Chapter 15
The palaceof Meer is larger than I remembered with its towers tipped with roofs shaped like onions and vast hallways where too many golden doors lead to reception rooms, sitting rooms, banquet halls, and rooms I don’t know the use for. I haven’t set foot in the palace since my childhood, and I could have done without it for the rest of my life. I don’t have a choice, though, as Herinor walks me up the stairs leading from the roof-high entrance hall to the first floor where I remember the throne room to be.
Guards in black and blue stand along the walls, their uniforms plain compared to the colorful tapestries lining the space between doors and columns. The knife brushing my thigh every other step is a reassuring weight even when I can’t grab for it without exposing my leg. For now, it’ll have to do. I don’t wear armor, but I hold my chin high the way I used to at the Crow Palace. Herinor is a few strides behind me, his presence as much a comfort as it is a threat. If Ephegos orders him to hurt me, he’ll have to do it. There is no way around it for him other than the choice of how to hurt me. Not so comforting now that I think of it.
At our approach, a man in an entirely black uniform hurries toward us, bowing low at the waist as he stutters, “Wolayna Milevishja. His Majesty is awaiting your arrival.” He straightens, already walking as he turns his balding head to glance at me with light blue eyes. “Follow me.”
There is no sign of excitement or fear in his middle-aged face as he looks over Herinor. Whatever position he holds at court exempts him from ever picking up a weapon, I assume. I’ve seen such people in noble households before. Men and women who deliver messages for their lords and ladies, whose weapons are manners and knowledge.
Something about him reminds me of Ephegos, and my stomach churns beneath the intricate shirt.
“Don’t forget to smile,” Herinor reminds me as we do as the man said and make our way into a wide hallway leading toward a set of open double doors covered in golden filigree. I instantly miss the dark plainness of Myron’s palace in the Seeing Forest.
Myron—
“And don’t show him your emotions. Keep a cool head. It’s the only weapon you can use in here without drawing attention.” Herinor spent the entire carriage ride briefing me on the current state of Erina’s court. The nobles in charge and the etiquette required. My head is full near bursting, and I’d prefer taking a long, peaceful nap over setting foot anywhere near the man Ephegos is selling me to. No matter that we shared croissants under banquet tables as children.
I discreetly tap my skirts. “I remember.”
In this palace, at least, I don’t need to worry about being overheard by fairies of any sort. This is human territory, and Herinor and Ephegos are the only immortal creatures with superior hearing. Erina and his guards must rely on their human senses to protect their king. Not that I’d get anywhere near Erina with the small knife before someone would intercept and execute me on the spot.
This might be a human court, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less cruel. Just in a different way.
The guards’ gazes follow us, and while the man leading the way doesn’t recognize Herinor for the threat he is, the guards very well do. Their hands inch closer to the swords at their hips as we approach, and they don’t relax even when we’ve long passed.
“Your Majesty,” the man in black says with a bow as he stops on the gold-framed threshold. “Wolayna Milevishja is here to see you.”
The answering voice is warm and welcoming even if it swims with reflections in the enormous room. The guard blocking our path steps aside, and we step into a sunlight-bathed hall of sepia and gold. Swirls of light dance across the walnut floor as the breeze falling through the open balcony doors stirs the air, and my chest tightens at the sight of the man sitting on a carved throne finished with golden, onion-shaped ornamentations at the top of the backrest, just like the towers of the palace.
“Welcome to my home, Wolayna.” Erina straightens, a hint of respect while he doesn’t bother to stand up and meet me across the hall, not that I expected any kindness or heartfelt welcome. We were kids back then anyway, and he probably doesn’t even remember those few times we talked and what he offered.
“Curtsey,” Herinor hisses a reminder that sounds a lot like a warning, so I drop into a Tavrasian curtsey, the very one my mother drilled into me as a child.
“Come closer, Wolayna.” Erina stares down at me with dark eyes matching the sepia of his uniform. The gold highlights on the shoulders and the belt and sash only make his short-cropped, light brown hair stand out more. His face has matured into that of a handsome young man, forming sharper angles accentuated by high cheekbones and thick eyebrows. Details become more apparent as I approach. The straight line of his mouth as he keeps his face as expressionless as only a monarch needs to. I’d seen him do that as a child when he sat his time through festivities. Something about it is deeply upsetting, but I’m not certain yet if it’s because the lack of emotion makes it difficult for me to read him or because I’d secretly harbored hopes this is all a misunderstanding and I’m not being sold, but he brought me here because he remembers the little girl he shared pastries with.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again after … such a long time.” The brief hesitation in his words reminds me that the last time I’d seen him was before my father’s execution.
Forcing myself to hold his gaze, I take a final step until I’m at the bottom of the small dais elevating his throne, and manage a bland smile that doesn’t represent the resentment swirling in my stomach.
“I’m afraid Ephegos won’t be able to join us before the banquet later today, but I’m sure we have a lot to catch up on in the meantime. My general told me you have quite the journey behind you.” The expectation in his eyes makes it clear he will hear all of it, whether I’m willing to tell or not.
Tension tightens my shoulders as he finally stands from his throne and walks down the three polished steps to meet me at the bottom of the dais, and nerves make my knees wobble.
Thankfully, he doesn’t notice my struggle as I steel my spine to keep upright since his attention flickers to the side where the man in a black uniform is waiting like a dog for an order. Disgusting.
“Arrange for refreshments.” Erina waves his hand in dismissal, and the man dashes from the room through a small door blending into the tapestry of sepia and gold in a way that made me miss it until it opened.
The momentary relief immediately vanishes as Erina’s head whips back toward me, and he features a polite smile that is so much like that of the prince I used to know.
“Tell me, Wolayna. Is it true that your new status matches my own?” His eyes remain unreadable as he waits for me to speak.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Your Majesty.” I lower my gaze, ready to step back as he leans forward as if intending to take another pace closer. There are only a few feet between us now, and it’s close enough.
Behind me, Herinor clears his throat; whether it’s a warning for me or for Erina, I can’t tell. He’s on my side, but in these halls, he’s playing a role—and is reminding me to play mine.
“Please, call me Erina. You are part of my court now, and I’m inclined to start on friendlier terms than our fathers ended up.” The blatant reminder of what he sees when he looks at me makes me squirm.
A traitor. I’m a traitor to this kingdom. I looted his ships after my father was executed for treason. I am vermin in the eyes of this king. A chill so icy I can’t suppress a shiver marches down my back, and I wonder if the summer gardens visible through the balcony doors are an illusion.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Erina.” His name is vinegar on my tongue, but apparently, it’s good enough for him since his smile becomes slightly more sincere at the sound of it.
“The story of how you ended up at my friend Ephegos’s doorstep.” Whether he believes what he’s saying or is spinning the truth while already knowing how I was mutilated and kept prisoner before being forced to marry a man I believed to be a monster, I can’t tell. I can’t tell anything at all from the refined mask of the king he’s become.
My left hand finds my stiff wrist, protectively wrapping around it as if I could hide any part of my past, anything at all. Naturally, his attention drifts right there. Great.
“That will be a long, long story. It’s been years since I left Meer,” I try. If I’m lucky, he’ll allow me to push back the retelling of my failures until we aren’t framed by guards whose ears seem to grow longer in hopes of catching a piece of our conversation.
“I reserved the whole day for you, Wolayna. I’d love to hear what detours you had to take to return to me.”
It sounds off. Entirely off and practiced. And the tone gives me the creeps. I never left him. Just Tavras?—
“Leaving my kingdom equals leaving me, Wolayna.” He studies me, smile fading, and for a heartbeat, I spot something bending the facade of the king, but before I can identify what it is, he continues, “You left Tavras. And I’ve heard you spent quite some time making the seas along its coast a place to be feared by the most seasoned and cunning captains.”
A pang of nostalgia creeps through my chest as I think of Ludelle and the Wild Ray. The entire crew of friends I lost in the capture of the pirate ship. Then a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. “Captains feared us?” It probably isn’t what he was going for, but it gives me satisfaction to hear that word of the Wild Ray has spread all the way to his throne room even if she was just one single pirate ship.
“It’s a capital offense to loot the king’s ships,” he whispers, leaning into my space as he eventually takes that step closer, and my smile slips.
Shit.
His breath hits the side of my cheek, his woodsy scent climbing into my nose. He smells like this throne room—like too much pomp and power.
“Don’t worry, Wolayna. I know you’ve paid dearly for your offenses. No one here knows you were part of the Wild Ray’s crew, except for General Katrijanov, of course.”
As if on cue, Katrijanov strides into the room, bowing briefly before he marches toward us. Herinor tenses as he moves a few inches closer in what seems to be an instinct.
“The crew is dead for all that the public knows, and you have been miraculously recovered from the fairylands of Askarea by our brave general after narrowly escaping the menace that was the Crow King. Oh yes…” he adds as I flinch at the mention of my dead husband. “I know all about him. People might believe they are fairy tales, but I know better. I’ve been sending a woman to die every three years after all. How pleased do you think I was to see your name on the list when it was time to make the choice last year? Another traitor down.”
Katrijanov reaches us, standing at attention as Erina continues to speak so softly, not even Herinor should be able to pick it up. “But don’t worry. I’ve forgiven you. It takes some tenacity to survive all of that. That’s the material true queens are cut from.”
I’m not sure it’s a compliment, and I don’t want to know. All I want is to run from the room and let the tears pricking at the back of my eyes flow freely.
But Erina isn’t the only one standing in my way. When I turn around, Herinor is blocking my path, a grimace of menace on his features that makes the scars on his skin stand out like a warning of what he’s capable of—and what he’s capable of surviving.
“I wouldn’t try if I were you.” His tone is that of the torture master once more, and what little confidence I’d gained since the moment he handed me the knife tucked between the folds of my skirts is swept away by a man-high wave of fear.