Chapter Forty-Seven #3
Innocuous chatter fills the air the closer we come to the lawn where Imperial servants have set up our luncheon.
Golden blankets and throw pillows lie scattered across the plush green grass where our traveling party lounges.
Witches and sorcerers sprawl out, appearing out of place in their black uniforms when surrounded by such vibrant, flowering trees.
Colorful birds flit around us—tittering and chirping in playful birdsong. Their carefree demeanor dredges up a sense of unease the longer I stare at them, exhibiting such different behavior to the black and gray birds who lurk around the Palace.
I force my gaze forward while those on the ground study us intently as we walk through their maze of blankets, hoping no one can guess where my focus truly is.
I send Varic threads of clarity and peace—which must have been one emotion too many as he growls in frustration.
The low frequency rumbles deep within his chest while his eyes dart to pin me in his periphery.
Yet he does not ward me out. Instead, he lets me support him by sifting through his distress and does not protest when I pull on the darkened red, sable, and ochre threads to siphon the bulk of his anger for him.
“Tasch,” he grits through clenched teeth as we step away from anyone who might overhear him.
I retract my magic and continue to stare forward, acting as if nothing worth discussing could have possibly occurred between the two of us.
His Majesty’s piercing gray eyes find mine, and my heart launches into my sternum, hammering harder and faster the closer we approach his gilded throne. He sits behind a dark wooden table set with an assortment of food and the ever-present crystal decanter.
Wyrth tips his head in acknowledgement before returning to his plate, having met the requirement of pretending to respect my presence. Imelda stands off to the side, following me with her big brown eyes, twisting my stomach with the unusually pointed attention from her.
Raki’s claws click over the Emperor’s shoulder, just as the tyrant himself swivels to face me. He continues chewing noisily as his long, pale fingers fold the corner of his black cloth napkin to dab at the slick layer of grease coating his lips.
“Ah, my little witch has finally decided to grace us with her presence,” he says, raising a brow as he addresses his audience, who respond with a round of raucous laughter at my expense.
I bow and ignore them. “Your Majesty.” I send a thread of curiosity to find he is filled with his typical incredulity and pride—a familiar elixir which settles my nerves, as I am highly practiced with the moves required for this sordid song of his.
“Sit.” He tips his wine back while gesturing for me to take the empty chair to his right, seemingly annoyed with me for taking a perfectly normal amount of time to walk to my place.
Varic reaches forward as if to move the black velvet chair for me, when a purple mist forces his hands back, and Malin steps forward to pull it out from the table, scraping its wooden legs across the dense fibers in the rug beneath.
“You spoil me, Your Majesty.”
“Rare of you to notice.”
“I apologize for my insolence. You deserve more recognition for all you have given me.”
My magic siphons Varic’s rage as it grows so palpable my throat constricts with the fear he might blast his own flesh to prevent him from unintentionally killing us.
Emperor Aldritch raises his brows as a coy smile pulls on the deep-set lines around his mouth, staring at me over the ridge of his goblet.
“So pleased to know you have finally come to this realization.” Crystal clinks as he sets the vessel down, tapping his pointer finger on the table twice to demand a refill.
“I was beginning to think you would require more drastic measures to ensure your compliance whenever I present you to the Annovian Court.”
My heart skips when his gaze drifts up to Varic.
Purple mist solidifies beside me just before Malin uses his magic to tap my cheek, urging me to eat now that the Emperor has returned his attention to his own plate. I pull in a breath and obediently take the gold fork in hand as my telekinetic Guard commands.
Varic’s mood settles the more food I ingest, so I force more between my jaws than feels necessary.
Though judging by the way everyone seems to react about my appetite, I may not be the best at determining what my requirement for sustenance is or should be, were it not so affected by fear and anxiety.
Then, as if summoned by the spirits of whoever cursed my ancestors, Drusilla appears.
Her satisfied expression raises the hairs on the back of my neck as the mid-day sun washes out the light gray of her irises, causing them to blend into the surrounding white, while reducing her pupils to the size of mere pinholes.
Her expression indicates she must have whispered something I will regret into the ear of our Emperor, or else she would not be staring back at me with such an odd sense of pride emanating from her being.
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and pretend to sense hunger by taking a bite of fruit, hoping the action appeases everyone who cannot seem to help but stare at my every move.