As if on cue, someone atop the wall hollered from behind the parapet, “Prince Leighton, Prince Efrem, and Prince Micah have returned!”
The men standing guard at the portcullis had a crest with two crossed swords and jagged marks of lightning blazing around them. It was the same emblem Micah had been drawingin the sand outside Mutiny Bay. The same emblem stitched in the back of Leighton’s cape.
The knights thrust out their arms, bending and stacking them inward to create a shield, just like Kestrel had seen Leighton and Micah do in the desert.
Leighton saluted them in return, and only then did they make hasty work of their wheels and chains to raise the gate and welcome the royal convoy inside.
Chapter 16
The Prince Returns
ELORA
Horns trumpeted in the distance. One singular, long blast, followed by a staccato of four more.
Dropping the hideous piece of embroidery she’d been mangling, Elora sat upright.
Those horns could only mean one thing. The princes were home. And with them, a special prisoner whom she had been eager to see.
Elora tore the thin night robe from her body and tossed it to the floor. She scrambled in the wardrobe for the first and simplest gown she could find, something she could slip on with minimal effort and then race through the palace to greet them in the throne room like she and the queen had discussed.
She settled on a midnight blue gown almost as dark as her skin. The narrow neckline caught on her collar as she tugged it down and over her slender body. But Elora was surprised to find that she was already getting used to the way the hailstone collar and bracelets would snag on her clothes, so this time she didn’t even grumble when she tucked the high neck underneath it and continued smoothing out the rest of the dress.
Thankfully, she had already dealt with her hair earlier. Halfof it was pulled back and wrapped into a tightly spun bun, while the rest of it had been brushed a hundred times. The queen likely would’ve preferred her to wear it in a style more customary to the women of Irongate, especially upon greeting her betrothed again after his journey, but for now it would have to do.
Before making her way to the door, Elora paused to take a look at herself in the mirror.
A skeleton of her former self stared back at her, all ribs and bones from years of malnourishment and beatings. But some of the sharp angles of her face were beginning to fill in, making her seem more intimidating than starved.
She stood straighter. Pretended the sharpness of her boney body was an armor. An omen.
It would have to do for now.
Elora stormed across her bedchamber and headed for the door.
For the first time in twenty years, Elora would face her torturer, and this time she would be the one to claim justice.
But as she reached for the iron doorknob, her hand trembled. Behind her eyelids, she saw it, the moment she would see him there in the throne room. He’d be bound, perhaps gagged and on his knees, completely at her mercy—only, in her mind, he wasn’t. The minute they locked eyes, Darius Graeme lunged for her. He grabbed whatever weapon he could find and speared her through the stomach. Burned her with a nearby torch. Choked her. Beat her.
Elora’s breath quickened. But being the intelligent woman she was, she reminded herself how impossible that scenario was. It was just fear getting the better of her. The guards of Irongate would never allow such disobedience—as a former prisoner, she would know.
Shaking the irrational fear away, she reached out again, thistime actually managing to grasp the cool iron in her hand. She took in a deep breath. Told herself to twist.
But her wrist wouldn’t budge.
Because a new, even more frightening thought had entered the realm of possibilities now.
What if thereweren’tguards holding him down? What if when Elora entered the throne room, everyone was waiting for her to arrive as ifshewas the spectacle?
They could be down there waiting to unleash her greatest fear upon her. The guards would snatch her, pin down her arms as Darius cycled through every torture device at his disposal, and this time there would be an entire room full of people to watch. To laugh. To mock her anguish.
And when she was finally so bloodied and broken that she was fading out of consciousness, it would be Queen Signe who approached her. She’d have that sickeningly sweet but venomous slit of a grin as she stood over Elora and snickered.
“Silly girl, you didn’t actually think someone as tainted as you would be marrying a prince? This is just the beginning of your suffering.”
The room would echo her mocking laughter, and a tear would roll down Elora’s face.
Horrified and shaking uncontrollably now, Elora snatched her hand back from the door. The rational side of her mind warred with the fear, making it impossible for her to tell what was real and what was just the exaggerated imaginings of someone who had suffered too much already.
