40
Dark gray and brown stone stretched on either side of me.
From a patch of steel in the ceiling hung a matching chandelier. Flickering candles within failed to brighten the dim. A direwolf face darkened two crimson tapestries framing the end of the foyer.
Swallowing thickly, I walked on. The foyer opened to an atrium of sorts, with two wooden staircases and seats wrapped in gold and red velvet between them. Portraits of midnight-eyed faeries in bronze frames lined the giant room, the only decor.
Alphas. Previous kings and queens.
Four halls shrouded in shadow awaited at each corner, untouched by the light filtering in from the high glass and steel ceiling. Railings surrounded the second floor, wooden and overlooking the quiet atrium.
I’d expected noise. Perhaps even violence.
Somehow, this quiet was so much worse.
As fear and disappointment caught my breath, I could deny it no longer. I’d hoped I would see Voran again. Despite him showing otherwise, I’d hoped he would find me and give me a sign—something to show me that he’d help me escape this.
But in a kingdom of hunters, there was no escape, and save for the brown-haired male apparently in charge of escorting me, there was no one else here.
The wooden stairs rose to the second floor in a near-perfect spiral of squares. Before them, the wolf shifter waited, hands folded in front of him, and my three trunks beside him.
At least I wasn’t headed for the dungeon.
I followed him upstairs. As we walked down the wood-crafted hall wrapping around the second floor, I brushed my fingers over the railing and tried to tame my breathing. My escort stopped at the end. He opened a door tucked within the dark before taking my trunks into a low-lit room.
“Thank you,” I said, for it wouldn’t serve me to be rude.
The wolf bobbed his head, then disappeared.
Fearing more guards or even Raxon himself waited within, I stood in the doorway. I failed to sense anyone. Still, I wandered to the balcony. Instead of peering down, I looked up at the ceiling. Panes of rich crimson glass were doused in snow, muting the rising sun.
I turned to leave as there was movement down in the atrium.
Frowning, I stared with stiff limbs at one of those shadowed halls, then hurried into the room and locked the door. Dusk floundered about on the floor, snapping her maw and lifting her two feet as if she were a duck.
“It’s wood,” I told her while taking a trunk to the foot of the large bed. “Not mud.”
Only when I’d placed my gowns on the side of the bed did she settle. She did so beside them, after pulling at the thick crimson blankets until they were sufficiently rumpled. Her purred breathing evened, and I carefully put a blanket over her.
My chest tightened more as I watched her. As I feared what might happen to her here in this realm that trained wyverns to kill their own kind. I would guard her with my life, but I couldn’t delude myself.
No royal was worth more than a wyvern.
Eyes burning, I took a gown into the dressing chamber—and discovered it was already half filled with clothing.
I gaped at the wool, thick cotton, velvet, and even fur. Gowns, cloaks, coats, and boots adorned the length of the small room. A chest of wooden drawers stood in the back corner. Inside them, I found underclothing. Some of it practical and warm.
Some not so much.
Horror lanced as I imagined having to wear such things for King Raxon. Slamming the drawer closed, I winced and braced for Dusk’s disapproval.
She didn’t make a sound.
Picking at my nails, I paced the rooms. My rooms. On the other side of the bed, by the lone window, stood a small table and two chairs.
The dressing chamber was attached to a square-shaped bathing room.
Between a tall wash basin and a claw-foot tub sat a basket of towels and cloths. The privy was behind the door.
I used it, and while the bathing tub filled, I stood before the oblong window in the bedchamber. Beyond the crimson glass, the city appeared in glimpses downhill, and to the west, the sea surrounding all of Avyshla.
The Sea of Secrets.
It looked different in the north. Darker and more volatile.
Above the bathing tub was a circular window. I pushed it open, but all I could see through the small gap were trees and snow. Cold joined the steam flooding the bathing room, making me shiver. But I left it cracked and quickly undressed.
I cleansed the journey from my body and hair. I found my oil and combed it through the ends. I dressed and hung my towel. Then I hid in the dressing chamber with the door closed and a blanket covering my mouth.
And cried.
A knock startled Dusk.
Her golden eyes blinked at her surroundings. When another knock came, she tried to screech, but all she managed was a hiss. Hiding the blanket I’d cried into beneath others, I gathered the hatchling and called, “Enter.”
A female with lovely crimson hair and soft features let herself in. She halted at the sight of the wyvern, her hand rising to her red-painted mouth. Blue eyes, similar to a cloudless sky, widened. “It’s so small.”
“She’s not even two moons old,” I said, smoothing a hand over Dusk’s head.
It failed to calm her. Rigid in my arms, she growled like an angry cat at the female.
Collecting her layers of silver and gray skirts, our visitor curtsied. “Apologies, Princess.” She straightened and gave me a tight smile. “My name is Theela. I’ve been sent to escort you to dinner.”
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.” An understatement.
“The king expects your attendance,” she said.
“Oh.” My throat dried. “Of course.”
I peered down at Dusk, then at my orange and pink gown. My hair was still a little damp from napping on it, and though I’d ceased crying hours ago, I took a minute to check my reflection in the bathing room mirror.
There wasn’t much to be done about the slight redness brightening my purple eyes, nor the tip of my nose. But I could blame it on the cold. I refused to let this king believe he’d made me cry. To let him think this nightmare had already defeated me.
After splashing icy water onto my cheeks, I cupped a handful for Dusk to drink, then returned to the bedchamber.
Theela stood by the door, and lifted her lips when she saw us. Eyeing the wyvern in my arms, she frowned. “You wish to bring her?”
I hadn’t left Dusk alone since she’d hatched. I certainly wasn’t about to do so here, in the palace of the king who’d see her reared monstrously.
“Dusk is a bit temperamental.” I smiled at the hatchling. “If I leave her alone, or with someone she doesn’t know, I fear she may do some, uh…” Forcing a low laugh, I said dryly, “Well, damage.”
Theela’s eyes widened once more. She nodded. “Understandable, Princess.” Turning to the door, she opened it. “Shall we?”
I walked out ahead of her and trailed her down the hall to the stairs.
The fall of night had transformed Palace Valadorn into something that might truly resemble a nightmare. Few sconces lined the walls, rendering the giant and rather dull structure all the more intimidating.
Theela didn’t talk, and I was too afraid to remember any of my many questions.
On the ground floor, we crossed to the back of the palace to enter one of those four shadowed halls. We passed closed doors in varying sizes and shapes, made to fit within holes and cuts in the stone. At the hall’s end, a dancing flame and muffled laughter signaled our destination.
Theela stopped before thin closed doors. She tapped once, and when quiet fell beyond them, she opened the doors and stepped aside.
A slab of oak stretched across the square chamber.
Fire crackled in a stone hearth near the doors. At the chamber’s other end, a grand silver chair was occupied by the same male in the gold-gilded frame behind it.
King Raxon Valadorn.
A shade lighter than his nephew’s, his hair hung in tidy silver lines over the brown-furred cloak at his shoulders. Similar hair was the only trait he shared with his nephew. Raxon appeared lean, shorter than the males on either side of him, with features more regal than fearsome.
But it was his eyes that truly set him apart. They were not the gold of a wolf, and certainly not the midnight-blue of a direwolf. They were a deep emerald that darkened as they roamed over me. They stuck to the wyvern, tense in my arms, as he rose from his seat.
“And here she finally is.” His voice was like a rich liquid, the cadence silken despite his accent. “Princess Ayla.”
The doors closed behind me.
I resisted turning to see if Theela had gone, and the urge to look away from the king. Forcing my lips to curve, I lowered into a curtsy while holding Dusk in one arm. “A pleasure, my king.”
“No need to lie,” he said, though not unkindly.
A snort and coughed laughter came from the ruddy-haired male seated beside him.
Fear shriveled my empty stomach.
Before I could dare open my mouth, and perhaps even lie again, King Raxon said, “Please, sit.” Gesturing to the opposite end of the table, he grinned. “I imagine your travels have you eager for a well-cooked meal.”
His sly and knowing tone was a hand wrapping around my heart, as more muffled amusement arose from the males.
After what I’d done—and failed to do—it would be exceedingly unwise to glare at them and say I had no appetite. To do anything that might offend this monster. He might not kill me, but that didn’t mean I was safe. I had to behave.
So I nodded once and said, “Thank you, Majesty,” before settling into the high-backed chair.
Lowering to his seat, Raxon swept a hand to the male on his right. “This is Strenard, my personal guard and oldest friend.”
Strenard ceased eating to regard me with golden eyes. A wolf. The brooch holding his white-furred cloak at his shoulders was not a wolf face but a silver blade. Meaty fingers stroked his wiry-looking beard, his gaze narrowing on Dusk.
As I nodded in greeting, the wyvern growled.
Strenard bared his teeth.
The king huffed, then used his fork to gesture to the bald male on his left. “This is my devout steward, Bryken.”