I see you for what you are, she thought. Did the woman’s eyes widen, ever so slightly? The girl drew breath to speak.
Before she could set words to breath, Morana interjected. “I am certain that she sees what I do, Your Majesty.”
A weight lifted from Jasna’s mind as the woman turned her attention to the other Handmaiden. The mild annoyance in the queen’s expression only deepened.
Jasna opened her mouth, but Morana flicked a glance her way, past the queen, making the slightest of shakes of her head.
Jasna swallowed her retort.
“Blood of Achelos?” the queen’s purr rose ever so slightly in pitch, betraying her certainly. Her eyes moved, and she spoke over Jasna’s head. “I spent considerable resources ensuring those of your line escaped the predations of Flaghr’s van, on the condition that they only return bearing that which you stole from Us. You dare to break that oath, and steal from Us yet again? Do you think me blind?”
“If Your Majesty will recall," Zirchev said, "I never actually accepted those terms.”
“We told you if you stood before us again without that which you stole, it would be your end.”
“And yet, here I stand. Unfinished. Your Majesty is certainly true to Her word. I am prepared, at last, to accept Your Majesty’s most gracious offer.”
“What makes you think Our offer is even still at table?”
“I did not refuse it, and Your Majesty has not revoked it.”
“It has been…. More than a score of your winters since.”
“An offer such as you extended is nothing to be entered into lightly, Your Majesty, and bears much thoughtful consideration. What are a mere twenty two winters, to one as timeless as Yourself?”
“Our lifespan is near infinite, Huntsman. Our patience is not.” Greenish gold tendrils of liquid-like flame writhed over the slightly hooked fingers of the Queen’s left hand.
“Before I accept,” Zirchev continued, his tone still aloof, nearly… was it mirthful..? “Would Your Majesty care to renegotiate?”
Greenish-gold eyes narrowed, then widened, slit-like pupils widening. The queen tipped back Her head and gave a throaty laugh.
Far from mirthful, it was — much like the Queen Herself — a thing of equal measures beauty and terror.
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