He squeezes me longer and more tightly than just being friendly would feel, but the embrace provides me comfort in this uncertain time, so I don’t let go.
“For fuck’s sake, let her go, Mathis,” Rylan growls, and his friend rolls his eyes, gives me one last tight squeeze, and releases me.
I watch as they walk their horses away, all turning back to give me one last wave before disappearing from view. Then Rylan is by my side, his hand warm and supportive on the small of my back, guiding me toward the castle’s entrance, the grand archways casting long shadows over us. The castle doors are massive, ornately carved with scenes of battles and victories long past. They look heavy, imposing, just like the castle around us. We stop before the doors, and Rylan turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “This is where I leave you,” hesays quietly. “Inside, you’ll meet Mistress Verisya. She’ll prepare you for what’s to come.” He blinks and then tilts his chin once in what I imagine is his version of a reassuring nod. Well, at least he tried. “You’re going to do just fine.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising tide of fear. “Will I see you again?” I ask again, hoping for a different answer this time.
His gaze softens, and for a solitary moment, the inscrutable mask he wears slips. “You have reminded me that life can still take me by complete surprise, Eirabella.” He reaches out, and with a touch so soft, I wonder if I imagined it, he gently tucks an errant curl behind my ear. Then, running the back of his hand down my cheek, he offers me the first and only real smile he’s given me. “Promise me you won’t forget what I said to you about your resilience last night, okay?”
I nod.
Then, with a final, lingering look, he is gone.
An hour later,every inch of me has been bathed, brushed, and bedecked in a brand-new outfit, and I am now being inspected by Mistress Verisya as we stand outside the castle’s throne room.
An older, elegant woman with a perpetual no-nonsense look in her eyes, she had been waiting inside the castle doors when I stepped through them. With a manner I can only describe as efficient, she whisked me away to her quarters, where she oversaw me being cleaned, clothed, and made up. She fielded my barrage of questions with expert skill but did tell me that I was to be presented to the court once I was ready—and to keep my wits about me. What that means, who knows?After the week I’ve just experienced, I don’t think I have a single wit left in me, and even if I had, I wouldn’t be surprised if her maids scrubbed it clean out of me.
The reflection of someone vaguely looking like me but entirely more put-together had stared back at me in the mirror when Mistress Verisya and her maids finished with me. I had been dressed in a simple but lovely gown of royal blue silk that clings to my figure. My hair, wild and untamed after the trip, is now clean and brushed, the dark waves cascading down my back. Some light makeup has been expertly applied to highlight my features, feeling unfamiliar.
Lady Verisya’s expression softens as she gives me one last appraising look, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips. “Oh yes, my dear, you’ll do just fine,” she says, her tone warm with approval. As the footmen push the throne doors open, she gives me a nod that feels as reassuring as Rylan’s had. “And now you are ready to meet the king and queen.”
Wait. What?Who?
But when I open my mouth to ask the questions, she gives me a gentle but firm shove.
Stumbling forward, the questions die on my lips as the grand doors close behind me with a soft thud, leaving me standing in the opulent room. The space is intimidating, with its high ceilings, marble floors polished to a blinding sparkle, and richly adorned walls with gold and velvet trims. My heart pounds in my chest as my eyes dart around, taking in the array of nobility and courtiers who line the room. Their eyes are all on me, watching, assessing, judging. I feel like I’m on display, a specimen brought in for their scrutiny… or worse, entertainment.
And that urge to bolt comes back with a vengeance.
At the far end of the room, a man I assume is King Halford sits on a throne. A man of imposing presence, his gaze is sharpand calculating. I’m shocked by how vibrant and young he looks, though I’m not sure what I was expecting. He is probably not much older than fifty seasons. Beside him, Queen Annalyne is a picture of elegance and beauty. While the king appraises me, she simply smiles at me, her eyes like pools of liquid amber, warm and kind. It’s the only thing keeping me from giving in to the urge to turn around and run.
Panic thrumming in my chest, I slowly walk halfway up to the dais and drop into an unsteady curtsy, hoping it’s enough. My movements feel awkward, stiff, and I curse myself for not thinking to ask earlier—and for Mistress Verisya not telling me—how to address them.
Luckily, my ignorance goes unnoticed.
The king leans forward slightly, his gaze fixed on me. “So, this is the one he’s brought us,” he says, his voice carrying easily across the room. Statement, not question. There’s something in his tone that makes my skin crawl, as if he’s sizing me up, deciding what to do with me.
“Tell me, girl, what is your name?” he continues, his eyes narrowing as he speaks.
Girl? I haven’t been a “girl” for six years, and some would argue, long before that. Irritation flares in me, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping that thought back at him. I may not understand why I’m here, but I still don’t take kindly to being treated as some child. I force myself to speak, my voice steady but with a hint of edge.
“My name is Eirabella Kaye, Your… er, Majesty…” I say, hoping it’s the right term.
The king nods. “And what can you tell us about yourself, Eirabella Kaye?”
My foot digs into the thick patterned rug as I ponder what I’m supposed to tell him. My mind races, desperately searching for the right words. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t knowwhat they want from me. The urge to stay silent, to keep everything close to my chest, battles with an inexplicable compulsion to speak. It’s as if the very air in this room is coaxing the truth out of me.
“There’s, er, not much to tell,” I say carefully, choosing my words as if walking on a tightrope. There’s a twittering of snickers from the crowd, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from spitting a snarl in their direction. “I’m twenty-four seasons, and I’ve lived in my village, Larilea, in the province of Kapal, my whole life.”
The strange warmth in the air nudges at me, at my tongue, urging me to say more. Against my better judgement, I find myself adding, “I’ve always been a little… different, I suppose.”
The snickering overflows into outright laughter. There’s only so much of my tongue I can bite before the snarls become more than just in my head.
The king’s lips twitch into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Different, you say? That’s one way to put it. One should always be aiming to be impressive, don’t you agree?” His tone is light, but there’s a mocking edge to it that makes my hackles rise.
My pulse quickens, a flare of defiance sparking in my chest. “Well, it might be easier to be impressive if I knew why I was here,” I say, my voice taking on a sharper edge.
A wave of gasps ripples through the room, and I notice several noblemen and women covering their mouths, their judgmental eyes wide with a mixture of shock and amusement. The king’s smile fades slightly, and he waves a hand dismissively.
