The Queen's Mage

Chapter 98: Practice Choosing

The sitting room felt too intimate at this hour. The fire had been banked low, but its light still moved over the walls, catching the edges of maps, books, the folded shawl over the wrong chair. Rain whispered against the balcony doors. Somewhere in the palace beyond, bells marked the hour softly enough to be ignored.

“You should sit,” Serali said.

Allandra looked at the chairs.

Then at Serali.

“May I?”

The question was simple.

Too simple.

It caught Serali somewhere below the ribs.

May I?

Not because Allandra needed permission to sit in a palace room. Because she had asked in Serali’s room. Because she had come through the public door. Because the chair nearest the hearth had become Serali’s and Allandra had noticed enough not to presume.

Serali swallowed.

“You may,” she said.

Allandra’s eyes darkened.

Not with heat.

Not only.

Recognition.

Ah.

That was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Allandra sat in the green chair.

The drafty one.

Of course.

Serali rolled her eyes and took the blue chair opposite. “You chose the worse chair.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

“You prefer that one.”

Serali looked away.

“Stop knowing things.”

“I will try.”

“No, you won’t.”

“No.”

The honesty nearly undid her.

They sat across from each other, the low table between them, Everly’s card sitting absurdly in the middle like a witness.

The card made this worse. So did the rain. So did the room, which knew Serali now and therefore had no manners.

Allandra removed her cloak at last, folding it over the arm of the chair. Beneath it, she wore a plain dark gown, not court dress, not nightclothes. Something between queen and woman, which was precisely where Allandra became most dangerous.

Serali curled her toes inside her slippers and tried not to notice.

Failed.

The heat noticed for her.

She had expected it to surge when Allandra entered. It had, somewhat. But now it moved differently. Less like being dragged. More like a question asked repeatedly by a very stubborn body.

Yes?

Now?

Closer?

Serali closed the latch partway.

Then, after a moment, opened it again.

Not all the way.

Enough.

Allandra’s gaze flicked to her.

“You felt that?” Serali asked.

“I apologize.”

“I did it on purpose.”

Allandra went still.

There it was. The little shock.

Serali hated how much she liked surprising her.

“I am practicing,” Serali said.

Allandra’s voice lowered. “Opening?”

“Choosing.”

The fire cracked.

Allandra’s composure did not break.

But it thinned.

Good.

No, not good. Not a strategy. Not a victory.

A truth being allowed near air.

Allandra looked at her hands. “Serali.”

“No.” Serali leaned forward. “Before you say something noble and exhausting, I need to say things.”

Allandra’s gaze returned to her.

“May I listen?” she asked.

Serali’s breath caught.

Damn her.

“You may.”

This time, Allandra’s control visibly suffered.

A small thing. A tightening at the throat. A darkening of the eyes. The bond warming against the open latch like sunlight with both hands raised.

Serali looked down before she forgot the order of the words she had planned.

“I have been trying to figure out what I really want.”

Allandra did not move.

Serali forced herself to continue. “There is no way to strip away every influence and find some pure self underneath. Fear influences me. Loneliness. Safety. Kindness. Magic. The bond.” Her mouth twisted. “Bad novels.”

Allandra’s expression flickered.

“Do not laugh,” Serali warned.

“I am not.”

“You are internally laughing.”

“A little.”

“Rude.”

“Yes.”

Serali’s hands relaxed in her lap.

Good. Banter helped. Banter was a rope bridge over a gorge. Possibly unsafe, but better than falling.

“Lia said the question is whether I can choose,” Serali continued. “Whether I can say no and believe you will stop.”

Allandra’s face changed.

Not guilt this time.

Something worse.

Hope, perhaps.

Serali met her eyes. “I can.”

Allandra inhaled carefully.

“I can say no to you,” Serali said. “And I believe you will stop.”

For a moment, Allandra looked as if Serali had touched her.

Not gently.

Deeply.

Then the queen closed her eyes.

Her hand rose to cover her mouth, just for a second, as if composure had become something she had to hold in place physically.

Serali had expected relief.

She had not expected grief.

“Allandra?”

“I am all right.”

“No, you are not.”

“No,” Allandra said, opening her eyes. “I am not.”

Serali’s chest tightened.

Allandra gave a faint, broken smile. “But not badly.”

“That sentence is terrible.”

“It is the one I have.”

Serali looked at her for a long moment.

Then said, quieter, “I also think I can say yes.”

The bond went utterly still.

Allandra did too.

The room seemed to shrink around them until there was only the fire, the rain, and the too-large space between their chairs.

Serali’s heart beat once.

Twice.

Too hard.

Allandra’s voice was almost careful enough to hurt. “Do you mean tonight?”

Serali could have laughed. Might have, on another night.

Tonight, she only breathed.

“I mean I think I know what yes feels like now.”

Allandra’s eyes did not leave hers.

Serali looked down at her own hands.

“I do not know if I am ready for everything. I do not even know what everything is, exactly, aside from what the books describe with far too much furniture. I do not know what I will panic about. I do not know whether I will like being seen. I do not know whether the heat will make me foolish, or whether I am already foolish and blaming the heat.”

Allandra said nothing.

Good.

If she interrupted now, Serali might never restart.

“But I know,” Serali said, “that when the bond is quiet, I still want you to come back.”

The words landed between them.

No taking them back.

Allandra’s face softened with such naked tenderness that Serali nearly looked away.

She did not.

She made herself endure it.

No, not endure.

Receive.

Gods, Lia was ruining her.

Serali’s voice lowered. “I want you here. In this room. In my room. I want to know what your hair looks like in the morning. I want you to stop leaving too soon. I want you to kiss me when no one is about to walk in and Daravan is not suffering on the other side of a door.”

Allandra made a sound that almost became laughter.

Serali’s face warmed, but she kept going.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I want your hands. Which is deeply inconvenient because The Sun King’s Unwilling Heart has made hands impossible as a subject.”

Allandra’s mouth curved.

“And I want…” Serali stopped.

There it was.

The ugly part.

The vulnerable joint.

Allandra waited.

Serali’s fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. “I want to know what you see when you look at me.”

The smile faded.

Allandra leaned forward slightly, then stopped herself.

“May I answer?”

Serali closed her eyes.

That question.

Again.

“You may.”

Allandra took a slow breath.

“I see Serali,” she said.

Serali’s eyes opened.

That was not enough.

It was too much.

Allandra seemed to understand both. She continued carefully, but not coldly.

“I see the woman who argued herself into an oath strong enough to withstand kings. I see the person my daughter calls friend because Everly has better instincts than many diplomats. I see anger. Intelligence. Cruel humor. Terrible sleeping habits. Worse eating habits, unless Mara is watching.”

Serali’s mouth trembled despite herself. “This is a very strange seduction.”

“I was not finished.”

“Proceed, then.”

Allandra’s gaze lowered briefly to Serali’s hands, the robe, the place where one old scar crossed the visible edge of her collarbone.

Serali went rigid.

Allandra looked back to her face at once.

“I see what was done to you,” Allandra said quietly. “Some of it. Not all. I know that. I do not pretend otherwise.”

Serali’s throat closed.

“And I want you as you are,” Allandra said. “Not because I have failed to see the scars. Not because I see only them. I want you whole. Angry. Marked. Brilliant. Afraid. Choosing. Able to leave. Able to tell me no. Able to tell me yes. I want you in my bed only if every door remains yours.”

Serali could not breathe properly.

It was unreasonable.

She had asked. She had wanted the answer. Mara had told her to ask what she actually wanted to know. Lia had said truth was not surrender.

No one had warned her that being answered might feel like this.

As if some locked room inside her had been opened carefully, not invaded, and the person on the other side had simply waited on the threshold.

Serali looked down.

The robe had slipped slightly from one shoulder. She could see the pale line near her collarbone. One of the old ones. Not the worst. Not even close.

Still, her hand moved toward it.

Allandra did not look.

Not away in disgust. Away in courtesy.

Serali’s eyes burned.

She hated that.

She hated crying almost as much as she hated being understood.

“I don’t know how to believe you,” she said.

Allandra’s answer came softly. “Then do not force yourself.”

Serali laughed once, ragged. “That is your solution?”

“No.” Allandra’s mouth moved faintly. “My solution is to keep telling you until belief becomes less impossible.”

“That sounds persistent.”

“I am very persistent.”

“Yes,” Serali said. “I have noticed.”

The heat had changed again.

It was still there. Of course it was. It curled beneath every word, every breath, every inch of visible skin, every image Serali’s treacherous mind could produce of Allandra crossing the space between them. But it was not drowning her.

It was present.

So was she.

That mattered.

Chapter 99: The Novels Were Right About Hair

Serali stood.

Allandra’s hands tightened on the arms of her chair.

Serali saw.

She walked around the low table.

Slowly.

Not because she was unsure she wanted to go closer.

Because Allandra needed time to see that she was choosing it.

When she stopped in front of Allandra’s chair, the queen looked up at her.

Allandra did not reach.

Serali almost smiled.

“May I touch you?” Allandra asked.

There it was.

The question that made the room tilt.

Serali held her gaze.

“You may.”

Allandra lifted one hand.

Slowly.

She touched Serali’s wrist first.

Not her waist. Not her face. Her wrist, where old iron had once marked her, where the skin was still faintly paler beneath the sleeve.

Serali’s breath caught.

Allandra paused.

Serali shook her head once. Not no. Not stop. Just the force of sensation arriving faster than composure.

Allandra’s thumb rested lightly against her pulse.

“Still yes?” she asked.

Serali swallowed.

“You may,” she said again, because yes felt too small now and because the phrase did something extraordinary to Allandra’s face.

Permission.

Not surrender.

Allandra bent her head and pressed her mouth to the inside of Serali’s wrist.

Serali made an extremely embarrassing sound.

Allandra stopped at once.

“No,” Serali said immediately.

Allandra looked up.

“I mean—” Serali dragged in a breath. “Do not stop because I made a sound. That will happen. Probably. Unfortunately.”

The corner of Allandra’s mouth trembled.

Serali glared. “Do not be pleased.”

“I am trying not to be.”

“Try differently.”

Allandra’s smile broke through.

It was devastating.

Serali leaned down and kissed her before she could think better of it.

The kiss began awkwardly because Serali was standing and Allandra sitting, because she had moved too quickly, because her own nerves collided with wanting and produced something closer to attack than invitation. Allandra caught the shape of it, steadied it, one hand still at Serali’s wrist, the other hovering near her waist.

Not touching.

Waiting.

Serali broke away just enough to breathe. “You may.”

Allandra’s hand settled at her waist.

Lightly.

As if Serali were not fragile, but the permission was.

That distinction undid her.

She kissed Allandra again.

Better this time.

Deeper.

The bond opened with them, not blown wide by heat or fear but unlocked by something quieter and more terrifying: agreement. Warmth spilled through Serali’s ribs. Allandra’s desire met hers, vivid but held, a flame cupped rather than thrown.

Serali’s hands found Allandra’s shoulders.

Then her hair.

Oh.

The queen’s hair felt nothing like a metaphor. It was soft and real, slipping through Serali’s fingers as Allandra made a low sound against her mouth.

Serali’s knees weakened.

Ridiculous.

She pulled back. “I hate this.”

Allandra’s eyes were dark. “Which part?”

“The part where the novels were right about hair.”

Allandra laughed, breathless.

Serali kissed her again to stop it.

This time Allandra stood.

Not abruptly. Not taking over. She rose slowly, her hand still at Serali’s waist, the other loose enough around Serali’s wrist that she could pull away.

Serali did not.

The heat surged.

So did fear.

Allandra felt both. Serali knew she did because the queen went still.

“Tell me,” Allandra said.

Serali closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“All right.”

“I want you closer.”

Allandra did not move.

“And I am afraid of closer.”

“All right.”

“Stop saying all right like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like both are allowed.”

“They are.”

Serali opened her eyes.

Allandra’s face was flushed, composure frayed, but her gaze was steady.

Both are allowed.

Want and fear.

Yes and not yet.

Open door and latch.

Serali breathed.

“Your hands,” she said.

Allandra waited.

“My waist is fine.” Her face heated. “My back is complicated.”

“Then not your back.”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet.”

The repetition helped.

Serali touched Allandra’s cheek.

The queen leaned into it by a fraction before catching herself.

Serali saw.

“You may,” she whispered.

Allandra’s eyes closed.

Just briefly.

When they opened, something in them had changed.

Not less careful.

More honest.

She turned her face and kissed Serali’s palm.

Then her fingers.

Then stopped, because apparently Allandra intended to kill her with restraint.

“This is unbearable,” Serali said.

Allandra’s mouth curved against her hand. “Yes.”

“Do something.”

“What?”

Serali’s mind emptied.

Allandra’s brows lifted slightly.

Serali scowled. “Do not make me specify. I am new.”

The tenderness that crossed Allandra’s face was almost too much.

Almost.

“May I kiss your neck?” Allandra asked.

Serali’s entire body reacted before she could answer.

Allandra felt it.

Of course she did.

So did Serali, because the bond had become a traitor with excellent hearing.

She looked away. “That is a terrible question.”

“Is it?”

“It has made everything worse.”

“Worse?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I would like to hear you say it.”

Serali looked back at her.

Allandra’s expression was warm, restrained, and faintly wicked.

Oh.

That was new.

Or not new, perhaps. Simply less hidden.

Serali’s mouth went dry. “You are enjoying this.”

“Yes.”

The honesty hit low and bright.

Serali stared.

Allandra’s smile faded into seriousness at once. “Not your discomfort.”

“No.” Serali’s voice came out rougher than expected. “I know.”

“Then what?”

“You may.”

Allandra bent.

The first kiss to Serali’s neck was barely a touch.

It still sent heat down her spine so sharply she clutched Allandra’s shoulders.

The second lingered.

The third found the place beneath her ear and made her forget, for a disastrous second, every language she knew.

Serali gasped.

Allandra stopped.

Serali made a sound of frustration that would have been humiliating if she had enough dignity left to defend.

“Still yes?” Allandra asked, voice rough now.

Serali opened her eyes.

The room had blurred at the edges. Firelight. Rain. Allandra’s hands. Her mouth. The bond thrumming, not shouting, but singing low beneath the skin.

Still yes?

Serali understood suddenly that this was not a single answer.

Not one door opened forever.

A door remaining hers while open.

“Yes,” she said.

Then, because Allandra’s breath caught at the word but not quite the way it did at the other, she added, “You may.”

Allandra kissed her like the phrase had broken something necessary.

Serali did not mind.

Not this time.

They moved slowly after that because Allandra made them move slowly, and Serali complained about it twice before realizing she was grateful. The room unfolded around them in small permissions.

The robe slipping from one shoulder.

Allandra’s eyes dropping, then lifting immediately, asking without words.

Serali’s hand, shaking slightly, caught Allandra’s and guided it to the scar near her collarbone.

“There,” she said, voice thin. “You can look.”

Allandra did.

Not quickly.

Not hungrily.

Not as if the scar explained her.

She looked, then bent and kissed the skin beside it.

Not the scar itself.

Beside it.

As if the scar was not a wound to be worshipped or erased, but simply part of the map, and permission had been given for this road first.

Serali’s eyes burned again.

“Do not be noble,” she said, because she had to say something.

Allandra looked up, mouth close to her skin. “I am trying to be very slightly wicked.”

Serali laughed.

The laugh broke into a breath when Allandra kissed the scar this time.

That was how the fear changed.

Not disappeared.

Changed.

Her back was still complicated. Her wrists less so. Her waist became easy. Her shoulders, difficult at first, then less. Her mouth, not difficult at all. Allandra learned quickly. Infuriatingly quickly. She asked, and Serali answered, sometimes with words, sometimes by guiding her hand, sometimes by tensing until Allandra stopped and waited.

No anger.

No disappointment.

No hurt disguised as patience.

Only waiting.

Once, Serali froze when Allandra’s fingers brushed too near the old marks at her ribs.

Allandra stopped so completely the bond went quiet around her.

Serali hated that quiet for half a breath, then understood it.

Space.

She was being given space.

“Not there,” she said.

“Not there,” Allandra repeated.

No why.

No sorrow.

No apology so large it demanded comfort.

Just the boundary, accepted.

Serali’s chest ached.

She touched Allandra’s face. “You may kiss me instead.”

Allandra did.

Very effectively.

Eventually, the sitting room became impossible.

Not because anything was wrong.

Because Serali’s legs had become unreliable, because Allandra’s restraint was fraying in ways that made the air shine faintly gold, because the low table and Everly’s card were not appropriate witnesses for whatever was happening now.

Serali looked toward the bedchamber door.

Allandra followed her gaze.

Then looked back.

“Serali.”

“I know.”

“We can stop here.”

“I know.”

“I can go.”

“I know.”

“Do you want me to?”

Serali looked at her.

There were questions inside the question. Want. Fear. Care. Need. Heat. All of it waiting to see which truth would be chosen.

“No,” Serali said.

Allandra’s breath shook.

Serali took her hand.

Her own was steadier than she expected.

“I want you to stay.”

Allandra did not move.

The queen who commanded council rooms, armies, budgets, guards, and half the world Serali now knew stood still in Serali’s sitting room because Serali had not yet moved toward the bedroom.

The power of that nearly undid her.

Serali stepped backward.

One step.

Then another.

Allandra followed only when Serali’s hand drew her.

At the bedchamber door, Serali stopped.

The room beyond was dim, lit by rain-gray windows and one low lamp Mara had left near the vanity. The large bed waited in its ridiculous warmth. The silver stars on the ceiling glimmered faintly above it.

Her room.

Her bed.

Her choice.

Serali turned back.

Allandra’s face was open now in a way Serali had rarely seen. Want, yes. Heat. A strain of control so deep it had become almost reverent. But beneath all of it, something gentler and more frightened.

Serali thought of Lia’s question.

Can you say it and believe she will stop?

Yes.

Then another.

Can you say yes and believe it will still be yours?

She was not sure.

But she wanted to find out.