The Queen Read Online Free Page B

was attached to every nerve in his, and as we sat there, a strange electricity began filling the room. Clarkson circled his finger on the table, refusing to look away. My breathing sped up, and when I let my eyes drop to his chest, it looked as if his had, too.
    I watched his hands move. They looked determined, curious, sensual, nervous . . . a list went on in my head as I stared at the little paths he drew on the table.
    I’d dreamed of him kissing me, of course, but a kiss was rarely only that. Certainly he’d hold my hands or my waist or my chin. I thought of my fingers, still rough from years of labor, and worried what he would think if I touched himagain. At the moment, I desperately wanted to.
    He cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the spell. “I should probably escort you back to your room. It’s late.”
    I pressed my lips together and looked away. I’d watch the sunrise with him if he asked me.
    He stood, and I followed him into the main hall. I wasn’t sure what to make of our late, brief date. It felt more like an interview, if I was honest. The thought made me giggle, and he looked at me.
    “What’s so funny?”
    I debated saying that it was nothing. I wanted him to know me, and that would eventually mean me getting past my nerves.
    “Well . . .” I hesitated. This is how you learn about each other, Amberly. You speak. “You said you liked me . . . but you know nothing about me. Is that how you usually act with girls you like? Do you interrogate them?”
    He rolled his eyes, not angrily but as if I should already understand. “You forget. Until very recently, I’d never—”
    The sound of a door crashing open startled us out of our conversation. I recognized the queen instantly. I started to curtsy, but Clarkson pushed me sideways into another hallway.
    “Don’t you walk away from me!” The king’s voice boomed across the floor.
    “I refuse to talk to you when you’re like this,” the queen replied, her speech faintly slurred.
    Clarkson put his arms around me, shielding me even more. But I suspected he needed the embrace more than I did.
    “Your spending this month is outrageous!” the king roared. “You can’t go on like this. It’s that kind of behavior that sends this country into the hands of the rebels!”
    “Oh, no, dear husband,” she replied, her voice drenched in fake sweetness. “It will send you into the hands of the rebels. And believe me—no one will miss you when it does.”
    “Get back here, you conniving bitch!”
    “Porter, let me go!”
    “If you think you can bring me down with a handful of overpriced gowns, you are mistaken.”
    There was the sound of one of them striking the other. Instantly, Clarkson let me go. He grabbed one of the door handles and turned, but it was locked. He moved to the other, and it opened. He grabbed my arm and forced me inside, shutting the door behind us.
    He started pacing, gripping his hair with his hands as if he was tempted to rip it all out. He moved to the couch, grabbed a pillow, and tore it to threads. When he’d finished with that one, he moved on to a second.
    He smashed a small end table.
    Threw several vases against the stonework of the fireplace.
    Tore the curtains.
    Meanwhile, I pressed my body against the wall by the door, trying to make myself invisible. Maybe I should’ve run or gone for help. But I didn’t think I could leave him alone, not like that.
    When it looked as if he’d gotten most of his anger out of his system, Clarkson remembered I was there. He stormedacross the room and stopped in front of me, a finger pointing at my face. “If you ever tell anyone what you heard, or what I did, so help me, God . . .”
    But I was shaking my head before he finished. “Clarkson . . .”
    The angry tears glistened in his eyes as he continued. “You never let on, you understand?”
    I raised my hands to his face, and he flinched. I paused and tried again, moving even slower this time. His cheeks were warm,