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When the awkwardly invasive, yet swift and painless process of the Inquest was over, Rochelle was escorted from the marble and hardwood room by the same guards who’d half-hauled her everywhere else. She was mildly disappointed but not at all surprised that they took her straight back to her assigned room, but maybe a bit surprised to be physically guided inside instead of outright shoved.
With his fingers hooked over the alcove that served as a door handle, the usually angrier guard locked his stare on her. “You will remain here until King Jensen makes his decision.” He didn’t wait for her response before pulling the door shut, plunging her into ominous silence.
Rochelle dragged in a heavy breath and looked around her cell once again. Nothing had changed, of course—high ceilings, sturdy walls, one magically sealed window, and the bed she suspected was purposefully uncomfortable. This space, and the half-enclosed restroom attached to it, were all she was likely to know for the foreseeable future. Until the King either accepted the truth everyone’s memories surely revealed, or decided to have them executed for Denham’s death regardless.
She dropped onto the bed and scooted back, pulling her legs to her chest. Just because Denham had made a couple of claims indicating his desire to kill the King didn’t mean King Jensen would see it as truth. He could see it as the ramblings of an angry man, or even as Denham attempting to test someone somehow. She needed to consider that that was possible. That King Jensen wouldchooseto believe in his deceased cousin, because doing so could no longer harm him, and present a united front of that sort to his people. The people who’d voiced discontent with the King, and outright anger and fear toward the Sentry.
Her throat closed as the first new tear rolled down her cheek. She felt so useless, so helpless. She’d sworn never to sit idle in her life again, and here she was, doing literally that. She was sitting and waiting for another man to decide her fate. It felt wrong. Backwards, even. But what could she do?I cooperated.That had to be enough.
Still, she sat in her worries, her growing fear, as the sun’s position outside the window slowly shifted, lowering and changing hue from a bright almost yellow to a somewhat eerie, glaring orange that filled half her room in harsh light. Then it sank behind whatever buildings were aimed in that position, bathing her room in the beginnings of darkness.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t been fed since early that morning. Her body ached, as she’d barely changed position on the bed.
A sharp knock rang out on the door, shattering the weighted silence and startling her upright as the door swung open. The guard who’d last spoken to her stood in the doorway, the exposed portion of his face beneath the helmet unreadable. “Do you need to relieve yourself?”
The question confused her for a moment, and Rochelle hesitated before shaking her head.
He pushed the door wide and held out his hand expectantly. “The King summons you. Come with us.”
Her heart did a strange, half-hopeful spiral in her chest before plummeting into her stomach. She didn’t argue, however, and instead approached him calmly. She allowed him to again grab hold of her arm, physically leading her down the hall. She didn’t know her way through the castle in the light of day, so in the twilight hours she couldn’t have hoped to find anywhere useful even if she’d gotten free of him. But such a tactic wouldn’t serve her purpose. Even if she was terrified.
Another armored guard stood beside the door they eventually approached, several turns and a staircase later. He inclined his head to them and stepped out of the way, making it clear she was expected.
She was pretty sure her mouth dropped open when she was walked into a large room that wasnotthe throne room. A long, wide table occupied roughly a quarter of the space, and at the head of the table King Jensen sat, a veritable feast spread out before him. Soldiers stood stock still in the far corners of the room. And Aric, only Aric, sat two seats removed from the King. He was unshackled, unbound—seemingly free.
Aric stood at the sight of them and met them halfway, physically removing her guard’s hand from her arm even as he spoke. “You’re dismissed, soldier.”
Emotion rushed through her hot and fast as his vibrant green eyes settled on hers. She hadn’t expected to see him again this way. Part of her had feared she’d already seen the last of him. She wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms, to kiss him and hold him and say all the things she’d thought she’d given up the chance to say. It was hard to remember that she couldn’t.
Aric brushed his fingers over her arm, as if searching for signs of injury. His touch was light and gentle, and electric in the way she’d only ever felt with him. “Come, sit,” he said, speaking quietly. “I hear you haven’t eaten in a while.”
She rolled her lips between her teeth and nodded, not trusting her voice. She barely trusted her feet to carry her forward or her legs to hold her upright.
King Jensen stood as she approached the table and took a step toward them. “Before you sit,” he said, locking his gaze on her, “there is something I must say to you, Rochelle Bailey.”
Her entire body tensed. She swore her stomach dropped to the floor. Her palms felt damp, and her throat was instantly dry. Her mind had been read like a book, as she understood it. Obviously, the King knew her story. Was this the part where she was put to death for the sake of the people? Or exiled from Yafae with the threat of execution hanging over her should she ever return or make contact with a citizen again?
What had King Jensen told Aric to keep Aric so passive in this moment?
The King reached out, scooped up her left hand—the hand not half wedged beside Aric—and covered it between both of his in an almost sheltering grip. The curve of his eyes changed and a strain built around them that spoke to her in a hauntingly familiar way. “On behalf of Yafae, on behalf of the royal family of this kingdom which so blindly offered you shelter, I offer you my most sincere apology.” He paused for a moment, and his jaw tensed as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “It has been made clear to me all that my cousin did to you, and my words of apology pale in the scope of them. I wish I could offer you the option to return to the world you did not choose to abandon, but I am afraid that magic is beyond my comprehension.”
She could barely breathe. King Jensen was apologizing … and talking about sending her back?No!That was so much worse than exile. As far as she was concerned, it was worse than execution. It was the same, but slower. More painful. Like being slowly, invisibly tortured to death. Surely he wasn’t about to suggest she travel somewhere to discover her way back?
He gave her hand a squeeze, as if imploring her believe him. “It has also been made clear to me that you have ascended to a level of magical power few sorcerers in this kingdom manage to achieve. So, in light of all of that, I would like to make you an offer.” King Jensen released her hand and stood a bit straighter, the room’s firelight flickering off his layers of gold and silver jewelry in a way that made it look like his dark skin was glowing.
Rochelle swallowed, unable to do more than continue staring, waiting for whatever he was about to say.
“You’ve more than earned your citizenship,” the King said. “Of course, I can understand why you wouldn’t want it. I could understand why any offer from my position would be inadequate. Regardless, you are welcome to stay in Yafae. I would like to offer you the title of Lady, independent.”
Her mouth fell open, but she forgot to breathe for a second. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” He wanted to give her a title?
Another partial smile tipped King Jensen’s lips. “You would be Lady Rochelle,” he said. “I will gift you a lump sum, to do with as you choose. This can be used to purchase land or a home, or investments, or donate entirely if that is your preference. You would be a Lady without lineage, who did not come into her title by way of marriage, but rather through merit. That is where theindependentcomes in.”
Her knees threatened to give out on her and Rochelle latched onto Aric’s arm for support. “You’re not … going to kill me?”
King Jensen stared at her, visibly taken aback.
