Anais glanced sideways. “Tell me again what you saw of my Escort at the castle. Perhaps you've remembered something, or you've kept information to yourself. That’s alright. I understand your position.”
The lady stiffened. Her riding skills had improved on the journey, but her mount might complain if she squeezed her thighs any tighter.
The Queen continued, “Your estate is only a few days away, isn’t that right? To the east, if I remember correctly. Tell me everything, Isabel. If I believe you’ve given me every detail, I’ll grant you a horse and let you go. Unharmed. Your son might be waiting for you.”
For a few seconds, only the sound of wind and hoofbeats filled the air. The duchess frowned. “I don't know what you're expecting. Do you want to hear that Queen Yelena dressed him in red, but sometimes streaks of blood still showed through his shirt? Or that she slapped him hard enough the whole court could hear, yet avoided marking his face with her claws? My Queen is cruel. I didn't think you'd want to know details like that.”
The reins dug into Anais' palms. Her claws threatened to puncture skin. But her voice was perfectly even. “Every detail. Every moment. What did she do to him?” How had Yelena convinced him to poison her?
Lady Isabel sighed and shook her head. “I've answered all your questions, and your Escorts’ questions. There's nothing else, and repeating it will only anger you. I swear, I haven't kept anything from you.”
The road was still empty. No one ahead, and, in the corner of her eyes, no one behind.
“Ah, you think you have a choice.” Anais nodded slowly. “I had hoped we had finally reached an understanding, Isabel.”
“Highness–”
Without warning, her hand shot out and snatched the reins from Isabel’s grasp. Yanking both their mounts to a halt caused the horses to rear. She kept her seat while the duchess tumbled to the ground with a cry. Anais flipped to her feet and leaped, straddling the fallen woman. Her claws slammed into the dirt around the lady's throat. Her other hand pinned her victim’s arm.
Isabel sucked in air, her eyes wide and mouth silently opened. Like a rabbit caught beneath a wolf’s paw, she lay so very still. The appropriate response. Any movement, even a breath, and Anais might ‘accidentally’ slit her throat. That would be a pity. The lady could be useful.
Around and behind them, hoofbeats pounded to a halt. Metal rang and leather creaked. The servant girl asked a question. Anais ignored the answer.
“I will ask you again,” the Queen crooned, smiling coldly into the Nadraken’s terrified eyes. “Tell me everything you saw. What did he eat? What did he wear? What did he say? It’s not so difficult. All I want is for you to talk.”
Lady Isabel’s pulse beat rapidly against her fingers. It was a delicious feeling. If she squeezed gently, her claws might slice skin, draw blood. Just a little, only a sting of warning. Red was a beautiful color on her claws. She'd always liked it.
The lady choked out, “You can’t– You can’t treat me like this. I’m a duchess. I'm– When I tell my Queen–”
“You won’t be able to say anything if I cut out your tongue.” Tenderly, she stroked Isabel’s arm, scraping toward the lady’s hand. “Or write a word after I remove your fingers. One little bone at a time.”
The pathetic whimper that reached her ears only fed her rage. Anais wanted a fight, but the lady was just lying there, terrified out of her wits. Glaring down at her prey, the Queen wasn't the least bit satisfied.
A small shift in the dirt claimed a fraction of her attention. Jerome cleared his throat. “My Queen, we shouldn't stop here,” he said in a neutral tone. Bored, even. It was his courtly, reproachful tone for her.
Her captain would do as he was told. He always did.
The only man who might be a threat was quiet. Vern's disapproval radiated at her back. He didn’t need to move a muscle or say a word. She felt his eyes on her, eyes that said everything he needed to say.
Well, Vern wanted to kill Castien. She didn't approve of him, either.
Isabel’s throat bobbed. Tremors coated her voice. “I don't think he ate. Or spoke. Not in public. Yelena whipped him sometimes. I don't remember him ever making a sound. He wore red. Goddess, I don't… I don't know what else to tell you. Please…”
Anais retracted a finger from the dirt. The lady flinched. “How often was he presented to court? How long?”
“I don't… an hour! Maybe. An hour every few days. I wasn't there every day!”
Another claw dug out from the ground. “Who else touched him? Names, titles. Everyone you remember.”
Isabel closed her eyes and frowned. “Duke Aelon Trenton. He had just been appointed the new general. Yelena let him ‘wet his blade on her toy’.” Her eyes snapped open. “His sword. Just his sword. He cut a deep gash into your Escort’s chest. I thought the poor man would bleed out.”
Duke Trenton replaced the previous general who had failed to hold against Shoni’i. The man had no military experience, but he had plenty of experience in Queen Yelena’s bed.
All five claws met air. Anais shook the dirt from her hand, then drew a line across her chest, from her collarbone to her ribs. “Here?”
The lady nodded, cautious relief in her quickened breaths. She shouldn't have been relieved. Isabel had predicted correctly; she was only making Anais angrier.
Licking her lips, Isabel continued, “Priestess Theia insisted on a purging ritual for ‘the faithless, filthy heathen’. She carved symbols all over his body.”
