“Are we ever?” he deadpans.
She shoots him one final, haughty look before turning on her heel and sweeping away.
King Reave leads me to a sitting room just off the main hall. It’s sparsely furnished, with only a curved settee upholstered in deep green velvet, a low table, and a few portraits on the walls—more royalty, I assume, all looking down their noses at me. There’s one window, but it’s so small and high above me that it only makes the space feelmoreclaustrophobic, somehow.
“You will wait here until my council is ready to convene.I'll send for you when the time comes.” The king gives no more information than that before leaving and shutting the door firmly behind him.
I sit on the settee, massaging my throbbing knee, blinking away tears and exhaustion, and trying not to think about what comes next.
It must beclose to two hours before I'm finally summoned. A petite, nervous young woman brings the message, and the three men who have been guarding the sitting room escort me to a room deeper in the palace.
Inside this room, a polished, rectangular table fills the center of the space, surrounded by high-backed chairs. King Reave sits at the head of it, his sister to his left. Five others have joined them, a mixture of men and women of different ages who all have one thing in common: the grave expressions on their faces.
They study me without speaking for a long, uncomfortable moment. None of them look particularly impressed, though only one appears outright hostile—aside from Kestrel, anyway; though I'm beginning to think the sour expression is a permanent feature of hers. Most of the council's gazes drift back and forth between my blind, disturbing eye, and the marks branded on my arms, but no one comments on any of these things.
The man to the king's right is the first to finally speak.
“What is your name, young lady?” His old, careworn face is the first one I've encountered in this palace that could be described askind, as is his voice. I'm also certain he already knows my name—that they've all been discussing me beforeI arrived—but he's giving me a chance to declare it for myself. Maybe that's why I answer with little hesitation.
“Arowyn Vhale.”
“And it's true, Lady Arowyn, that you have come to our city with the intention of serving our kingdom as one of the bonded?”
I force a reply out. “Yes.”
The woman sitting beside the old man leans forward. “You swear your loyalty to the throne of Mouren?”
The words rise up only to crumble like ash on my tongue. I swallow once, twice, three times before I finally manage to form them, to get them out. “I…I swear it.”
“Witnessed and accepted,” says the king. “That's all we need, isn't it? Everything else will be handled in due course, as previously discussed.”
A long deliberation follows—quiet murmurs, exchanged glances—but eventually, every council member nods their head in agreement.
The king gets to his feet. The others hasten to follow, standing at respectful attention as he makes his way over to me. Only Princess Kestrel remains seated.
“You'll be needing this,” the king says, holding out a golden ring set with a dark red stone. “Protection and proof that you're sworn to the king's service.”
I stare at the ring in his palm.
After several deep breaths, I make myself take it, somehow resisting the urge to fling it to the ground and stomp on it. It's done, now. There's no turning back.
I slip it on my right hand, where it settles cool and heavy against my finger.
It feels like far too simple of a ceremony, given the magnitude of what I've just agreed to. But I'm notcomplaining that they've kept it brief; I'm ready for this part of the ordeal to be over with. I'm just hoping they allow me to collapse somewhere private after I leave here. Or maybe I could talk them into locking me up alongside Briar? I’d take sharing a musty dungeon cell with her over any other room in this palace, no questions asked.
But something tells me I won’t have a say in my accommodations.
After a brief, spirited discussion, most of the council members file out—save for the old man with the kind eyes, who stays behind to discuss other matters with the king.
I'm shifting my weight from foot to foot, uncertain of where I go from here, when I notice a woman slipping into the room as the others leave. Her greying hair is slicked back into a severe bun. Her frame is small and delicate, but she moves with the confidence of someone who knows exactly how much power she wields. She wears the same dark red uniform as some of the other servants I've seen, only hers has additional gold braiding along the collar and cuffs. A higher-ranking member of the household staff, I assume.
Her sharp, beady eyes focus on Princess Kestrel. “You summoned me, Madam?”
Kestrel gestures flippantly in my direction. “We have a guest who will need a room, it seems.” The princess rises to her feet like a cat stretching after a nap, all languid grace and flexing claws.
I look away while she loudly gives her orders.
“Scrub and disinfect herrelentlesslybefore you let her so much as touch one of the pillowcases,” she tells the servant. “Because once this little game my brother is playing has ended, and we kick her to the gallows or wherever else, I'dprefer it if our guest accommodations didn't permanently smell like dirt and desperation.”
