Then I march up the steps with my head held high,ignoring the stares that inevitably trail toward my scarred eye and doing my best not to limp in spite of my bruised knee and aching hip.
More stone dragons guard the ornate doors. Like the ones at the city gate, their eyes are golden. Those eyes look disturbingly real, seeming to track me as I step into the palace, and I have to stop myself from looking back to make certain I’m not actually being followed.
The entry hall is cavernous and cold. The ceiling soars high above, supported by twisting columns that make me think of tangled tree branches. The floor is polished marble, dark grey and veined with yet more gold. The walls are covered in tapestries, but they do nothing to warm the chill that's overtaken me. Everything echoes. Our footsteps. The rustle of cloaks. The distant sound of voices from somewhere deeper in the palace.
King Reave continues to ignore me, striding forward with purpose. I still follow him, but my steps become slower and slower as I take in more of my surroundings.
There's at least twenty feet between us when a young woman rushes into the hall, the heels of her shiny boots clicking aggressively against the marble, catching my attention.
She's dressed in relatively plain leggings and a flowing shirt, but the material is obviously luxurious, the way it moves and drapes around her—obviously fit for royalty. She wears no mask, but the accessories crawling along her shoulder and the side of her neck, and up her left arm, seem to be made like the one the king wears; like shining dragon scales that have been molded to her body. Rings sparkle on most of her fingers. The jeweled headpiece resting on herlong, pale hair is probably worth more than I've ever earned in a month.
Again, as I step closer, I'm hoping for the lighting to reveal an ugly appearance to match the ugly, greedy nature of the Mouren nobility.
And again, I'm disappointed.
Just like the king, she's strikingly beautiful, both from afar and up close, though in a more severe sort of way; like an ice storm that you can't help marveling at, even as it snaps limbs and cripples your entire town. Her features are sharp, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that I imagine appears all the more regal when she’s looking down upon others.
She strides directly to the king, who removes his mask as she approaches. She kisses his cheek, then gathers his face in her hands, tilting it this way and that, as if inspecting for damage. She looks both furious and relieved as she throws her arms around him, her brightly painted nails digging into his back.
When she pulls away from the tense embrace, her expression remains torn. One of her hands grips the king’s arm while the other clenches and unclenches at her side. She looks like she's fighting the urge to smack him.
I silently root for her to do it.
“Disappearing in the middle of the night with nothing more than a damn note?Really?” She seems to be making a halfhearted attempt to keep her tone hushed, but the words still carry clearly through the vast hall.
“I've come back to you in one piece, haven't I?” says the king, taking off his gloves and handing them to a servant who's just quietly appeared at his side. The servant wordlessly takes his mask as well, then helps him out of his ridingjacket, completely unbothered by the bickering that continues; it seems as though these arguments are a common affair.
I keep my distance, alternating between studying more of my surroundings and watching the two nobles argue. They don't have much in common, looks-wise. Still, if I had to guess, I would say that woman must be Princess Kestrel; I can't imagine the king allowing anyone else to speak to him this way, aside from his own sister.
“Arlo hasn't slept a wink since he realized you were gone,” I hear her say, her tone rising again.
“I'll see to him as soon as I can. But there's other business that needs attending to, first.”
“Business.” She lets out an irritated huff. “What business is worth abandoning your family with such reckless disregard?”
He finally acknowledges my existence again, throwing a casual glance in my direction.
The princess's eyes dart toward me. They linger for only a moment before narrowing back on her brother.
King Reave lowers his voice, speaking again in what I presume to be the language of Mouren's elite class. I watch his sister's expression shift from confusion to disbelief, and finally to something cold and calculating. When she looks back at me this time, the full weight of her gaze settles, sharp and assessing.
She starts toward me with poised, deliberate steps, circling like a vulture before stopping in front of me and folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes are a much darker blue than her brother's, but they have the same deep-set quality, making her glare seem even more intense.
Looking back at the king, she demands, “Where exactly did you drag this gutter rat out from?”
“He didn't drag me from anywhere,” I answer, before her brother can speak. “I'm perfectly capable of moving on my own, thank you.Idecided to come here. I climbed onto the back of his damn horse all by myself.”
The princess regards me the way one might regard a stray dog—or some other filthy, potentially rabid creature. “Atalentedgutter rat who can balance on its hind legs, then. How amusing for us.”
Apparently, the asshole gene runs in their family.
I'm very close to saying something I probably shouldn't when the king makes his way over to us. “It doesn't matter where she came from,” he says.
I disagree—vehemently—but I hold my tongue for the moment.
“What matters is where she goes from here,” he continues. “And we'll need to discuss that. Maybe you could be useful, Kestrel, and summon the necessary bodies? I'll have a servant prepare the smaller meeting room.”
She scoffs before giving him a mocking curtsy. “Of course,Your Majesty. But we aren't finished discussing your questionable life choices.”
