Before either of us can spiral any further, Iris reappears at the edge of the terrace.
She shakes her head and raises her eyes to the sky. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your rooms so you can clean up and change into something more appropriate for dinner.”
My stomach sinks.
“The King will return after sundown,” she adds before turning on her heel, clearly expecting us to follow.
We leave the open terrace behind and step into the palace proper, where the air is warmer and perfumed with citrus oil, beeswax, and something faintly floral. Iris leads us through corridors so grand they barely feel inhabitable, with vaulted ceilings painted in celestial frescoes, marble floors polished to a mirror shine, and towering windows framing the ethereal glow of the golden hour.
Servants dressed in plain white cotton stop to curtsy as we pass, lowering their gazes in a respectful—almost fearful—manner. At first, I chalk it up to court etiquette, but as we cross yet another corridor, that strange discomfort curdles into something colder.
The deeper we go, the quieter the palace becomes.
The grand public spaces give way to something more intimate, though no less extravagant. The corridors narrow slightly, the décor shifting from ceremonial splendor tooverstated luxury. The windows frame the dying sun, washing everything in amber-white light.
At last, Iris stops before a pair of towering double doors. “This is your bedroom, Ezra.” A strange, breathy note raises her voice. “Exactly how you left it.”
She gestures vaguely down the corridor. “The women’s quarters are on the opposite side of the throne room.”
Ezra clutches my hand and brings it close to his chest. The intimacy of the gesture hurts more than it should.
“Max can stay with me,” he says with more guile and confidence than I expected.
Iris’s eyes narrow. “I hardly think your father would approve of that.”
I wrestle free of his hold and force my voice to remain steady. “It’s fine. We should obey the house rules.”
Itisfine.
Better, really.
Now that I know for a fact he was married, nothing else can happen between us.
Twilight paints the sky pink and orange as I follow Iris further inside the castle. Silence stretches between us as we walk, strangely intimate in its discomfort. She doesn’t look at me, her spine impossibly straight, her skirts gliding across the marble, but I can’t stop wondering what she was to him.
A friend?
The bitterness in her voice earlier sounded too personal for that.
A mistress, then?
Despite everything, I can’t help wondering whether we have something awful in common. Whether she, too, loved a version of E she could never truly possess.
Across the throne roomhad been a euphemism.
The women’s quarters aren’t down the hall, but on the opposite side of the castle. If I wanted to find E again, I’m not sure I could.
By the Dark One…
I don’t know anything about this place. I don’t know who can open which doors, who answers to whom, or whether I’d be allowed to wander freely at all.
I’m still a prisoner, sort of.
I’ve just been moved to a prettier cage.
E grew up here, amid impossible luxury. Compared to that, Mabel’s cozy Victorian house must have felt ridiculous to him.
Iris and I finally step into the throne room, and I falter.
