Page 95 of Nocturn

I exhaled slowly.

It felt as if a million annum rotations passed by the time we reached the platform framed by two pairs of guards on each side. I kept my shoulders straight. Cassiel was the first to sit upon his throne in a partial slouch. His gaze collided with mine. Only for an instant . . . but that was all that was needed. My nerves settled another notch. Then they flitted away from mine as he withdrew his attention from me.

Now Vera led the front of the line, since she had stood behind Cassiel. She climbed the steps; Ida, Hester, then Branwen fell into step behind her.

I hurried to match their glide as we formed a line behind the throne. In a practiced drop, they knelt, each of their beautiful gowns spreading around them and melting into each other. Ida straightened her spine until her breasts pushed up—always with the urge to be the center of attention.

“Amara,” Branwen whispered, eyes wide as they flitted from me to the ground beside her.

With all my might, I kept my jaw tense and lowered at the furthest side, closer to the exit that led to the dreadful pit. From on the platform, the rest of society was lower, and gazes fell upon us as if we were creatures to be studied, while those very gazes became simpering when turning toward Cassiel. Lady Drusilla’s gown caught my attention.

She was speaking to Al . . . and Lord Vaner.

Another harmony began, this time led by a violin, and more bluebloods gathered at the dance station. I scanned and my eyes collided with the familiar brown smocks in the back, lined against the furthest wall near the exit, were the redbloods. All dressed in the customary bland color meant for us to disappear in a sea of colors.

Dancing and merriment commenced, while bluebloods approached on occasion to bow and curtsy to Cassiel. Much of the same continued happening. As more people came to spout nonsense at him, the more I became frustrated. If I had not had experience standing at the back with my fellow redbloods, I may have been weak enough to nod off. But strict control was required.

“Your Highness, I would be honored if you could look kindly upon my daughter. She will enter the Feeder Trials when a position is opened.” A lord’s words brought me back to the simpering that had been occurring at Cassiel’s feet.

I had seen this specific lord in the lineup of councilmen long ago. He had stood near Lord Vaner.

All he, and any that spoke with him, received in response was a grunt from Cassiel. If only I could see his face. I would likely find that annoyed glint in his eyes.

I snorted.

Everyone nearby looked at me. Branwen gasped, shaking her head the slightest bit.

The lord Cassiel had been speaking to turned toward me.

“Is there something you want to opine on, redblood?”

I opened and closed my mouth, lowering my head. “No my lord, I have need of the toilet.”

His lip curled in disgust. “What a vulgar thing.” He clicked his tongue.

“You cannot expect more from a redblood, father,” the youthful woman beside him sniped. She was incredibly pale, from her hair to her lightly flushed skin complimented by her ivory gown.

“You,” Cassiel’s voice boomed enough for the two guards on one side of the platform. “Take the redblood to the feeder wing.” The closest officer with a shock of blond hair bowed.

“Go,” Branwen whispered.

I jolted into action, pushing to my feet. At the base of the steps, I curtsied.

“Thank you, my lord,” I said to Cassiel, not allowing myself to look him in the eyes. He flicked his hand, dismissing me.

This was my chance. Everything had come to this point, just as the prophet said. So I did not waste time and fell in behind the blond officer.

Halfway through the Grand Hall, a familiar smell of citrus reached my nose. A scent that tended to cling to Miriam . . . and her family.

Is that Lord Bjorn? His shock of white curly hair fell over his shoulders, a distinctive violet sash across his chest. He boasted about his military accomplishments whenever he could. I wove to the side, closer to where they congregated among peers.

“I am searching for a suitable husband for my beautiful daughter. More on her level now⁠—”

“Miriam did not wed?” I breathed.

Lord Bjorn turned to me, starting at the bottom of the scarlet gown up to my face. All he offered was a twitch of his eyebrows, then he turned to whatever another member of high society said, leaving me standing in shock.

As if I had not resided in his estate since childhood. Even Lady Bjorn, who had shown me such kindness, did not behave as if she knew me.