“Fine.” I give him one last withering look before spinning on my heel and heading for the door. But the harsh words he mutters have my feet halting atop the rocking floor. “And what exactly did the queen ask you about Kitt?” I stand there for a moment, hand clutching the door’s rough edge. Then I’m whipping around to meet his gaze of indifference with words that are equally so. “She asked if I was going to kill him.” There is a long pause wedged between us. “And are you?” “Again,” I say between clenched teeth, “you think so little of me?” “You know I do not.” My eyes flick up his rigid body.
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