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“Overcompensating much?” I said, nudging Allera with a snicker.
“Hush,” she chastised, smacking my knee lightly, even though a smile of agreement twinkled in her eyes. “I think it’s simply magnificent.”
I shrugged, refusing to rain any kind of verbal praise on the place.
Before I could find a flaw to critique, a deep resounding cadence pounded from the drum tower, swiftly followed by the chorus of trumpets, performing a familiar melody.
“Oh,” Allera said, brightening with pleasure. “Oh! They’re playing High Cliff’s anthem to greet us. What a lovely welcome.” She turned to me. “I’m liking Donnelly already.”
I rolled my eyes but, for her, refused to say what I was really thinking, like this was too pleasant to be trusted. We were probably only being led into a trap where they either killed us as soon as we entered the gate or threw us in their dungeon before demanding some kind of reward from Father for our return.
Tensing as the wheels under us rolled onto the drawbridge, filling the carriage with a different tone—a more ominous timbre—I glanced warily out the window, not liking how trapped I felt. This would be the perfect place for them to launch their attack.
When my gaze caught on the barbican we were about to pass through, however, the guards inside it eyed us curiously from both sides, a few even waving with wide, cheerful, goofy grins.
I frowned and sat back in my seat. Not very daunting, were they? That was honestly no way to receive foreigners. It made the soldier in me mutter until I actually wanted a crack at training these idiots, teach them the proper way to look strong and intimidating to newcomers from distant lands.
Once we cleared the gatehouse and entered a lower bailey, a bald man in brown friar robes rushed toward the side of the carriage, hollering, and immediately making me reach for my sword, until he added, “Welcome, my lady,” as he jogged a few steps along with us so he could get a look at my sister and wave.
I growled deep in my throat, ready to tell the fool to get back before I ripped his spine out through his asshole.
Seriously, what was wrong with these people? They should distrust us just as much as I distrusted them.
But Allera set a hand on my wrist, stopping me before I could skewer the friar through. Smiling graciously, she waved back to the robed moron. “Thank you, kind sir. Your greeting is most appreciated.”
Pfft. Her freaking kind bleeding heart was going to get us killed someday.
As our caravan left the friar behind, I shook my head, frowning. What a peculiar place. I couldn’t decide if the entire kingdom was just that naïve or if all this pleasantry was part of the grand trap they were about to spring on us.
Allera sent me a warning glance. “Open-minded, remember?”
Making a face, I clutched the sword at my side and nodded before cracking my neck from one side to the other. Open-minded. Sure. Until they tried to kill us, anyway.
We came to the gateway that led into the middle bailey, and there, we were instructed by the guards to leave the carriage because we were to separate ourselves from the servants we’d brought with us and walk the rest of the way on foot.
I opened the door and glanced around for danger. Unable to spot any, I reluctantly folded down the steps and hopped to the ground before managing to somehow angle my body so I could assist Allera on her descent and not turn my back to a single guard.
A dignitary whose bangs on his blond hair were clipped far too short stepped forward, bearing a scroll under one arm. My return scowl seemed to disconcert him, making him shy a step back. After fumbling to unroll the scroll with shaking hands, he read us the greeting, then let us know he would lead us to the Throne Room where King Caulder and his brother Prince Brentley were waiting to receive us.
Allera was all smiles and patient nods, thanking the man. I stood stonily at her elbow until we set off after Short Bangs. Wrapping both hands around the front buckle of my sword belt, I strode beside her, back rigid and gaze alert, as I took in the beauty of the palace.
Everything here seemed new and clean. Spotlessly perfect, in fact. I couldn’t find a flaw anywhere in all its excellence. Which made me itch.
Literally.
I shook my head at the insistent sensation that quite abruptly wouldn’t leave me, and I scratched my temple heartily.
Didn’t help.
When I kept scratching it, Allera shifted closer to me and hissed from the side of her mouth, “What the devil are you doing? Stop that. You’re going to make our entire clan look like deranged lunatics by the way you keep fondling your eye.”
“I can’t help it.” My fingernails raked relentlessly over the spot on the side of my left eye, unable to make the skin stop prickling. “My mark’s itching like a bastard.”
“Well, you know what that means, don’t you?” She sounded irritated. “And I said stop scratching it already. People are staring.”
In front of us, Short Bangs glanced back curiously. Offering him a tight smile, I dropped my hand back to my belt, and he faced forward again. My smile instantly morphed into a glare, which I shot Allera’s way.
How was it that she still talked down to me as if I were a child? I’d led battles, controlled my own fleet of ships, bedded some of the most beautiful, exotic women in three realms, and gotten the king of Lowden—an evil dictator infused with dark magic—to kneel before me because of my intimidating presence after my army had defeated his. Yet Allera wiped all that prestige away with a single, degrading glance.
