A moment later, I was pressed down onto the bed with my right arm twisted painfully behind my back. I'm not certain how it happened because he had struck with lethal speed, though I doubted he was even aware he was pinning his wife down. Still, I didn't care about how he had done it. All I could think about was the slight gentle motion he only needed to completely snap my arm and worsen the pain that was already shooting through it. Where was the delightful sensation I usually received while I touched him?
I stayed still, not wanting him to break my wrist, as I tried to control my rough breathing and keep the tears at bay. This was not what I had wanted.
“Willow?” His voice sounded bewildered, which matched my emotions perfectly. But his grip didn't loosen.
“You're hurting me,” I whimpered in response.
His gruff hands released my arm, and I felt him shift away from me, giving me space. I had to take a couple of seconds to right myself. Though the intense shooting pain had stopped, there was still a significant ache, and I worried he had done more permanent damage than I had initially assumed. I carefully moved my weight using my hurt arm. Luckily, it held up, and I shifted away from the bed as I tried to catch my breath, the fear and panic knocking it right out of me. I then blinked away the tears that flooded my eyes before I turned around and faced the man that had been avoiding me for months now.
“What are you doing here?” the king whispered. His voice was soft and low.
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered.
Archer stiffened, the small amount of softness leaving his posture. “You need to go.”
I thought his face would be worried and apologetic in the moonlight. Away from the crowds and the demands of his duties, he would surely crumple and tell me what had been troubling him so. I waited for him to pull me into his arms and kiss the top of my head then tell me he was sorry for what just happened and for being so distant recently. We would kiss and hold each other all night, making love several times, and in the morning, everything would be better because we would be a team again.
It was a pleasant thought but certainly not reality. He just stared at me coldly and waited for a reaction.
“I wanted to come see you,” I confessed, feeling my heart ache in my chest. Why wasn't he reaching for me; to tell me it was scandalous for me to be wearing so little in the castle then pull me towards the bed? Why wasn't I wrapped in his strong arms with my head pressed against his sturdy chest as he told me what happened to us these past few months?
His expression told me what I needed to know.
He didn’t want me here. He didn't want me here with him despite the fact that we had been spending very little time together, and our marriage was cracking apart beneath my feet.
“So you pranced across the entire palace in your night gown? You are a queen, Willow; you can't be seen like this. It's indecent for any woman, much more for someone ranked so highly,” he scolded, striking a match then lighting a candle which he then used to cast light on his dresser. “It's very difficult to get our subjects to treat you like a queen when you hardly act like one.”
His words were more brutal than he knew. In one sentence, he had jabbed at the repairing wound which housed my insecurities. I could hardly keep myself from clutching at my heart and gasp in pain. Tears sprang into my eyes once more, but I blinked them away as quickly as I could. Not that the king would've seen them; he was too busy digging through his clothing, his back turned to me.
How could he have said that? Did he not see how hard I was trying to be the perfect queen for him? Did he not realize that every time his mother reprimanded me for something, I made adjustments and tried very hard to make sure it never happened again? Had he forgotten the life I came from, the life I had opened up to him about? And if he remembered all that, did he simply believe that I was not a good enough wife anymore?
“I'm sorry,” I managed again through a tight throat.
There was a moment of hesitation. He just stared at me. In the flickering light, I thought he looked like he wanted to apologize. A twinge of hope touched my foolish heart once more. He surely hadn’t meant any of it; I just made him grumpy by waking him up in the middle of the night.
But it was just a trick of the light.
“Here.” He thrusted a shirt and a pair of breeches into my hands. “P
ut these on and go back to bed.”
I stood there, stunned and devastated for a moment. Archer glared back at me with unexplainable harshness. I knew I had no choice but to follow my husband's orders. I was not to defy the king.
“Go,” he ordered.
I obeyed.
***
The next morning, I was woken up by my maids, but when I asked them to help me dress, they just shook their heads and told me the doctors would be in to see me. I was baffled and couldn’t repress the wave of anxiety that crashed into me. So little was stable for me right now that the last thing I wanted to worry about was my health or the possibility that something was wrong with me, but my maids refused to tell me why the doctors had been called. I reviewed my body and only became more confused. I certainly looked no different than I had yesterday and not a single person had made a comment about my state of health. Still, I could do nothing but wait with an elevated heart rate.
Eventually, both of the doctors who had examined me before were escorted into my room, followed by my dear husband.
“What's going on?” I demanded, leaping out of my sewing chair. I felt an edge of anger creep into my voice. I was tired of being strung along.
“Lie down, Queen Willow,” the friendlier doctor encouraged, gesturing to my bed.
Last night, darting up and down the palace halls, I had been fine in my night gown, but now, with three men in my bedroom, it felt scandalous beyond belief. Still, when I looked at my stone-faced husband, I knew it would be best to follow orders, as always. To be the queen that people could respect. So I carefully laid back down on my bed, watching all three men warily. The doctors glanced at the king, seemingly hesitant, and when he gave them a nod, they began to work.
The First Queen: A Shifter Romance Page 16