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The palace is enormous, and though it takes a while to walk to wherever the king awaits, it’s obvious when we draw near. While we’ve passed guards and servants in the hallways, this door is surrounded by eight armed men: two on each side, with four directly across. These guards bear an extra adornment on their sleeves that I haven’t seen on the others, a crown stitched in gold surrounded by interlocking circles of purple and blue. A footman in richly detailed livery stands to the side as well. The guards don’t seem to move, but I feel their attention on me the instant we come into view. Every hair on the back of my neck stands up.
My finger’s tighten on Quint’s arm again, but my step doesn’t hesitate.
“You’ll stay?” I breathe.
“If asked.”
The footman announces us. I think we’ll be made to wait, but a voice calls from the other side. “Enter.”
The door swings wide, and I find I can’t breathe. Quint leads me forward. This is a different terror from last night, when I was certain I faced execution. This is fear wrapped up in silk and ribbons and etched with gold.
The room is smaller than I expect, with a marble floor and a long, shining glass table. The windows here stretch from the floor nearly to the ceiling, and curtains have been drawn wide, allowing natural light and warmth to swell in the room, making the sky-blue walls come alive with shadows. Flowers bloom in massive pots set against the wall, filling the space with warm and inviting scents. An actual tree towers in the corner, situated in a pot half the size of the table, and vines climb the trunk and stick to the wall, blooming with tiny pink flowers along the length. If a garden could be brought inside, I very much think it would look like this room.
Then my eyes fall on the king standing by the corner of the table, and it’s a testament to the room that I didn’t notice him first. I saw him last night, but my brain was clouded with fear, and my only thoughts were of escape and survival—to say nothing of betrayal. Now I can take in his height—slightly taller than Corrick, I think—and the breadth of his shoulders—slightly narrower—and the black of his hair and the blue of his eyes. He has a smattering of freckles like his brother, too, though his skin is more pale, and there’s no hint of a smile on his mouth, so the freckles look like someone painted them on, an attempt to make a severe man seem more boyish. Four more guards stand by the wall at his back, and another footman waits in the corner by a table filled with drinks and delicacies.
I don’t know if I’m supposed to kneel or curtsy or lie down on the floor and beg for my life. My mouth is dry. I wish Jossalyn were here so I could follow her lead. The king’s eyes are on me, and I find I can’t move.
“Your Majesty,” says Quint. “May I present—”
“I know who she is, Quint.”
“Ah, yes. And may I remind you that she is unfamiliar with court protocol—”
“I don’t need to be reminded.” The king’s eyes flick to my left. “Out.”
I suck in a breath, but Quint’s arm drops from under my hand before I can dig in with my fingers. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
And then he’s gone, and I’m alone with the king. The door quietly clicks closed behind us.
No matter how much finery Jossalyn laced onto my body this morning, I feel like the ragged outlaw in torn clothes he saw last night in Corrick’s chambers. My hands flutter over my skirts, unsure where to settle.
So many words want to escape my lips.
Forgive me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Please don’t kill me.
Please don’t have Corrick kill me.
Please bring Quint back.
Please send me home.
Jossalyn’s warning to wait until he addressed me is ringing in my ears. I bite into my lip from the inside until I taste blood.
The former king was well loved by the people. Kandala prospered. To sit with Harristan’s and Corrick’s father would have been an honor. I wouldn’t have been terrified. I would have been in awe. The envy of everyone I knew.
Then again, with the previous king, I wouldn’t have been sneaking into the servants’ quarters. I wouldn’t have been smuggling medicine out of the Royal Sector. I wouldn’t be here at all.
I’d be a lot better off than I am right now, because King Harristan is most definitely not well loved.
“What thought just crossed your mind?” he says.
I jump. “I—what?”
His expression doesn’t change. “I know you heard me.”
I can’t very well say that no one likes him. “I was—I was—” My voice sounds like a wheezing whisper. I have to clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. He’s every bit as intimidating as Corrick. “I was thinking that King Lucas was well loved by the people.”
