The First Queen: A Shifter Romance

by K. M. Carnoky

  The last thing I heard was a long pained howl as my eyes closed shut.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Pain was racing through my entire body as I peeled my heavy eyelids apart. My vision was blurry, but I could dimly hear the crackling of a fire and make out the murky lines of the posters on each side of the bed that I was lying on. But even the softness of the bed beneath me and the roaring heat from the fireplace were not enough to distract me from the agony that was searing down my back, extending from my shoulder blade down to below the bottom of my ribcage. My eyes drifted close again while my brow furrowed, and I let out a low groan. I attempted to tell myself that it was a miracle I was even alive after what had happened, but the wretched pain made it hard to be grateful for anything.

  “Oh, Willow.” It was a strong voice that I knew well, but I was unable to place it with a face and personality in the moment. My mind felt heavy and cloudy in my head. However, I hardly cared about either because a tender hand was placed on one of my bare arms, and the intense pain—though still tremendously strong—eased ever so slightly.

  “It hurts.” I whimpered. My voice was hoarse like it hadn't been used in ages.

  “I know,” the man murmured.

  The hand began tracing light circles on my arm in a rhythmic but shaky motion. It wasn't the callused hands that I remember from recent times but still so familiar and so pleasant in comparison to everything else. The movement made me feel better and comforted, but it still wasn't enough. My body was chilled despite the warmth from the fireplace, and the pain was too unrelenting for me to return to my deep slumber.

  “I want the pain to go away.”

  “Of course, my sweet Willow,” the man whispered. His fingers moved to just below the hairline on my forehead, and he began drawing soothing circles there. I let out a little sigh so he would know how calming it felt on my cool skin. “Open your mouth, love,” he instructed after a short time. Or, perhaps, it had been years. I couldn't tell.

  I slowly parted my lips—which took a tremendous amount of effort—and something silky, soft, and light was placed on my tongue. It made me feel like gagging because of the nausea that suddenly overwhelmed me.

  “Alright, Queen Willow, you must chew the flower petal then swallow it,” another man directed. I remembered his voice too, more loosely than the first, but I did as he asked. The petal tasted bitter but was easy enough to swallow despite my dry throat.

  It took several moments. I waited for someone to speak or to ask me a question, but the room was silent aside from the crackling of the fire. And, ever so slowly, I felt my head begin to spin but in more of a soothing, disorienting way than in a dizzying way. The pain was still scorching my skin, but the exhaustion that was coming over me was far more intense and much easier to give in to.

  I gave a lazy smile and turned my head to the side, delighted by a splash of blurry colour that rested on top of a dark night stand.

  “Oh, flowers,” I whispered. “I love flowers.”

  “I know, my love. Now try and get some rest. Lord knows you need it, and the effects of the petal won’t last forever,” the first man murmured, and something warm and soft pressed itself to the back of my hand as my eyes drifted shut once more.

  I was eased in and out of sleep like this several times. I wasn't sure exactly how many, but I was often made to drink some water and eat some dry bread when my eyes opened, then the kind man would draw in my sensitive and cold skin as I chewed on the bitter flower petal. And each time this happened, I became less cold and the pain on my back easing ever so slightly. I was beginning to become more and more aware of what’s happening around me. It felt very similar to waking up in Riverstead: someone waking me up, putting fluids in me, asking me a question, then ordering me to go back to sleep.

  After what felt like the hundredth time, I finally woke up and was able to identify my surroundings which was great progress. I knew the gothic bed, the dark walls, and the extravagantly large fire place that had been burning since the first time I opened my eyes. Both times I had been in this room previously . . . I had to sneak in, and in one of those times, I had even hidden behind the bed like a small child. Now I was splayed across the bed like it was my own with heavy dark blankets covering my body.

  This was my husband's room.

  “How are you feeling?” Archer asked, his voice quiet but concerned. He was perched on the edge of his bed, his whole body turned towards me as those dark eyes searched over my entire shape. He slowly reached out and placed a hand on my cheek.

  The contact immediately sent a subtle wave of pleasure through my body. It felt so lovely to be close to someone so familiar and dear. His gentle touch helped ease the suffering.

  But I remembered being locked in the dungeon. I remembered having my favourite guard and my sweet maids taken away from me. I remembered being called a witch in front of his guards and a slave in front of the others. And I remembered Ella calling herself the queen and wearing my wedding ring. I had been forgotten the moment I left and hated long before that.

  “Don't,” I rasped out. “Don't touch me.”

  I expected Archer to argue with me. He had always been headstrong and so power-hungry. I imagined that the few who were brave enough to argue with him rarely won, but I watched his concerned expression shift to one of defeat, and he drew his hand away from my face with a sigh. Those dark eyes showed me that the last thing he wanted was a fight, and that would've stunned me if I had the energy for such emotions.

  “Tell me what you would like,” he murmured, those eyes still settled on my face.

  “I would like to know who changed me,” I said, indicating the ruffles on the night gown that was currently on my body. It was not the same one I had been thrown in the dungeon with.

  “Your maids. Now, tell me what would make you more comfortable.”

  “Tea.” I still felt ice-cold, though not nearly as frozen as before. “And some cheese as well, please.” I didn't truly feel like eating, but I assumed that part of my weakness came from my grumbling stomach.

  Instead of barking my wishes to a servant, the king bowed his head in agreement, stood up, and walked out of his bedroom to fetch my food without another word.

  His departure surprised me, but I stayed very still for a moment, trying to organize my emotions now that I was alone. So much had happened that it was difficult to wrap my mind around it all. It almost felt like a dream, but the aching in my back reminded me that it was all very real.

  My husband had donated my position back to his vengeful first wife after he had found out I was missing. He had given her my wedding band, and she paraded herself around the grand halls while I was worried sick about her in a tiny village where men had tried to rape me. Then I had been locked in a dungeon by my husband, but the moment he was in danger, I leapt in front of the blade and taken the hit for myself. It hardly seemed fair at all that I still craved his touch and his presence, and I was furious with myself for having these feelings. I was even angrier that he was being so kind, like his previous disdain had never occurred at all.

  “I'm very thankful that you are alive,” someone rumbled, breaking my intense train of thought. Evidently, I was not as alone as I had previously thought.

  “Andrew?” I gasped, attempting to prop myself up on my elbows. The massive gash on my back ached, and I fell back down against the pillows, worried that I had cracked the sealed top layer of the wound.

  “Don't move too much. Your back is much better but still very raw,” Andrew advised, striding closer to the bed. He was still wearing a uniform I knew all too well.

  “You're alive. And you're a guard?” I asked in confusion, assessing him once more. “I thought he would kill you as soon as we got back to the palace. My god, you were a spy this whole time, weren't you? That's why you turned me in and he didn't kill you on sight.” My mind spun out of control, and I became furious quickly.

  Andrew chuckled under his breath and moved to sit upon a small wooden chai
r.”No, Willow, I wasn't a spy.” His blue eyes were bright, clearly happy to see I was well enough to have a fighting spirit, but I was in no mood for his softness.

  “Then how did this happen, and why would you betray me like that if you weren't loyal to the king?” I questioned, feeling my lower lip tremble. The world wasn't whirling madly around me anymore, and I was finally allowing myself to feel all those things I had repressed previously. And the man who had saved me, the one I had thought I could love had abandoned me when I needed him most.

  Andrew's eyes were casted down for a moment. “I'm so truly sorry for what I did to you. I knew that you would never forgive me, but when I saw a poster with your face plastered on it in the middle of the village, I knew I had to do something. Those villagers would've dragged you to the king anyway they could've, no matter how hard you fought. It would've been a miracle if you made it to the palace alive. Or someone would inform the king of your location, and the king would raid the town. That would cause so much damage to the buildings and stores in the area. And if people fought back in fear of the werewolves . . .” He just shook his head in dismay.

  “So I went to the king myself,” he continued. “I left Mabel to manage the store for a couple of days and paid a carriage to take me to the palace. I know that you probably won't believe this, but I spent hours arguing with the king. I told him I knew you were safe but refused to tell him where because I didn't want him going after you if he was the awful man you said he was. I tried to assess the situation as best as I could.”

  I rolled my eyes a little. “But you decided that I was a liar and handed me over to him,” I spat.

  “He was so relieved when I just told him you were alive, Willow,” Andrew reasoned, his voice still calm despite my fire. “And he did become angry when I withheld information. But I could see how desperately he wanted you back—even though a guard was adamant about keeping you away. When he agreed to my plan, the one that didn't involve villagers dragging you about or werewolves murdering innocent people, I realized that he was quite reasonable and did not want to cause you any true harm. That doesn't seem like something a vile husband would do. And he swore to me he would never punish you for leaving him.”

  “You should've talked to me first!” I protested. How could he feel that he had the right to make such a big decision for me?

  “You would've refused me, regardless of what I said, and we both know that.”

  “You didn't seem so sure of yourself when he dragged you back to the palace. It seemed like you were afraid of him,” I taunted bitterly, “which is absurd since you just assumed he was the jolliest fellow.” I was still furious, but I could feel the flame within me growing smaller as my body grew tired.

  “I was afraid. The king had agreed that I would be left unharmed and so would Mabel. When they took me back to the palace, I assumed it was so they could kill me for having any kind of romantic relationship with the queen, even though I hadn't known she was the queen. If he went back on his word with me, I couldn't have imagined what he would've done to you. I was afraid for both of us.”

  “And now you're a guard. Servicing the man you were supposed to protect me from.”

  “Yes. Though I was terrified at the time, the guards were all acting in a ploy to scare you. But I was brought to the king who was very grateful for my honesty and my help in your safe return. He offered me financial compensation that I could take back to the village or an opportunity to become one of his personal guards.”

  “And Mabel?” I let out a yawn at the sound of the his voice, my head settling deeper into the pillow.

  “She is here as well, a kitchen maid downstairs, and she loves it very much,” Andrew explained. He moved to tuck the thick blankets more tightly around my shoulders. “I know that you will never forgive me, but I hope you can understand. I did what I thought was best not only for me but for you and for Mabel. I'm sorry if I was wrong.”

  I closed my eyes, feeling safer in his company as sleep edged closer, though this conversation was nowhere near over. “I do understand, and I will probably forgive you someday but not yet,” I whispered.

  Then I drifted off to sleep once more.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I was still bedridden for the next few days, and when I heard about the extent of my injuries, it became no surprise why. The silver blade had cut me very deeply, and I had lost an impressive amount of blood. It sounded like the doctor was in disbelief at my survival. Now, my only job was regaining my strength and keeping my wound clean and dry. But that became dull very quickly, and I was beginning to search for entertainment.

  Andrew was a frequent guest, and he often spent a few hours with me, telling me how well he and Mabel were getting along. She seemed to be enjoying her new job as a kitchen maid, and he was clearly doing a very good job as a new guard. He would talk to me for as long as I liked or until he noticed that my eyes were starting to close due to sleepiness. Then he would fluff my pillow, tuck me in tighter, and tell me he would see me again the next day. He always smiled brightly at me when he left, but he no longer touched me like he used to when I lived in his home, and I wasn't sure if I missed it or if I was grateful. Regardless, I had never said I had forgiven him, and he never brought it up, but I could feel the emotional wound beginning to heal over.

  Through these moderately affectionate exchanges, I would watch Archer—who had found himself an armchair that was near the fireplace—as he assessed the conversation. I knew that he was indebted to Andrew for bringing me home; however, I also knew that he still remembered the way I had confessed that I wanted Andrew to propose to me. Yes, I had partially done it to upset both of them in the moment, but it had been true at the time. And, the king, I knew would've leapt to his feet and screamed in Andrew's face to get away from me or, perhaps, have done something much worse. I still remembered what happened to me after the king figured out someone had been in my bedroom. But Archer just pretended to be focused on his paper work or a book in his hands, clearly repressing whatever he was feeling. His self control impressed me.

  Archer didn't really speak to me, though I could sense that he wanted to. In the mornings or after a nap, he would ask me how I was feeling and if I wanted anything, seeming beyond eager to please me. Every time I requested food or water, he would be the one to retrieve it himself which still surprised me as he had always ordered his guards to do nearly everything for him. But Archer was attentive to me, whether he thought I noticed or not.

  One of the first things I picked up on was the flowers. He had never had fresh flowers in the palace aside from the day of our wedding, but I had spotted two crystal vases in his bedroom. One vase had small white daisies in it while the other had exotic bright-coloured lilies spewing from it. It was a massive contrast to his masculine décor, but it brightened my mood. At one point, I asked Andrew to bring me a couple of books from the library. The pile stayed on the nightstand closest to me. It seemed that if I thoroughly enjoyed a book, another one with a similar plot or structure would appear; and if I made a face or didn't even bother to read the first chapter of another book, it would disappear just as fast. When I complained to a guard that I felt unkempt because my hair was knotted to high heaven and I hadn't been able to brush my teeth, a hairbrush and a toothbrush just happened to be on the night stand the next time I opened my eyes. I knew these things were coming from my husband, but he always did it with me not noticing. He was always sitting in that arm chair when I opened my eyes and closed them for a nap.

  “You need to sleep,” James whispered into the darkness one night. “She is stable and two guards will be here with her all night.”

  I lay on my side, pretending to be deep in slumber as my once trusted guard spoke to my husband. Though I had seen James milling around a few times since the attack, it was the first time I had heard him address Archer, and his voice was laced with concern.

  “No,” Archer protested instantly. He finally sounded like the king I remembered. Strong and stu
bborn. “I'm perfectly fine here in this chair. I will stay here until she is better.”

  “She is better,” James pushed, but his voice wasn't angry, just compassionate and persuasive. “Please have a good night's rest. She will be right here for you tomorrow. I promise I will stay here all night in your stead.”

  “I'm staying, James.” Archer said with so much emotion. “I-I can't leave her alone. Not yet.”

  “Very well, I will see you in the morning then,” he replied. He paused for a bow then walked to the door, his soft footsteps evident on the rug that covered a good portion of the room.

  Guilt tugged at me as the silence settled over the room once more, pressuring me to fill it. He might listen to me better than he would listen to his guard.

  “You should go,” I mumbled into my pillow, speaking to my husband for the first time today. It was also the first time I had been the one to start the conversation since he had cast me aside.

  There was a charged silence for a moment. “No,” he answered back after a second. “I am staying here in this chair.”

  “You can't sleep in that chair for another night. Your body must be aching and exhausted. Take my bed in my room. I'm sure a guard will inform you immediately if anything happens to me,” I reasoned. I gingerly rolled my body so I could see him, mindful of the healing wound on my back.

  “I'm not leaving you, Willow.” There was a brief pause, like he was debating his next words. “I don't think I can ever let you out of my sight again.”

  ***

  The next morning came soon, and though I was still recovering from my intense blood loss and the wound on my back, I was feeling infinitely better than I had been a few days ago. I now only felt the need for short naps once or twice a day, and my appetite was coming back. Unfortunately, so was my awareness, and I was becoming more and more disgusting every day. Dried blood was still crusted to my skin from the wound. My hair was greasy at this point, and my skin itched from the filth. I was wearing the same gown for seven days now. But when I told my doctors I needed a bath, they agreed and handed my husband a sponge before clearing everyone else out of the room.