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I stripped down to my underdress, then held my arms up for Cici to let the dress fall over my form, and—
Oh, that fucking bastard…
Fury pounded beneath the reddish-brown scabs on my chest that now lay exposed, barely a shred of cloth covering it. Perhaps I was ignorant to many things, but stupid, I was not. No, this was definitely no feast of honor.
It was a feast of mockery.
Mockery, insult, and humiliation, sewn onto this dress in the shape of black feathers. They bobbed on my shoulders with each inhale, tickled at the nape of my neck where a tight row of them created a collar, and shifted where they peeked out from the flowing creases of the train.
“So, the rumors are true…” Cici stared at the spread-winged raven that seemed to take flight from between my breasts, the swelling long receded, the pain negligible thanks to the paste Sebian had given me. “He carved the Khysal sigil into you.”
Shame had me sink my head. “He did.”
“Prince Malyr has no fondness for humans—everyone at court knows that—but scarring you up like this? A human, yes, but a lady of the kingdom just the same? It is… barbaric.” Once Cici tightened the bodice in the back, she shifted one of the pins in my hair, only to give me a final nod of approval. “The dress, however, is magnificent.”
Oh yes, I would be the envy of every widow. “If one plans on attending a funeral.”
“And it’ll be mine if I don’t get you to the great hall this hour.” Without warning, Cici spun me around and ushered me out the door. “The prince is waiting, and so is his court.”
ChapterEleven
Galantia
Present day, Deepmarsh Castle, great hall
Bitter and malty, the air inside the great hall hung thick around dozens of wooden tables—the benches occupied by more Ravens than I would bother to count. They must have feasted for a while already, given the unrestrained guffaws that echoed from the vaulted ceiling. Roasted piglings eaten down to the hocks sat between spills of foamy ale and red wine, the room warmed by two large hearths at the center of each length side.
A third, smaller one nurtured a fire at the wall across from us. The high table stood before it, easily recognized by the black cloth that hung around it, embroidered with the sigil of House Khysal. And there, in the massive wooden high chair behind it, sat the Raven prince.
Staring at me.
I dropped my gaze as not to provoke him, still ever so curious about what had happened in Valtaris. “How can there be a court if everyone died in the blast of shadows?”
“Most noble Raven houses were decimated right after Valtaris fell, it’s true,” Cici said as she leaned into me, her voice low. “Prince Malyr established new ones; he handed out titles, lands, and occupied strongholds among his most devoted and powerful followers. They congregated around him the moment word of his survival spread. King Omaniel, Queen Elnora, his sister… They all died in Valtaris.”
“I didn’t know he had a sister.” Of course I hadn’t…
“Oh, you sweet thing, my father once spoke of how your parents guarded you, but I had no idea they’ve locked you in the highest tower.” She pointed at the lonely table only three short rows away from Malyr. “Sit.”
For a moment, I considered facing away from Malyr—fewer chances at affronting him. But having your enemy at your back? That didn’t seem wise, so I lowered myself onto the bench to face him instead, but didn’t dare look his way.
“Which one is this Captain Asker? Is he present?”
“The one with the braid and salt and pepper beard in the black armor, over there. He used to serve as ravenguard to the royal family. Annoyingly righteous and proper. Swore that he won’t remove his armor until he redeemed himself by helping Prince Malyr take the throne of Dranada since their own lands are lost to them.”
Redeem himself? “What had he done?”
“Failed to fight off your father’s soldiers somewhere at the border of Vhaerya, I believe, which ultimately led to Prince Malyr’s capture and imprisonment.”
“There are quite a few humans.” Turncoat lords, obviously, and way more than I’d expected. Too many for comfort. They feasted and laughed at tables they shared with Ravens, many of them accompanied by women too young and vibrant to be their lady wives. “Gods, did every lord drag his poor daughters to the Raven court?”
“The smart ones brought their sons, too. You just never know with these Ravens… the unbonded ones, anyway. Which are quite a few since many lost their potential mates during this tedious war.” Subduing her smile, she leaned slightly forward, but didn’t speak again until I did the same. “As for the daughters… don’t trust a single of these titled whores. They’ll conspire against you, scratching your eyes out before they turn on each other again. It’s what they do with every new girl that represents competition.”
“What are we competing for, exactly?”
Again that arched brow that made me feel stupid. “For Malyr, of course. After all, heisthe prince.”
Ha.
