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Chapter 11
Now
Marita had laid out the gown I was to wear to my interview while I choked down a single piece of buttered toast. Dusky violet satin skirts floated across the marble, and I had to contain the rolling of my eyes when I saw Marita pull out the petticoat. The bodice was simple black velvet with sleeves that hung off the shoulder. She had pinned my hair up in spirals of caramel to show my neck and collarbone, somehow taming the coarse, unruly waves.
I stood in the mirror of my wardrobe, Marita tightening my corset as my mother and Lord Castemont waited in the drawing room. Marita tied the bow on my corset and moved to one of the bureaus. “You still haven’t opened the gift from Lord Castemont,” she said, picking up the box I had completely forgotten about and handing it to me. I didn’t want a gift. I wantedout.Reluctantly, I took the box from her, gently tugging on the deep blue ribbon and pulling the lid from the box.
On a black velvet pillow sat a dainty gold diadem. Strong columns of gold made it appear as if the sun’s rays were gifted to anyone who bore it. It was accented with diamonds on the tip of each spire, somehow delicate yet imposing, understated yet captivating all at the same time. And uncomfortably familiar. Marita gasped quietly. “Petra, do you know what this is?”
“A nauseatingly expensive gift?” I muttered, staring into the crystalline points.
“This diadem is modeled after the Crown of Katia, Keeper of the Benevolent Saints.”
I examined it closer. I had seen paintings of Katia in her crown, the very source of the sun’s rays. I knew little about her, though, or any of the Saints. I nodded slightly, bending forward to allow Marita to place it on my head, careful not to look in the mirror for fear of vomiting. “Will I be okay, Marita?” I needed to hear the words.
“You, girl,” Marita started, “will be absolutely perfect. And would you like to know how I know that?” I nodded. “Because the Benevolent Saints smile upon you. You rose from the dirt and ashes like a phoenix, did you not? You have done everything you could, and you are going to be just fine.” The tone of her voice was almost convincing.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come next, and looked ahead into the mirror. My posture was straight, my neck elongated, my hands folded elegantly in front of me. Regular meals had filled out my shape. And the diadem — it shone so brightly, so triumphantly that my breath caught in my throat. For the first time, I looked royal. Ifeltroyal.
All of the features I’d felt made me plain now glowed in the low light. My brown eyes were lit with conviction, the colors set dancing as they beheld the diadem.
Holy shit.
Make it through the interview, through Initiation, and I’d officially be a member of the Royal Court.
“Are you ready, Lady Petra?” she asked firmly.
“I’m ready.”
???
My mother and Castemont walked on either side of me, escorting me to a room in an obscure wing of the castle where the interview would take place. I had no idea where we were, every corridor foreign to me. Neither my mother nor Castemont could advise me on what to expect. Only Initiates were permitted to know what happens in an interview.
We arrived at the large double doors at exactly 2 o’ clock, just as instructed. Every heartbeat was an eternity as I waited for the first part of this nightmare to begin.
Beat.
Things could have been different. So, so different.
Beat.
I could have lived a very different life.
Beat.
Hadhepatrolled these halls? Guarded these doors?
If I thought about it any longer, I was going to vomit.I am okay,I told myself.I am okay,
The doors clicked open and a guard stepped forward, extending his hand into a formal drawing room. I didn’t dare look my mother in the eyes at this moment, so I dipped my head toward her slightly and felt her kiss my cheek, and a gentle hand pushed my back urging me forward.
“Lady Petra Castemont,” the guard declared as I walked past him. The room was decorated similarly to the dining hall we ate in last night — heavy velvet curtains and tapestries in rich reds and navies, plush carpet that threatened to swallow the high heels I wore. In the center of the room was a long table, seven chairs filled on one side by the Board and one empty chair facing them.
Seven sets of perverted gemstone eyes stripped me naked as I approached them, and I fought every urge to turn and walk back out. Their gazes were thirsty, greedy. How old were they? I had a hard time discerning as they somehow looked both young and ancient. Garit rose, gesturing to the chair in front of the table. “Please, Lady Petra, have a seat.”
I curtsied to them and lowered myself into the velvet chair, the excessive cushions seemingly moving to suffocate me. The Board’s chairs were higher than mine by mere inches, the sight of them looking down on me making me feel like an ant staring up at seven lions.
I am okay. I am okay. I am okay.
