Chapter Twenty-Six
ChApter
Twenty-Six
The audience chamber in Podrosa is as austere as the king himself—tall, grey columns carved with geometric precision, not a curve or flourish in sight.
The ceiling looms high above, vaulted like a cathedral, but the windows are narrow, and the light that filters through them is cold.
The scent of oil lamps and soap imbues the air, sharp and faintly metallic.
Ezra and I stand before the king, who scowls at us from his throne on a raised dais.
He refused to hold an audience with anyone after the attacks, and it wasn’t until this afternoon that he agreed to a closed-door discussion with King Silas.
I’m fully expecting Silas to reprimand me for stepping out of my mourning role and charging into battle, but even he can’t deny that my efforts helped save the people in the Ironshield Keep.
But I’m sure King Harold doesn’t want to acknowledge that fact. Especially because I’m a woman.
Ezra bows low beside me, his expression composed, as always, but I keep my spine straight. I won’t fucking grovel.
King Harold’s dark-grey robes pool around him, perfectly pleated, and his eyes—narrow, pale, and heavy-lidded—flick between us with evident disdain.
Beside him, Queen Agatha perches like a breath of silk in a room full of granite. She is still and quiet, her expression unreadable, though I feel her gaze settle on me now and then, thoughtful and lingering. Unlike her husband, she does not seem displeased by my presence.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Your Majesty,” Ezra says, his voice smooth and diplomatic.
“We come only to request access to your library. There are texts here that do not exist elsewhere in Terre Ferique—especially regarding historical magic and the wars of the second era. Her Highness and I are conducting research that may prove vital to understanding the recent attacks.”
He pauses, then adds with quiet conviction, “As the princess’s appointed magister, it is my duty to educate and advise her in every way I can.
To deny her the knowledge she needs would be a disservice, not only to her future, but to the realm she will one day help lead.
Your library holds centuries of wisdom—lessons written in blood and ash and survival.
To let those lessons gather dust while threats rise around us is folly. ”
Ezra’s gaze remains steady, respectful, but firm. “The opportunity to study those texts while we are within reach is not one I take lightly. And I would not have brought it to your attention if I did not believe it mattered.”
The king’s lip curls, a slow, deliberate gesture. “And you expect me to open my archives to you freely? After the spectacle your princess made of herself in my kingdom?”
I tense beside Ezra, my hands clasped before me to hide the way my fingers dig into my palms. For now, I remain silent.
“She helped stop the carnoraxis from slaughtering your people,” Ezra replies calmly. “Your own soldiers were overwhelmed. Without her aid, the toll might have been far higher.”
“She’s a woman,” King Harold spits, rising from his throne like a stone giant uncoiling. “And what she did was unnatural.”
My jaw clenches, but I force myself to breathe slowly through my nose.
King Harold stalks a few paces forward, robes swishing against the smooth floor.
“Our people value tradition. Honor. Order. Not this foreign spectacle of disrespectful women wielding blades in battles the gods never meant for them to take part in.” His voice rises now, echoing across the chamber.
“If word spreads that Podrosa was defended by a mourning princess, what message does that send to my enemies? That our warriors cannot protect their own gates? That we needed a girl to save us?”
He doesn’t say it outright—but I hear it in every syllable: shame. He is ashamed that I was needed. Ashamed that my skills eclipsed his soldiers’. That I embarrassed him.
I lift my chin. “I did what I was trained to do. What I swore to do.” I take a slow breath. “I will not apologize for saving lives.”
His eyes narrow like slits in old stone. “No. I expect you won’t.” He turns, sweeping back toward his throne with finality. “Your request is denied.”
“But the library—” Ezra begins.
“Is closed,” King Harold snaps, without so much as a glance back. “To foreigners. To women. To those who forget their place.”
He drops into his throne as if the conversation were over. The guards at the sides of the chamber shift subtly, hands falling to their blades. A warning.
At his side, Queen Agatha stirs. Her gaze lands on me for a moment before she lowers her chin.
I stand frozen, fury pounding like war drums beneath my ribs.
For a moment, I wonder what would happen if I reached for my magic—if I let it swirl just enough to make the flames in the sconces tremble, or the wind outside howl against the stained-glass windows.
Just enough to remind him that his arrogance is not power.
But Ezra’s quiet voice stops me. “Come, Princess.”
I follow Ezra from the room, the king’s silence a weight between my shoulder blades.
The hall outside the throne room feels colder than it did when we entered. Ezra walks beside me, arms folded, his brow drawn into the thoughtful crease it wears when he’s fighting the urge to argue further.
“I should’ve known,” I murmur. “Podrosa would rather pretend the world only works if it’s resting on the shoulders of obedience and order.”
Ezra exhales through his nose. “He fears perception more than consequence. If word spreads that a foreign princess had to protect his people—”
“Then his ego shrivels,” I say dryly. “And gods forbid his manhood follow.”
That draws the faintest curl of Ezra’s mouth.
But it’s fleeting. He glances at the tall, stained-glass window lining the corridor, its light casting fractured blues and golds across the floor.
“There may be another way. The king is inaccessible—but his court is not. Perhaps I could speak again with the palace magister. If I convince him to lend me access to the texts, I could study them in private. Quietly.”
I glance at him. “You think he’ll help?”
Ezra arches a brow. “I think he might be more open-minded than the man who employs him. And I doubt he enjoys seeing his library padlocked by fear.”
We round a corner, our footsteps hushed by a faded runner rug. But before we reach the next alcove, a boy steps into our path.
A page. No older than thirteen. His eyes are downcast, his voice polite as he bows. “Your Highness. Magister. The queen requests your presence.”
My brows lift. “Queen Agatha?”
He nods once, not quite meeting my gaze. “If you’ll follow me.”
Ezra and I exchange a look. There’s caution in his eyes, but also curiosity.
We follow the boy through a discreet side corridor, winding past a tall alcove lined with stone urns and a pair of disapproving statues.
The route is narrow and quiet—meant for servants, not royalty—and when we finally reach the door to which he gestures, it is unremarkable.
Unadorned. The page raps once, then opens it and bows, gesturing for us to head inside.
Queen Agatha of Podrosa stands at the center of a modest solarium, framed by pale-blue drapes and a table set for tea that looks untouched.
Her posture is impeccable, hands clasped before her, not a hair out of place.
But her eyes are not cold like her husband’s.
There’s a quiet steel behind them. A spark of something not yet dulled by years under his thumb.
“Your Majesty,” I say, dipping into a graceful curtsy.
“Please,” she says softly, “there’s no need for ceremony here.”
Ezra and I straighten. I study her carefully, unsure what this is. Pity? Gratitude? A test?
“I wanted to thank you,” she says, her voice even. “For your bravery during the attack.”
I blink. “You saw?”
“I saw enough. Word travels quickly within these walls. You saved lives. Including my cousin’s boy.” Her lips twitch faintly. “I fear my husband’s pride is louder than his gratitude. But I see clearly where he refuses to look.”
I glance at Ezra. His expression is neutral, unreadable. But his hands are loosely clasped behind his back in the way he always stands when he’s waiting to see whether a blade will be drawn or a gift offered.
The queen steps forward. “You wish to study our library. I see no harm in that.”
I blink. Hope flares in my chest. But before I get carried away, I hesitate. “Will it cause trouble for you?”
Queen Agatha’s mouth flattens. “I’ve learned there is no need to tell my husband every detail of what I decide.
” A pause. “There is a servant door near the east corridor, beside the shrine of the Weeping Saint. It opens into the library’s east wing.
My steward will ensure the main entrance is locked and the staff cleared for the next two hours.
The kings and the men are taking a tour of the barracks, so you should proceed undisturbed. No one will see you.”
My heart lifts, but I temper it with caution. “Thank you. Truly. We’ll be quick.”
“You have two hours,” she says. “After that, the men will return from the barracks, and questions may be asked.” Her gaze sharpens. “Find what you need.”
I swallow thickly and nod.
Queen Agatha turns, gliding to the curtained door on the far wall before pausing to look back at me. “Terre Ferique needs women like you, Princess. Even if most men would rather deny the truth.”
Then she vanishes through the curtain.
As soon as I fetched Nadya, we headed for the east corridor. She’s the probably the fastest reader out of the three of us, so having her along is a big advantage.
Our steps are muffled by the worn, velvet runner, and the sconces are devoid of candlelight, so we move through shadow. The hush in the air isn’t natural; it feels pressed down, like even the palace itself knows we shouldn’t be here.