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My hands land heavily on the edge of the desk, and I shove my chair back, nearly knocking it over.
“Fine,” I say, waving a hand toward the door to usher him first. “If this is your fault, I’ll carve you with a knife.”
He shakes his head, dismissing my threat, and takes the lead. I follow him across the black marble floor toward the door, closing it behind us as we step into the hallway, staying on his heels as he marches ahead.
My parents have never been good at subtlety, and like the rest of the castle, the hallway is dripping with luxury. From the ornately crafted black columns that stretch up the walls and meet overhead to support intricate light fixtures with glass bulbs, to the hand-crafted marble statues poised in every corner. Each door in the castle is painstakingly carved with scenes of minotaurs in battle, fighting for their land hundreds of years ago, and trimmed in gold or glittering jewels.
It’s impressive, to say the least.
“Did Father really not tell you why he wants to speak with me?” I ask, looking at Oryx in question.
He shakes his head, brows drawing together. “No, he didn’t.”
My jaw hardens, an unsettling feeling taking over and making my skin crawl. It isn’t unusual for Father to withhold details from Oryx, but something feels off about this meeting. The abruptness, the sense of urgency. If it weren’t important, he would have waited until dinner when we all meet in the dining hall.
Yet, he’d sent for me.
What could possibly be so pressing?
I decide to bottle my questions for now. If Oryx doesn’t know anything, needling him is pointless. I’ll ask my father momentarily.
We wind our way through the main part of the castle, passing a mix of guards and servants along the way, who all pause to bow. I nod politely to each of them but say nothing. I don’t have time for meaningless conversation, and my patience is already wearing thin. After twenty-three years, they know better than to try and make small talk. I’m not the greatest conversationalist on my best day, let alone days like today.
I expect Oryx to lead us to the throne room or to my father’s study, where he spends most of his time, but we turn the opposite direction and land outside the ballroom. The twelve-foot doors leading inside are closed, and for a moment, I begin to wonder if this is all a trick, a ruse by Oryx to waste my time.
I’ll kill him if it is.
Being the youngest of my siblings, he has a slim shot at ever obtaining the throne anyway.
“What the hell are we doing here?” I ask, trying to keep my simmering blood from boiling. “We haven’t used the ballroom in years. Since—”
“Mother’s fiftieth birthday. I know.” He shrugs and reaches for the polished silver handle. “But this is where he told me to meet him.”
I clench my jaw. This whole situation is getting weirder by the second, and my patience is evaporating to nothing.
“Well, hurry up then.”
A smirk contorts his face, and just to spite me, he eases the door open as slowly as possible, the hinges creaking at the motion. I have half a mind to punch him in the face before he laughs and flings the door the rest of the way open. He steps inside with me on his heels and my eyes scan the room for any sign of my father.
Strangely, there are so many people bustling about that I don’t see him at first.
“What the…” My voice trails off.
Aside from our mother’s birthday ball a few years ago, the ballroom has sat unoccupied for a very long time. Minotaurs aren’t a very celebratory group, and we avoid having hundreds of extra bodies in the castle whenever possible. Considering how hostile many of our people are, big events can turn ugly fast, which is exactly what happened at our mother’s birthday. A brawl started, resulting in a minotaur being thrown through a table and the party ending rather abruptly.
Such a shame.
We didn’t even cut the cake.
Today, however, there are a dozen servants shuffling around the room, all easily identifiable by the maroon leather circlets on their horns. They’re positioning tables and chairs around the perimeter of the vast space, clearly preparing for an event.
What could they be decorating for?
After a minute, I spot my parents together at the other end of the hall. My father stands with his arms crossed over his wide, black chest. In typical fashion, he wears nothing but a pair of dark pants and a floor-length emerald robe that fastens in front of his meaty throat. He stands quietly while my mother points and directs the servants moving furniture. Her white skin and shimmering silver dress give her a deceivingly soft appearance. She’d just as quickly bite my head off as my father, maybe quicker if given the chance.
Oryx bolts down the center of the room without hesitation, and I swallow hard before trailing behind, my mind racing with possibilities. Is there some royal affair happening that I forgot about? Do I have to attend and be sociable?
I cringe.
