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She caught herself on the edge of the wagon and glared up at Rharreth as if she blamed him for that too. “Is it not? I am an elf. I am unworthy of ruling Kostaria at your side in the eyes of your people. You have done very little to show me that your opinion is any different.”

Hadn’t he? He had kept her safe. He had seen to it that she had new clothes fit for a queen of the trolls. He had...

Rharreth tried to think of something else, but he could not. All the duties he’d given her had been ones that kept her occupied inside Khagniorth, yet they weren’t anything that had to be done by her, specifically.

It was more that he did not know what to do with her. His father had never included his mother in ruling Kostaria. She had birthed him two sons and fulfilled her only purpose. After that, he’d had no more use for her.

Had Rharreth accidentally turned into his father, despite his best intentions?

He tilted his head toward the crowd. “Let’s discuss this later, all right? For now, my queen, would you like to join me in distributing food to our people?”

While some of the fire left her eyes, she still studied him as if she thought those might just be fancy words he was using to temporarily mollify her.

Perhaps he was. But this wasn’t an argument he wanted to have in front of all of Osmana.

“Fine.” Melantha raised her chin and stalked back to the front side of the wagon.

Rharreth joined her and took over the task of handing out the grain and other supplies they had been given by the Escarlish army. Melantha soon caught on to the system and handed him the individual sacks after Zavni measured out the portions.

The longer they worked, the more the look on Melantha’s face softened. Did she see the same thing Rharreth did when he looked out over his people? Did her heart ache at the hunger written across the gaunt faces, the skeletal arms, and the hollow eyes, especially among the regular citizens?

A group of warriors from some of the most influential families in Osmana gathered at the far side of the road, glaring toward the wagons, Rharreth, and especially at Melantha.

One of them stomped his feet and shouted, “We won’t take any food given out of charity from the stinking elves!”

A few of the other warriors stomped and howled in response.

Drurvas glanced over his shoulder, his amber eyes narrowing as if sayingI told you so.

Still, the mothers with the young children hunched their shoulders, kept their heads down, and pressed toward the food, clutching the tiny hands of children whose stomachs were distended and their arms nothing but bone covered with too tight skin.

They were the reason Rharreth was doing this, no matter how unpopular it made him among the warrior families.

When the next mother and child approached the wagon, Melantha held out a hand to the child but kept an eye on the mother. Her smile was softer and more genuine than anything Rharreth had yet to see on her face. “I am a healer. I can restore your child’s strength and health and heal the effects of malnutrition.”

The mother snatched her child away from Melantha’s hand. “Keep your filthy elf hands away from my son. We don’t need your help.”

Spinning on her heels, she marched away without even bothering to claim the portion of grain Rharreth held out.

Melantha straightened, her eyes blazing again, her jaw set in that hard, stubborn line of hers. She muttered under her breath in a tone Rharreth probably was not supposed to hear, “Fine. Let your child die rather than accept my help. See if I care.”

Rharreth found himself staring at her. She was back to angry now, but, for a moment there, she had been truly offering to help. It had made her...beautiful. More beautiful even than she had looked when she had faced down Charvod in the dungeon.

He was not sure he could name what stirred inside his chest. Nor did he want to examine it while standing in front of an angry mob in Osmana.

Instead, he gave Melantha a nod. “Please, do not give up on all of them. Thank you for offering to help.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, as if she was surprised by his response. What had she expected? That he would tell her to go back to the stronghold and stay out of the way?

Perhaps there was more truth than he wanted to admit to her accusations. He had not even considered that she could help. Nor had it occurred to him that she would want to do so.

“Please.” Another voice, this one lowered and desperate, drew his gaze away from Melantha.

Another woman had worked her way to the front of the line. Her gray face was haggard, her white hair straggling down her shoulders. In her arms, she clutched a small child. Its body was so wasted, Rharreth couldn’t guess if the child was a boy or girl, much less the child’s age. The child’s stomach was distended while its mouth gaped open. It spasmed in its mother’s arms.

Rharreth’s chest hurt. He’d seen this far too many times. The child was dying, its organs shutting down after prolonged starvation.

The mother peered up at them, tears glistening in her eyes. She focused on Melantha. “Is it true that you are an elf healer? Could you please help my daughter?”