Free Of Beast and Beauty by Stacey Jay

left for him to rise except to the throne. He’s already married and too old to wed me himself, but I’m sure he finds his son an acceptable substitute.
     
    “You are beautiful tonight,” Bo whispers, his wine and rosemary breath warm on my cheek. “Your eyes are like springtime.”
     
    “Thank you,” I mumble, struggling to keep my expression from going sour. There’s nothing wrong with Bo’s lies. They’re pretty lies. Kind lies.
     
    There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to be king, either. Someone will be my king. It might as well be Bo. He is solicitous and flattering. Our marriage would make his father happy, and the people relieved. It would fulfill my duty as a daughter of the covenant, and secure the future of the city. All good reasons to relax and let his hands linger, but for some reason my body remains tense no matter how much wine I drink.
     
    “May I walk you to your rooms tonight?” Bo asks, his arm snaking around my shoulders, trapping me in my chair.
     
    Around us, the buzzing grows hushed for a moment before resuming at a more insistent drone. The nobles are talking about me. They’ve been talking about me since Needle led me to my chair on the raised platform at the center of the room. The hall eventually grew too noisy to pick out individual words, but before it did, I heard more than enough.
     
    Words like “large” and “mad” and “mother.” Words like “sad” and “strange” and “frightful.”
     
    “Would that be all right?” Bo’s fingers grip my shoulder, making my pulse speed. I feel like a rabbit trapped beneath a falcon’s claws. Prey.
    Something to be consumed.
     
    … get her married …
     
    … glad it’s not my son …
     
    … an embarrassment …
     
    The scraps of drunken conversation are arrows flying through the roasted-duck-perfumed air, finding their marks in my heart.
     
    I take a deep breath and remember the smell of the newly broken ground in my healing garden. I remember the feel of the plow handles beneath my palms, the sound of Gem’s new brace squeaking as he walks, his gravel-and-grit voice telling stories of his tribe while we work the rocky dirt by the Desert Gate.
     
    Dry grass is all that’s ever grown there, and I know Junjie doubts anything else ever will, but a patch of land is a small price to pay for an absent queen. And why shouldn’t I be absent? It’s becoming increasingly clear that no one intends to take me seriously. There might as well be a stuffed toy sitting on the throne, for all the attention my advisors pay me
    when I dare to speak up during their interminable meetings. There’s no point in fighting them. I’d rather leave the running of things to Junjie and the other cranky old men.
     
    And so I have my field and my Monstrous to help me tend it, and four guards to watch over me while I work, and Junjie meets with the other advisors and the nobles and soldiers and farmers and shopkeepers alone, without a blind girl getting in his way.
     
    I find the garden a more-than-satisfying use of my time. The work is hard but simple, and Gem has proven himself capable of making the best of his captivity. He is cordial and pleasant and appreciative of the efforts I make on his behalf. Best of all, with Gem, I never have to worry about what I look like.
     
    Heard she’s hiding … sickening … underneath . The whispers grow louder, harsher.
     
    “Isra?”
     
    Repulsive … never … large . My fork falls to my plate with a dull clink.
    Strange … mad … unnat—
    I push my chair back, shrugging Bo’s arm from my shoulders as I stand. If I don’t escape this room, I’m going to explode.
     
    “Isra? Are you—?”
     
    “I need some fresh air.” I hold out my hand, grateful when Needle’s fingers immediately appear beneath. “I’ll be back in a moment. Have them bring more sweet wine.”
     
    I squeeze Needle’s hand, and she immediately sets off at a brisk but reasonable pace, leading me down the