My stomach lurches as the world dissolves into sparks, and when I manage to open my eyes again, blinking past the imprint of sunshine burned into my retinas, we’re standing on an identical platform high above the clouds.
The sudden altitude makes my ears pop painfully. I swallow against the pressure, fighting a wave of dizziness as the thinner air scrapes my lungs.
Below us stretches an endless sea of brilliant white clouds, and above stands the Sun Court castle.
Stone walls rise in tiers from the cliffs, broken by dozens of towers capped with golden domes. Covered bridges span the gaps between different sections of the palace. Long balconies and battlements adorn the upper levels, statues of winged figures standing at regular intervals along the walls.
The scale is overwhelming.
This place was built to impress. To dominate. To make visitors feel small the moment they lay eyes on it.
But it isn't only a castle. It's a city.
The lower terraces are crowded with homes, shops, gardens, and winding streets filled with people moving about their day. The higher we climb, the fewer people there are.
By the time we're escorted across the upper ramparts, my heart is pounding so hard it nearly drowns out the roar of the wind.
A second group of guards waits near the entrance to the upper citadel.
“I need an audience with Sir Daros,” the squadron leader announces.
One of the stationed soldiers frowns, breaking formation. “I’ll be thrown in the brig if I disturb the Lord Commander for no reason.”
The two men lean in and exchange a few hurried words. The stationed guard's expression changes almost immediately, his eyes widening.
“Come with me. You, the prisoner...” His gaze bounces from my bound hands to the space where my ghost is standing, E’s wet boots still leaving prints on the stone. “...and the Prince of Light.”
We're ushered inside a white structure with no roof, and the wind stops abruptly.
The chill of altitude is quickly replaced by warm sunlight. Shiny marble halls stretch before us, and the scents of citrus, polished stone, and something floral I can't name fill my nostrils.
Far above, enormous crystal chandeliers hang from bronze cables strung between the open supports, catching the light and scattering fragments of color across the floor.
We’re guided up a flight of stairs and into a room lined with tall windows overlooking the clouds. Inside, a broad-shouldered male wearing an immaculate gold-and-white uniform sits behind a desk.
He rises swiftly as we enter. “To what do I owe this rather inconvenient interruption?”
Sir Davos is older than the others, with streaks of silver threaded through his short, ashy-blond hair. He has the hard, battle-worn build of a general, his face made of stern lines that suggest he rarely smiles—if ever.
He takes one look at the empty space beside me and goes pale.
Then, to my utter shock, he bends the knee.
“My prince.” He’s visibly rattled, his eyes flicking briefly to me as he stands. “My apologies. I wasn’t informed of your return. Let me take care of the prisoner?—”
“She’s not a prisoner,” E cuts in with enough bite to stiffen my spine. “She’s my guest.”
The captain hesitates only a fraction of a second. “Of course.”
He steps forward and cuts the bindings from my wrists with the dagger sheathed at his waist.
The pressure vanishes so suddenly that my arms feel weightless. Then the pain comes roaring back in a rush of hot needles as circulation returns to my numb fingers. Angry welts circle my wrists where the bindings bit deep into my skin.
The leather gag is unbuckled next, and I swallow against the soreness.
“My apologies,” Sir Davos repeats, glaring at the squadron leader. “Why was I not notified of our prince’s return immediately?”
“We weren’t certain it was really him, sir.”
