GILLIAN NUDGES ME THROUGH THE GATE toward the Great Hall, where a herald announces our names to the gathered crowd. In the opulent rectangular room that seems as wide and long as the castle’s training yard, some curious gazes lift, though most seem not to care. Which is a relief.
I stand at the top of a grand staircase, marble steps that pour into the hall, knees knocking together like two woodpeckers confusing each other for sticks. At the far end of the great room, there are two arches, each one an exit. Should anyone riot when the king carries out his plan for the night, I’ll escape through one of those halls.
“Come on,” Gillian whispers out the side of her mouth. She links her arm through mine and tugs me down the steps.
A pull toward the back of the room has me cringing internally. It’s so much stronger here than it was in the stable yard. As always, knowing he’s nearby infuriates. I feel drawn toward him. Tonight the struggle frustrates me more than usual because all I want to do is seek out Cohen.
My hands ball at my sides. I try to study the crowd. It’s smaller than I imagined. I never feel comfortable in a small crowd. Too many people who can see you. Too few people to hide.
After a moment of searching for Cohen, I give in to the king’s draw and allow myself to scan the nobility for the man I’m yoked to. I haven’t seen him since the day he was attacked. I hope his shoulder has healed.
Ladies with giant coiffures resembling snail shells talk in whispery voices. Beside them, the men wear awful embroidered and silk ensembles with puffy trousers and pointed shoes. For a moment, I’m distracted by their ridiculous extravagance. Surely, the cost of one of their outfits could feed a family for a month. For some reason, I think of Lirra’s comment about everyone being liars. Makes me wonder what is hidden beyond their baubles and accessories.
Voices mingle in hushed conversations that I care little to be a part of. Gillian mutters something about how odd it is no one has welcomed us. I snort, and then try to cover it with a cough. She doesn’t understand that people who ignore me are the people I feel the most comfortable around.
I stick to Gillian like she’s my anchor, keeping me from drifting in the king’s direction, even though I haven’t yet spotted the man. He isn’t seated at the head table. Or at the carved wood monstrosity of a throne parked at the end of the room opposite the entry stairs.
“Not so confident out of the woods, are you?”
I whip my head to the side to see who’s talking. A guard stands nearby beside one of the wood columns.
Gillian’s arm cinches tighter. “Jealous of her hunting skill, Niall? Figures, since you’re stuck here, tending nobles like a nanny.”
“Scrants.” He hisses.
I straighten. Lift my skirt and march up to him. For a guard I’ve only just met, he needs an antidote for the venom he’s spewing. “Glorified nursemaid.”
His glare is so fiery, it could burn down the entire castle.
Gillian flips her fan open with a snap and turns on her heel. “What a fool.”
But the guard is right. Eyes slide our way and feet scurry out of our path like we’re wolves in a herd of sheep. Walking through the nobility is torturous. Their glares put Niall’s to shame, weighing me down. By the time we reach the center of the room, I might well be dragging a millstone for how much I have to fight to keep moving.
I remain on a course to Aodren. Or where the invisible lead pulls me. I make an effort to search once more for Cohen, but, hang it, the king has commandeered my attention, directing me like one of the castle’s homing pigeons.
Two men walk out of the east corridor, carrying long trumpets. Royal banners drop from the polished metal. Raising the instruments to their lips, they blow out resonant notes that fill the Great Hall, demanding silence. When the song ends, both men lower their trumpets and drop their chins to their chests.
“Honor the bearer of the crown, King Aodren the III, ruler and leader of Malam.” The herald’s voice booms.
Men’s heads lower. Women dip into fabric puddles across the shining granite floor.
I follow suit, remaining that way until the herald announces we may all rise. I’m not expecting Aodren’s eyes to lock with mine amidst the sea of faces. His skin is unusually waxen, and there’s a tight pinch to his features that makes me wonder where he’s just come from. I fight the rope connecting us, frustratingly aware that the bond is stronger than what I shared with Cohen.
Whispers sweep through the hall. I turn away from Aodren to find that the men and women around me have noticed the king’s attention. Prickles dance along the back of my neck. This dress suddenly feels ten times smaller than before. I tug at the material where the skirt blossoms out from the waist, hoping to give myself breathing room.
No use.
The herald announces that King Aodren will move through the room to greet everyone. Thankfully, the interruption pops the moment of awkwardness.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Aodren’s movement. Starting at the side of the room where lords and ladies stand shoulder to shoulder just inside the pillars, Aodren shakes hands, speaks a word or two, and moves on. Each interaction is no more than twenty seconds. That means I have five minutes or less before he arrives.
“Stop twitching.” Gillian waves her fan over her mouth. If I wasn’t already rubbing shoulders with her, I wouldn’t have noticed she spoke. She’s so stealthy about it. Until she smacks her fan closed and swats my hand. “Stand taller. Smile. Pretend you’re happy.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words turn to vapor the moment Aodren stops in front of me. Gillian provided too much of a distraction for me to keep track of the man. I must look like a guppy fish, opening and closing my mouth, hoping words will land on my tongue.
A hundred eyes are on us as Gillian tugs me down into a curtsy. Somewhere in the background, there are titters about traitors and whores. The king must be realizing his mistake now. The idea that I could be noble is farcical.
“Rise, Miss Flannery, Miss Tierney.”
His command grates on me. Forcing myself to straighten, shoulders back and nose up, I show the onlookers that I don’t care a whit about their insults.
Aodren’s hand snags mine. He brings it to his lips. The feather-light kiss on my skin could be a cattle brand for how it sends a whoosh of heat through me.
I try to tug away because everyone is watching. Everyone. Gods, how I wish the granite floor would ingest me whole. I wiggle my fingers, but the devil king’s grip constricts. I mutter bludger under my breath.
His brows raise and, I swear, his eyes glint like polished emeralds.
“I’m pleased you’re in attendance tonight.” His voice echoes off the columns, the ceiling, the floor, the walls. Seeds and stars. I yank my hand away. Could he have spoken any louder?
“We’re so honored to be here, Your Majesty.” Gillian holds her hand out for him to shake. He doesn’t place a kiss on hers. “How kind of you to invite us to the feast. You are a truly magnanimous leader.”
Has she drunk tainted ale?
Gillian loops her arm through mine, ignoring the look I’m throwing in her direction. “Britta was just saying how thankful she was for the dresses.”