The castle gates opened with the squeal of grinding metal and we passed through the pointed archways carved with the phases of the moon. I lifted my chin high in the air in gesture to the Moon Goddess, and Maez and Briar followed. It felt like her silvery magic touched every corner of this place.
As the carriages pulled to a halt, I adjusted my soldierly garb. I wore a simple jacket over a tan tunic, a black leather corset buckled down my bust, and matching leather trousers that hugged my thighs. The golden buckles of my corset matched the gilded hilt of the dagger strapped to my hip. Knee-high boots finished my outfit, complete with a knife I’d hidden down the back. I looked like what I was meant to be—the personal guard to the Crimson Princess.
I eyed my twin. Briar’s delicate scarlet dress didn’t have a single crease from our long journey. She pulled a wisp of her red hair back into her braid and pinched her cheeks. It didn’t matter that I looked plain beside her. It would feel far worse to have an entire city’s eyes upon me, judging me as their future queen. The thought of that much scrutiny turned my stomach to acid. I’d rather have an ostekke suck my heart out through my rib cage than be her right now. Thank the Moon I got to be a shadow.
“You look stunning, Briar,” I whispered, and Maez nodded in agreement. “You look like a queen.”
Briar took a deep breath, reaching over and giving my hand a squeeze. This was it—the moment she’d prepared for her whole life.
Maez clambered out of the carriage, opening the door and holding her hand out to Briar. “Ready, Your Highness?”
With one last smoothing sweep down her skirts, Briar stood. “I guess I have to be.” She took Maez’s hand and stepped out of the carriage. I clumsily clambered out behind her, pins and needles tingling my stiff legs.
As I craned my neck toward the dizzying steeples, Grae and the other guards approached. My heart fluttered as he prowled toward me. His hand lifted ever so slightly, and I had the sudden urge to reach out and take it. He opened his mouth to say something, but Briar cut in between us.
Circling her arm around his elbow, she said, “Your home is beautiful, Your Highness.”
Grae smirked at her, glancing an apologetic look to me. “I hope it will come to feel like home for you, too, Your Highness.”
I snorted, toeing the gravel with my boot as I muttered, “Yeah, right.”
The palace was a city unto itself, nothing homey about it.
Sadie nudged me with her elbow and I looked up to see Grae and Briar already walking toward the open entryway, Hector and Maez trailing behind. I hustled to catch up.
“Prepare yourself,” Sadie muttered as we crossed the threshold.
“For what?”
“For His Majesty,” she said, shaking her bangs out of her eyes.
My stomach dropped. I had wondered for many years if King Nero was anything like Grae, but, judging by Sadie’s odious tone, I guessed not. Currying the favor of a king was an art form in and of itself, and, in that moment, I was once again glad I was spared from the pack’s attention. That job would be Briar’s alone.
Six
The inside of the palace was another world, with high vaulted ceilings, sparkling chandeliers, and stained-glass windows. Our footsteps ricocheted off the stone, my body feeling light in the entryway’s vastness. I wanted to stop and take in each column and alcove, press each gilded image into my mind, but the group was marching ahead. I took in the mosaics along the walls and frescoed ceilings. The stories Grae told me as a child were painted in every corner of his home. The snow snakes of Taigos; the curling, whip-like tongue of the juvleck; the many-tentacled ostekke of Lower Valta—images of our ancestors fighting back the monsters of old. They painted the glory of our people in one long story along the hallway, and it was inspiring to now see it depicted like this.
At the dawn of Aotreas, dark magic plagued the realm. Monsters and those turned evil by dark magic rained chaos over the continent . . . all apart from the Wolves, our packs strong enough to fight back any foe, even dark magic itself. The earliest humans pled with the Wolves of old, begging for their salvation, and the Wolves answered their prayers. The four Wolf leaders risked the safety of their own packs to fight back the scourge of dark magic and save the humans. When the last of the sorcerers fell and the Wolves forced the monsters to the very edges of the realm, the humans rejoiced. They split up their human lands to the four pack leaders, placing crowns on their heads and erecting temples in their honor.
I glanced up to the carved, curving passage in the arch above my head: The saviors of Aotreas. The power of the pack.
The sounds of hushed voices grew as we reached the closed doors of the grand hall. My sister adjusted her posture, shoulders further back and chin held higher, if that was possible. Grae bent to whisper something in her ear, and she smiled. The sweet moment made me ache, and I knew it made me the worst sort of person. Our lives weren’t our own. We belonged to the pack, the ones who defeated the monsters now so poetically painted along the halls of this castle.
But, oh, if that weren’t the case . . .
The prince nodded to the doormen, and, with a creaking groan, the doors opened. Eager faces greeted us, leaning over each other and lifting on tiptoes to get a peek at the woman they long thought was dead. A sea of satin gowns and velvet jackets, intricate hairstyles and glittering jewelry—each one looked as if they could be royalty themselves. I wondered what the Silver Wolves would look like in their wolf forms. Gooseflesh rippled across my forearm at the thought. Hundreds of Wolves running through the forest . . . It had only ever been a dream.
Awed whispers echoed in the vast hall as they appraised Briar. The pack’s nerves thickened the charged air. Briar had been a ghost story to these people until this moment, and now she was flesh and blood—a beautiful promise of what could be.
The crowd parted to form an aisle, revealing a dais. A carved silverwood throne sat in the center, and upon it, the King presided over the crowd. King Nero Claudius was younger than I had expected, his black hair only graying at the temples and peppered through his short beard. He wore a silver chest plate carved with his phoenix crest. It molded to his torso, giving him perfectly shaped muscles that I doubted matched his actual flesh. Everything in his attire seemed designed to make him look more formidable—wide shoulder plates, silver cuffs along his forearm, and a razor-sharp crown atop his head. It worked.