“You know this guy?” I ask, my nerves prickling with anticipation.
Cameron’s lips part, but she’s cut off by the pleasant Warlock.
“Of course she does. Cameron’s magic is hard to ignore. She’s the most powerful Witch in Fallen.”
All attention is on the sweet little thief at my side.
Witch?
7
Merrick
The halls feelextra narrow today, my clothing extra tight. When I look in the mirror, everything is the same, the stiff fabric of my pants and the way my shirt hangs is no different than any other day. Leaving my room, the walls are as I remember them, giving more than enough space for me to walk with two guards flanking my sides.
Still, I find myself tugging at my collar, unbuttoning the top button, and wishing I was somehow smaller. This is a new sort of feeling, something I am unused to. Dread had started in the pit of my belly after Basilus’s taunts. He’d found his way under my skin. Again.
Iwillrid myself of these terrorizing thoughts. After my current obligations have been dealt with...
A visit with Queen Lairis.
Once a month, my brothers and I are obligated to visit with a queen. My younger brothers tend to favor a certain queen, just as my father does, but they’ll learn as they get older that if they want more power, they’ll make more allies. That is why I put myself through the torture of visiting Queen Lairis.
Trust me, not a single fiber of my being wishes to be here.
Perhaps that dread mixed with all my other failing ventures is what makes the room feel like it is squeezing in on me. I inhale, but the breath doesn’t reach the bottom of my lungs, stopped by some invisible force, a knot in my throat. I wipe my hands against my shirt.
Turning, Queen Lairis’s quarters wait at the end of the hall. The wooden door sculpted into black-winged moths looks a lot like an opportunity today. One that I cannot let slip through my fingertips.
I am failing. Or so it feels, despite how my mother insists I’m doing well.
Tugging at my shirt, I pause to allow a guard to step in front of me and knock carefully at the door. It cracks open long enough for a pair of beady eyes to glance at me before slamming shut. The guard steps back, catching the way I roll my eyes.
Lemon. The rodent-looking servant girl to Queen Lairis. Some creature that crawled out of the pits of hell, she’s something between Fae, Demon, and the Hellmouth Rats that live in the underworld. An ugly little thing.
She must have confused Queen Lairis for the god of the underworld. There could be no other explanation for why she would want to be in service to such a terrible woman.
Finally, the door opens again. Lemon’s head stops just under my chest. She looks up at me, her stringy, brown strands dropping over her sharp cheekbones. Blunt bangs have been cut across her forehead, the look accentuating her long snout. With a low curtsey, she gives me a wide grin that shows off her rows of teeth—as jagged and sharp as pikes.
“Prince Merrick, how nice of you to join us. Queen Lairis has just sat down for tea, and she would be quite happy for you to join her.” Lemon’s voice is rough and deep enough for her to be mistaken for a man.
I give her a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Have any of my brothers come for tea today as well?”
She shifts, allowing space for us to enter. “Basilus and Arius have decided to stay in today.”
“Lovely.”
Those vermin-like eyes are unreadable as she leads me away. While I keep my tone light and pleasant, I’m certain she can hear the way I internally groan.
A short corridor leads us into Queen Lairis’s personal quarter of the palace. Just as her son, Basilus, is too much, so is she. The space is filled with vibrant colors all clashing in various textures. From velvets to feathers, patchwork to stone and lightly stained wood, you can never run out of somethinginterestingto look at here.
The queen herself lies across a daybed, propped by a thousand small pillows of various shapes. Her gown is dotted with buttons all sewn at random with no real purpose other than to clink together as she moves slightly in her seat. Tea steams from the cup in her hand that pauses an inch from her glossy, pink lips.
“Crown Prince Merrick,” she coos, “What a delight to see you grace my quarters this teatime. Please come sit.”
A small fire putters in the hearth, sparking as Basilus tosses in a log. He stands tall, leaning against the mantle, his elbow a breath away from some priceless family heirloom. He doesn’t turn to greet me but watches as the flames take to wood.
Arius stands from a cushy orange couch, offering me his hand. Next to him, two ladies rise, only to lower into pretty curtseys. Regina and Paola. I recall the daughters of noblemen, come to gossip to the queen and fawn over the princes.
