A Time of Turmoil (In the Eye of the Dragon Book 1) by N. M. Zoltack

Author:N. M. Zoltack [Zoltack, N. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-29T22:00:00+00:00

27

Queen Sabine Grantham

A few days had passed since the baby had died, and Sabine felt just terrible over it. Babies were innocent, the last innocents that the world had to offer. So many persons were ambitious, cutthroat, vicious. They would step on the back of others in order to further their own agenda.

Some might even think that about Sabine, and while she had managed to become the king’s wife and would be queen beside him in a week’s time, she would not call herself cutthroat. Certainly, she was not vicious.

At the moment, she was not feeling ambitious in the least. All she longed to do was to make the king feel better about the death of Bates. She could hardly begin to even contemplate how he must be feeling. He had lost two wives and now a son. Sabine’s father had died when she had been only five years old. The two of them, her mother and herself, had clung to each other and not only survived alone, but they had thrived.

Sabine stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked every inch a queen. Paint tinted her lips, and her cheeks had been brushed with powder to make her skin perfectly white. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders in curls. Her gown was beautiful, but it paled in comparison to the jewels around her neck. The weight of them was heavy, but Sabine loved it.

Since the news of the baby’s passing, Sabine had been wearing either black or brown. Her gown that day was a muted gray, her gemstones black onyx. She hoped the colors of mourning would not be too much for the king. He had refused to see anyone, not even her.

That morning, that would change. She was to be his queen. He would not deny her forever.

Gliding along the hallways, Sabine swayed her way from her quarters to the king’s.

The guards stared at her, passive and immobile.

“Please allow me to see my husband,” she said softly.

“He gave us strict orders to not let anyone in.”

She straightened and stared down at them, as regal and imposing as she could be. “I am not just anyone.”

The guards glanced at each other.

With an agitated sigh, Sabine ignored them and opened the door herself.

The king was standing. She had never seen him stand under his own power before. He was gripping the windowsill with all of his might. His knuckles, from what she could see of them beyond the rolls of fat, were white.

She crossed over to him. “My king, I am so very sorry for the loss of your son,” she started.

“He was not my son,” the king said bitterly.

“He was not?” Sabine retreated a step. She was shocked, and yet, she was not.

It had been clear to Sabine, her mother, and many others that the king had not cared for his second wife. He had not grieved her death, and that had been the reason behind Sabine’s and her mother’s haughty anger toward the dead queen in an attempt that had succeeded in endearing them to the king.

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