08 A Little Hatred: Book One (The Age of Madness)

‘No.’ They both knew she was lying, and not even with any conviction. She was mauled inside and out. She was torn apart and badly stitched back together.

‘Good.’ He forced a crooked smile. ‘You look well.’

She could not smother a bark of bitter laughter. ‘You always were a champion liar, Orso, but that one’s a little too big even for you to lift.’

‘You look beautiful to me,’ he said, holding her eye. ‘Whatever you might think.’

She had no idea what to say to that. She was a wretched understudy, kicked from the wings onto the empty stage and gazing horrified towards the crowd, not knowing her lines. Not even knowing the play.

When she finally spoke, it was a shock how calm she sounded. ‘There were some people with me. A family. I wouldn’t have—’

‘They are safe and cared for. You don’t have to worry about anything.’

‘Not worry,’ she whispered. She was nothing more than a sheaf of worries, held together by a shitty dress. ‘I’m sorry … you had to come here,’ she managed to dredge up. ‘I know how much … you wanted to go North.’

‘When I heard you were in danger, I didn’t think twice. I didn’t think once. Not that your father or mine were going to give me any choice. Probably best I leave the North to men’s men like Leo dan Brock. I think we can all agree I’m not really cut out to be a soldier.’

‘The uniform suits you.’

‘I may be a sheep on the battlefield, but when it comes to wearing the uniforms, I’m an absolute tiger.’

There had been a time she could talk for hours and beautifully say nothing. Now it felt obscene. Swapping light-hearted pleasantries while one party is shitting themselves all over the floor.

She felt an entirely unreasonable stab of fury. Why hadn’t he come sooner? Why had he sat out here waiting, the useless fucking coward? She wanted to tear at him with her nails. Instead, she vomited up compliments. ‘From where I stand, it seems you managed the whole business rather well.’

‘More by luck than skill, I rather think.’

‘Everyone’s alive.’ A flash of blood spattering that guard’s face as his arm was dragged into the grinding gears. Savine had to cough, swallow acid. ‘Most. Most are.’

‘You are. That’s all that matters. I’m so sorry it took me so long. To get here. To find you.’ He looked into her eyes with an intensity she could not stand to meet. ‘To realise … what I feel for you. I don’t see how things can carry on between us … the way they did before.’

She almost laughed at that. ‘Of course not.’ How could anything be what it was before, ever again?

‘That’s why …’ He looked ridiculously nervous. Crown Prince Orso, notorious for caring about nothing. How many women had he disappointed? Hundreds, most likely. He really should have learned to do it better.

‘That’s why …’ He took a hard breath. As if readying himself for some great act of courage. Savine lifted her chin. As if to give the headsman an easier task. He looked up at her. Guilty. Haunted. Ashamed.

Her patience snapped. ‘Just spit it out!’

‘I want you to marry me!’ he blurted. ‘I mean … shit!’ He wobbled awkwardly down to one knee. ‘This isn’t how I planned it. I haven’t even got a ring!’

She stared at him in cold astonishment. ‘What?’

He took her limp hand in both of his. They felt hot and faintly clammy. ‘It’s mad, I know it’s mad, but … I love you. It took this to make me realise, but … hear me out.’

Honestly, she had no words to interrupt him with.

‘I’m shit without you! Utter shit, everyone knows it. But with you … I have the chance of being a worthwhile person. I didn’t come here to save you. The idea’s fucking ridiculous. I came so that you can save me. I’m the last man you’d pick as a king, I know, but you … bloody hell, Savine, you were made to be a queen! There’s no one I admire more. You have all the brains and the guts and the ambition I don’t! Imagine what we could build together. Well, imagine what I could watch you build. Queen Savine.’ He gave that boyish, wheedling smirk of his. ‘It even rhymes.’

‘Queen …’ It came out a strangled squawk. The sort of noise a goose might make when its neck was wrung. ‘Savine …’

He could have had anyone. But he wanted her. And not her money, not her connections, not her wigs and her dresses and her jewels. Not the idea of her. But her. At her worst. Even now. Even like this. Not just as his lover. As his wife. As his queen.

‘I …’ she breathed, but her voice failed her utterly and it came out no more than an acrid burp.

‘Shit.’ He winced as he sharply stood. ‘You don’t have to answer. You don’t even have to think about it.’ He pulled one hand away, but clung on with the fingertips of the other as if he could not quite bring himself to let go. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. I’m such an arsehole. Take all the time … you need …’