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It seems I am not that lucky.
“Go to Cassius’s room and wait for me there,” I murmur to Cherno.
Without argument, the demon lifts off into the air and flies in an aimless pattern. They wait and watch, memorizing these specific guards in case something happens.
Instead of continuing on as I hoped, they stop before me, blocking any hope of escape. Neither bother giving any of their attention to the demon darting up and down the corridor.
“This the one?” the larger of the guards asks his companion.
She nods sharply and grunts. They each grab me by an upper arm and practically drag me along with all the consideration of an inanimate object. At least they are taking me in the opposite direction of the dungeons.
“I am perfectly capable of walking on my own,” I say.
That only earns me an irritated growl in response. I do my best not to struggle against them. By the time we make it to the second floor, I have a pretty good idea where they are taking me. Any relief I felt is short-lived.
“I’ll go willingly,” I say again.
They share a look over my head and stop after a few more paces. I expect a threat to be silent and am surprised when they release me instead.
“Don’t even think about running or I will cut you off at the ankles,” the woman warns.
Her companion only bares his fangs before taking up position a few steps behind me. He draws his sword with a ring of metal against metal and when he shoves me forward, I barely avoid stumbling. Not giving him the satisfaction of getting under my skin, I march obediently behind the first guard.
Any time I fall more than two strides behind, the oaf at my back prods me with his sword.
We climb to the second level, past the hall to the courtiers’ wing, and past the third, where Alaric’s quarters are located. The stairs finally come to an end on the fourth level.
No one could set foot on this landing without knowing this wing belongs to the queen. The opulence is so overdone it borders on garish.
A thick carpet runs the length of the hall to the only set of doors on this floor. They are bleached white with a tree carved into the wood. The least subtle touch is the chandelier right outside. Hanging crystals throw lacy patterns of light onto the etched leaves, giving the illusion of a light breeze blowing through the branches.
Between standing candelabras, tapestries cover the walls, strands of what looks like silver or gold stitching woven throughout. It’s hard to tell in the flickering light.
The vampire leading me steps to the side and bows just as one door opens. At first, I think it’s part of Elizabeth’s show until I am ensnared by deep pools of midnight.
My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of Alaric’s face. I can see the question in his eyes. It takes everything in me not to go to him. I reach for our bond and imagine myself pulling on a rope with him tied to the other end.
The barest hint of a frown takes shape, then it’s gone, and he’s striding down the hall without a second glance. As if we were strangers. A hollow pit opens in my chest. I don’t know if it will ever stop hurting when he looks at me like that.
Once again, I’m shoved roughly from behind. I grit my teeth. This time, I am thankful for that guard’s ability to irritate me. If I’m to face Elizabeth, it is better to be made sharp by anger than dulled by heartache.
I don’t wait to be announced before entering. The horrified look on the first guard’s face is worth it as I storm inside. I’m sure she will have a thing or two to say to her companion for not holding me back.
Elizabeth’s face twitches at my blatant disregard for protocol before she can stop it. The last sign of ire. She has a game to play and will not be caught off guard again.
The parlor alone is easily twice the size of Alaric’s entire chambers. There is an excess of silks and suedes and brocade with shimmering threading. Each piece of furniture is a piece of art with detailed engravings.
Elizabeth’s hair is down, blonde waves cascade over one shoulder, obscuring the front of her pale lavender gown embroidered with rose gold accents.
Not wanting to push my luck too far, I stop halfway in.
She sits at a small table against a wall, another chair opposite her, and tea service for two.
The hair on the back of my neck rises at the similarity of this scene bares to the last time she wanted to ‘chat’ with me. If I wasn’t already suspicious, this would certainly do the trick.
“Come. Sit.” Elizabeth waves a dismissive hand toward the chair across from her. “There is something I would like to speak with you about.”
I resist scoffing. Civil conversations with her are as probable as my ability to break Alaric’s curse with a kiss.
