10. Chapter 10
Iwake to darkness and a sense of overwhelming gloom.
I’m used to it, as Elvora hasn’t seen the sun in centuries and there isn’t much to hope back home.
But my mood—and my heart—feels dark and heavy, too.
For a few disoriented moments, I think it is still night.
Then my memory returns slowly, sinking its claws into me one by one bringing reminders of the night before.
I’m in the palace, and I am sleeping under the same roof as The Shadow King, the man who has all but claimed me as his personal possession. The thought makes my stomach churn.
I lie still beneath blankets, telling myself I will never belong to him.
That’s the first ridiculous thought I have, because I know if the king wills it, there is nothing I can do to go against it.
Some might say I should be grateful to be allowed such luxuries and the pleasure of being a guest in the king’s palace, but I’m not in a grateful mood.
And the term guest is a guise. I was taken from my home, Onyx lied to me in order to lure me here, and now here I am, confined to a room with rules.
I might just run through the window and finally break free once and for all.
If I could just figure out a way to open the window … By the gods, I truly am losing my mind.
Rolling over to the side of the bed, I pull a black silk curtain aside as I step onto the cream-colored rug.
It covers most of the floor, and is so soft that when I finally slip out of bed and set my bare feet on it, I make an embarrassingly pleased sound.
The plush softness of it feels amazing against my toes, and no one in Elvora has furs like these.
It’s magnificent. I look over to where a fire burns low in the marble hearth, though I don’t remember anyone coming in and lighting it.
I wouldn’t have noticed them coming in, considering that after Onyx departed and bid me goodnight, I cried myself to sleep.
They might call me a guest—but guests are free to leave. I was taken from my home, lured here under false pretenses, and confined to a room with rules. Silk doesn't change the shape of a prison.
A tray of food sits on a round table near the door loaded with bread, sliced fruit, cheese, and a small covered bowl that smells faintly of spiced oats.
There is a porcelain cup of tea, still steaming, which means someone has been inside this room recently while I slept.
That realization ruins whatever appetite I might have had.
I stare at the tray with suspicion. It could be poisoned. Would it be smart to eat it?
“Absolutely not,” I mutter.
I cross to the window instead, pulling one curtain aside just enough to look down at Andell.
The capital stretches below in layered terraces of black stone and silver bridges.
Canals twist between streets, their water dark as ink beneath floating lanterns.
People move across bridges in fine coats and flowing gowns, their steps quick, purposeful, and entirely too confident for people living beneath an eternal curse.
From here, Andell looks peaceful, like a place you’d want to live in.
That irritates me so much I slam the curtain shut, closing my eyes as I take several deep breaths.
I have to prepare myself for the realization that many things here will anger or irritate me, and I need to learn to accept them at the very least.
Elvora has always seemed to be bracing for death, knowing that the illness sweeping throughout Solaris could possibly come through, stealthy as a thief in the night, and claim their lives.
Every hollow-eyed villager, every empty field felt like proof that Solaris was slowly giving up.
The curse has taken everything from Elvora, and from other cities I passed on my travels here, but Andell doesn’t look like a city that needs to surrender.
It looks organized, wealthy, and protected.
That makes no sense to me.
Before my self-destructive thoughts can tear Andell down any more, a sharp knock strikes the door. I turn so quickly that I almost trip over the rug— for the second time in two days. Before I can decide whether to answer, the door opens.
Of course it does. Because why would anyone in this palace think to wait for permission? That would imply I have any.
Lieutenant Mazelle steps inside with the same precise grace she carried yesterday.
Her dark hair is pulled into a severe knot at the base of her neck, not a single strand out of place.
Her black uniform is fitted perfectly to her slim figure, the silver crest of the king embroidered over her heart.
On anyone else, the uniform might have looked plain.
On Mazelle, it looks like a very elegant, very judgmental sort of armor.
Her dark eyes sweep over me, the bed, the untouched tray of food, and finally return to my face.
“You did not eat. The way you came in yesterday, you look like you could use all the nutrition offered to you.”
“Good morning to you too.” I snap back as my brows crease, covering myself with my arms. I’m not covering much, as the only clothing I have was provided by the palace, all lace nightgowns or extravagant gowns.
I’m wearing an extremely sheer nightgown and feel overly exposed with Mazelle standing in front of me imposingly.
Her expression doesn’t change and a faint smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she watches me squirm. Glad to provide your entertainment for the day. I almost say this out loud but catch myself. I’ve said more than enough in the short time I’ve been at the palace.
“You’ll need your strength.”
“For what? Being held captive requires surprisingly little physical effort, Lieutenant.”
“For surviving the palace,” she says casually as she crosses to the armoire, “and for surviving the training His Majesty will require of you.”
Interesting. First I’m a guest, now I’m expected to train. Whatever will they think of next?
“Sounds wonderful.” My flat tone matches the blank expression on my face.
She smirks but doesn’t look at me, instead pulling out a gown.
At least she’s being useful—my personal Mistress of Wardrobe.
I roll my eyes, watching as she walks to the bed and lays a folded gown across the covers.
The emerald fabric spills over the fur like running water, smooth and heavy, embroidered with tiny silver threads that catch the dim light.
It is beautiful, so naturally, I distrust it.
I sigh. Why another gown? What in Illurine’s name do they have planned for me today?
“His Majesty requests your presence,” she says as if reading my thoughts.
My stomach tightens at the mention of the king, though I do my best not to let it show. “Does he request, or does he command?”
Mazelle looks at me for a long moment. I don't think I've seen her wear any expression besides that smug little smirk.
“With His Majesty, the distinction rarely matters.”
“That sounds deeply unhealthy for everyone’s mental health.”
“It sounds efficient, and it is.” She emphasizes every syllable of the last two words. This time, the smirk is gone, replaced by a stern expression. So she does have other facial expressions. Noted.
I plaster on a fake smile, making my voice far more cheerful than I feel. "It sounds like something a tyrant would enjoy."
Her eyes sharpen and she pins me with a death glare. “Careful, Lady Tarethyn.”
Lady. I nearly look behind me to see who she means.
“Don’t call me that. Lyra works just fine.”
“It is how you will be addressed while you are here.”
“But I am not a ‘Lady’. I have no status, so you shouldn’t address me as such.”
“No,” she says, gaze flicking over my tangled hair and bare feet. “That much is painfully evident.”
I should be offended. I am offended. Unfortunately, she is not entirely wrong, which makes it worse.
Mazelle gestures toward the gown. “Dress. I will return in fifteen minutes.”
“You gave me more time yesterday.” I tilt my head to the side, pursing my lips.
“Well Lady Tarethyn, today is a new day. Try to put your best foot forward.”
“That is such a beautiful sentiment, Lieutenant."
“I am not here to charm you. Fifteen minutes.”
“That’s a relief. You’re terrible at it,” I mumble as I brush past her toward the bathing chamber.
As I pass, I catch the corner of her mouth twitch. Just for a second, but it's there. I count it as a victory. Unfortunately, she leaves before I can enjoy it properly.
The moment the door shuts, I let out a breath and glance at the gown again.
I don't hate it, but I don't exactly want to wear it either.
Unfortunately, my options are limited unless I plan on greeting the Shadow King barefoot in a borrowed nightdress, which admittedly has a certain appeal if only because it would offend everyone.
The thought is tempting. Very tempting. But not wise, and after my outburst in the throne room yesterday, I think today is the day I should focus on surviving.
* * *
I wash quickly in the bathing chamber, splashing warmed water from the black stone basin over my face before scrubbing the sleep from my skin.
When I return, I slip the gown over my head with a sigh so dramatic even I find it excessive.
The fabric settles against me with irritating precision, skimming every curve before falling to the floor in soft folds.
Long fitted sleeves hug my arms, while the bodice cinches neatly at my waist. Silver embroidery winds along the cuffs and climbs the sides of the gown in delicate vines. It's honestly … beautiful.
By the time Mazelle returns, I've managed to tame my curls into something similar to how it was styled last night, but I refuse to pin them up. If everyone in this palace is determined to stare at my hair, they can suffer through the full experience.
Mazelle pauses in the doorway as her gaze travels over me once, assessing.
“Well?” I ask, lifting my chin.
“You will do.”