“Unbelievable,” he described my jewels with the same word as his advisor had. He pulled away from my personal space and crossed his arms over his chest, his position of power making me feel so small. “Maeve, you said your name was?” he asked for clarification.
I swallowed the pit in my stomach and nodded.
“My dear, are you aware of the rarity of the stones that embellish your skin?”
“Apparently not,” I murmured, sounding more sarcastic than I had meant to.
The king's forehead creased, but he did not retaliate against my tone.
I cleared my throat and sputtered out a real answer. “I know it's strange that my jewels are on my face, and even more odd that I have three. But I really don't understand why everyone is looking at me as though I am cursed.”
As the words left my lips, a spark of concern pricked my skin.Something was not right.I should have considered the possibility that maybe I was an anomaly—a defect. Why didn't I question that more? My situation was entirely too unique. Unheard of.
I clamped my fists closed and forced myself to internalize that worry for the time being.
King Hawthorne chuckled, grinning in such a way that should have brought me peace, but instead did the opposite. “No, Maeve Willawood. You are far from cursed,” he countered my claim.
My forehead creased and I shook my head. “Then I don't understand, I?—”
“You are not cursed,” Lucan chimed in.
“You are the most blessed of them all.”
While everyoneelse was getting one last chance to say goodbye to their loved ones, I was whisked away into the throne room as soon as the ceremony finished with one of the head soldiers escorting me. Lucan followed behind us, his petite legs suffering to try and keep up with the soldier’s pace.
Lucan never even announced my name or gemstone to the crowd. He just stated that my gift wasof unknown sorts, then rushed through the rest of the students. I couldn't have cared less—there was enough attention on me, anyway. Giving the crowd a name to work with would have just added to that.
The look illustrated on Delani’s face when I was ushered off the stage would be eternally branded into my mind. I couldn’t accurately describe the expression. It was something of utter horror. Panic. I was unable to get a good look at my mother, but was sure she had the same expression.
I was just as conflicted as they must have been, and I hated that I had no way of telling them what had happened to me. At least I wouldn't have to see their faces if I was on my way to be killed.
I sauntered along behind the soldier, who had not said a word since he took me away from the ceremony. He brought me inside through the main entryway, then steered me through the twisted, winding hallways of the castle, all the way to the throne room. I was instantly taken aback by the magnificent beauty of the space.
The walls must have been at least twenty feet tall, and were coated in detailed paneling. Every other panel was engraved with intricate floral designs painted in gold, while the ones in between were a deep shade of green. The drop ceilings were carved from oak, and in the middle of the channeled gridwork hung a glittering chandelier, lit with hundreds of finger-sized candlesticks.
I dropped my head in admiration of the floor I walked upon. The luxurious oak boards were arranged into a herringbone pattern, and were so shiny that I feared stepping on them would ruin their luster.
The most incredible attribute of the room, however, was the throne. It sat atop a velvet dais, raised a few feet off the ground by a short staircase. Crafted from the same oak as the ceiling, though stained a slightly deeper shade, the throne housed carvings of constellations. The illustrations decoratedthe sides of the chair, along with jewels placed randomly throughout the wood grains.
“Wait here,” the soldier spoke at last, showing me to a much less impressive chair before exiting the room.
I sat down and tried to get comfortable, even though my half empty rucksack prevented me from leaning back and my mind stopped me from relaxing. I wasn't sure what to expect. I had no indication of what the king meant when he said that I wasthe most blessed of them all.I assumed that was a good thing? But again, I had no idea.
I blew out a sharp breath.
If I die today, I swear to the gods?—
Lucan sat down in the chair next to me, his legs barely touching the wood below him. His hands were folded in his lap, placed on top of the parchment he had written on during the ceremony. His eyes squinted over to me, his gaze roaming over my body while he muttered to himself.
Weird.
The silence was obliterating, and I couldn't take being stuck inside my own head any longer.
“What the hell is going on?” I blurted out, granting myself a wide-eyed look from the king's advisor.
Lucan became aware that he was ogling at me, and his face softened. He rose from his seat then bent down in front of my chair, performing a quick check of the room before speaking to me in a hushed tone. “The stones you wear on your face are rare enough simply by their number and location.” His head shot up and did another look around before he continued. “But the strain of jewel you were gifted has never been recorded before in history.”
My face scrunched in perplexity at his words. Did he mean the constellastone? That was impossible. Blythe had never gifted her stone to a mortal.
