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Thicket’s feet hit solid tile as she passed the market located right outside the palace. After treading on nothing but packed sand for the past few days, the sensation was foreign. The air here was less stifling, too. The sun was still relentless, making the red sandstone buildings around them emanate a blistering heat. But the air itself seemed to have more movement than the air in the early bounds of the city, allowing the sweat trickling down her skin to cool. Even the wares in this section were different. Vendors didn’t sell an abundance of haphazard items but specialized in a single craft. Finely woven carpets, glinting copper lamps, small figurines expertly sculpted from clay. However none of it could compare to the palace.
From beyond a massive archway stretching nearly as tall as the surrounding wall, a sprawling courtyard shaded by orange trees carved the path to the domed spires. Flanking either side of the archway were two guards. They raised their swords, holding them out to stop Thicket from drawing closer. “State your business.”
Thicket angled her shoulders back, meeting each of them in the eye. “I demand to have an audience with the Emperor.” It felt much more natural now, slipping into the regal mask of a queen.
The guard took one look at her disheveled clothes and sneered, “Go away. The Emperor doesn’t humor peasants.”
Thicket didn’t back down. “I am Thicket Rose Vogeli, Queen of Vindrya.” She unwound her scarf from around her face and angled her shoulders back, willing them to see beyond the state of her clothes to the glint of her vibrant green eyes and the tell-tale nature of her wild, curly hair. “And I have an important matter to discuss with him regarding the death of the phoenix.”
The guards examined her, then shared a look. Unlike King Artus, they didn’t ask that she prove herself. Instead, the guard’s eyes flicked to Lotta. “And who is she?”
“She is my maid.”
“No personal attendees are allowed. Both she and your guard,” he said, shooting Marcellus a look, “will have to remain here.”
Panic jumped in Thicket’s stomach. It was bad enough that Alouette and Elian had gone off on their own. For them to get separated, too…
Despite knowing she was going to immediately regret this, Thicket grabbed onto Marcellus’ arm and leaned in close. “He isn’t my guard,” she said. “He is my fiancé.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Marcellus was stiff as a board as one of the guards led them through the palace. Thicket expected to taste the tartness of the oranges in the air as they passed through the courtyard, however it was perfumed instead by something sweet and floral. The halls of the palace were open. Empty archways replaced doors and every window was open to the breeze, however the palace wasn’t stifling. The temperature around her was cool enough to ward off the persistent heat of the desert, yet still allowed for the press of warmth as sun rays spilled across the halls.
They were brought to a vacant room on one of the upper floors. This room had a door, however like the rest of the Palace it wasn’t fully boxed in by solid walls. Instead, they were made from intricately carved lattice. Rich pink flowers crawled between the cracks, framing a balcony overlooking yet another miniature orchard. Stone benches were tucked beneath palm trees, shading a trickling pond. Instead of oranges, small wrinkled fruit hung in bunches, carrying a rich caramel scent into the room.
“Wait here until His Majesty is ready to meet with you,” the guard said. As soon as the door clicked shut, Marcellus ripped himself from her grip as though her very touch burned him, leaving her skin cold.
“Why did you do that?” Marcellus demanded.
“Do what?” The words came out quiet for she knew exactly what he meant. She just couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
Marcellus stared at her for a long, hard moment, as though he were biding his time before responding, or trying to summon some kind of control. “Call me your fiancé.” His jaw clenched. “You already have one of those.”
Thicket’s stomach dropped. “You saw what happened when they heard Lotta was my maid. I couldn’t risk us getting separated.”
Thicket had told Lotta to return to Sleeria and wait for them to get back, but there were still guards patrolling the city. She hoped Lotta was okay, though knew better than to underestimate Lotta’s ability to move without detection.
“Why?”
She faced the orchard with a shrug. “I don’t know. We’ve already been split up enough. Besides, it’s not safe for me to be in a foreign palace alone.”
“Like I’m supposed to believe you actually took your own wellbeing into any consideration.”
Thicket threw her hands up. “What else do you want me to say? Maybe I just wanted a friend with me and you were the only one I could still convince the guards to let in.”
Marcellus let out a breathy laugh. “I am not your friend.”
Her heart didn’t just shrink. It twisted.
She had fooled herself into believing these past few days had meant something to him, just as they had meant something to her. Yet how could it when she had been responsible for his family’s death?
“You really hate me that much?”
Marcellus’ eyes widened. “No.” The word came out fast, surprising her. He swallowed, as though trying to restrain himself. “I don’t hate you, Princess. But I don’t want to be your friend.” She was afraid he was going to leave it at that. That he was going to close down and shut her out. But after a moment, he whispered, “It’s too much.”
Too much?
She didn’t understand him. One moment, she thought his defenses were slipping and he was starting to open up to her, only for his walls to slam back down. He was brusque and brutally honest to a fault, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all a front. Like he wrapped himself with barbed wire to ward off anyone who drew near so he didn’t have to expose the bare truths lying on the other side.
