“Your Highness,” she gasps, dipping her head. “I was worried. I heard what happened. Are you alright?”
“No,” I reply, in no mood for politeness, even if today I have woken feeling the best I have for some time.
No weakness. No headaches. No nightmares.
I open the door with trepidation, unsure what it is I will find on the otherwise. Strangely, I’m not the least bit surprised to see the room has been completely scrubbed clean of the previous nights traumas.
Broken furniture replaced. Blood scrubbed clean. And thankfully—not a single decapitated head in sight.
“You look a mess,” Solena says, and I respond with a frown.
“In the nicest way,” she blurts, “Let me draw you a bath.”
With my hair matted from the rain and blood under my fingernails, I wouldn’t mind a soak. Solena runs a bath, helping me undress, Daed’s shirt on my back not going unnoticed. Once I’m done, Solena wraps me in a robe, walking beside me toward the wardrobe when my chamber doors fly open.
Frane storms in, her leather cloak snapping behind her. Before she takes another step, Arax is there, his hand clamping down on her wrist.
“Release me, Blade,” she hisses, venom dripping from each word.
Arax's grip tightens, his voice a low growl. “Who are you to barge into the princess’s chambers unannounced?”
Frane’s jaw tightens as they stare each other down, eyes locked in a silent war of rage and bitterness.
“Release me or die, coward.”
Arax steps closer, canines lengthening, his fury barely contained.
“Enough!” My voice cuts through the tension, unwilling to let another moment of violence stain these walls. “What is it, Frane?”
Arax lets go reluctantly, his gaze never leaving her as she turns to me, barely managing to hide her scorn.
“A conclave of the houses has been called. Your presence is required by the king and queen.”
The words send a chill through me, nerves prickling the back of my neck. “Where is the prince?”
“He is already present,” she replies coldly. “You must come now.”
“The princess must dress first,” Solena interjects swiftly, rescuing me from responding while anxiety coils tighter in my stomach.
Frane’s lips curl in distaste, but she bows her head. “Very well. Bring her to the throne room when she is ready.” She glares at Arax before spinning on her heel, her cloak whipping the air as she marches out.
Arax’s eyes linger on the door long after she’s gone, the tension still crackling in the air. He gives me a nod, his voice low and steady. “I’ll be outside,” he says, pulling the door gently closed behind him.
Solena wastes no time dressing me for the meeting. I was hoping for something simple today, but the gravity of the situation demands more. She suggests a black gown, one that’s as suffocatingly opulent as the tension in the room. Layers of lace and beading, cinched so tightly that I can hardly breathe.
She guides me to the dressing table, where she meticulously slicks my hair back, pulling it tight against my scalp. With deft hands, she coils it into a braided bun at my nape, each sharp twist making me wince. Solena slathers on powder, dusting my face with a fine layer, then applies a dark shadow to my eyes, blending it in the way I've come to expect. When she’s done, I may appear poised and regal, ready to face the houses, but inside, I am anything but prepared.
Solena opens the door, revealing Arax waiting for me, his head bowed and a fist pressed against his chest.
“Your Highness. Are you ready?”
The question echoes in my mind, and I silently scream.No, I am not.
But what I want holds no weight here. If I deny them, they'll drag me along anyway, and I refuse to give them that satisfaction. So I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and begin to walk. Leaving Solena behind, Arax and I stride forward, taking long, steady steps toward the throne room.
What awaits me there? Am I expected to confront Modok? Will they ask me what happened? Will I be forced to relive thatmoment, repeat the vile things he whispered in my ear, his hot breath burned into the memory of my skin?
Or is this where I learn my fate—where I am sent away.
