-Isabella-
“How did you learn to shoot?” I asked the queen as we turned back toward the house, the sun slowly sinking in the sky.
“My father,” she replied curtly, opening the door to the living room.
“Your father? King Xavier?”
Octavia was already behind a small bar, pouring three glasses of whiskey. Her eyes were focused on the drinks, but a small smile played on her lips, and she let out a short breath, as if she were laughing at my words.
“King Xavier? No one calls him king unless it’s preceded by ‘mad’,” he explained.
I bit my tongue. My father had been loyal to Xavier. So had my brother. I was so accustomed to hearing him referred to as king, not as the mad king.
“Well, he was king,” I said, settling down beside Lily on a barstool.
“He was,” the queen shrugged.
She handed us
