I nod, and hand in hand, we follow the guard up and out of the dungeon.
The words of the prisoner across the hall last night still echo in my head. He’s certain he’s going to die, and my mouth goes dry as I wonder if we are walking to our end.
Dietan says nothing, his gaze steely and focused as we are led back through the golden palace. Then his eyes meet mine, and they brighten just slightly, making my heart rate quicken. His eyes are sea green today, like the ocean near his home that I so desperately want to see for myself.
My mind returns to last night—the taste of his kiss on my lips, the feel of him when I boldly reached into his smallclothes. He was so hot, so large. Just the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t stopped—if we hadn’t been in the damned dungeon. Whatcouldhappen once he persuades King Osian to help him with the Rings so he can finally live without fear of his own power.
It makes my knees weak.
He kissed me and meant it. And even in our shitty situation—imprisoned and now on our way to meet a king who could end our lives—my heart feels full because I know I’ve finally found a man worth waiting for all my life.
I never imagined it would happen.
In this moment, full of the promise of death, Dietan’s love is worth all of the hardship. Whether he has said the words or not, he does love me. I know it. I know him. And to be honest, I probably fell in love with him the night he wandered into the Beak, thinking he could fool everyone into thinking he was a commoner. When he drank our strongest ale without complaint.
We arrive at a staircase that leads to the throne room.
“Shall we, my darling?” he asks, kissing the back of my hand. The way he says it feels different now than when he said the exact same words at every stop of the Wedding March.
“Yes, my prince,” I reply, just as I did then, but I don’t say it with my customary mocking tone. Instead, the words feel like ownership.
He is mine.Myprince.
I slip my arm through his, and a handful of armed and armored guards lead us up a series of stairs.
The metallic clanking of the men’s armor and the glint of sunlight off their halberds are stark reminders of why we’re here and who we’re going to see. My palms suddenly grow clammy. Dietan must feel it, too, because he puts a hand over mine and gives it a small, reassuring squeeze.
I focus on Dietan’s confidence, absorbing some of it for myself. I pull my shoulders back and hold my head high, trying my best to imitate him, trying to feel worthy of him, of being a princess.
He watches me out of the corner of his eye as we reach the top of the stairs, and his lips quirk up into a small smile. “Everything is going to be okay,” he says. “I promise.”
I can only hope it’s not an empty promise, but hope is all I have.
Hope and Dietan.
The throne room is a grand hall that looks to be made of solid gold. The nave is bordered on either side by gold columns holding up a ceiling so high, I wouldn’t be surprised if a flock of birds could fly through it.
One by one, the guards escorting us take positions against the wall, standing at attention. They rest the butts of their gleaming halberds on the marble floor. I notice the grates at the outer border of the hall. The very same grates through which Dietan and I heard all manner of mysterious and unnerving sounds.
Before the great throne, a long table bisects the hall, resplendent with golden tableware and laden with so much food, I wonder who else might join us. As far as I can tell, we’re the only people in attendance. I feel tired and rumpled in our unwashed desert clothes and would like nothing more than a hot bath and a chance to wash my hair—to look less common before this king.
“Welcome to the king’s court,” the liveried butler says, standing tall in front of the table.
My stomach rumbles at the sight of such a feast. The last full meal I had was at Katharine’s house, and as welcome as her hospitality was after our ordeal in the desert, it doesn’t compare to the spread before us.
There are platters laden with delicacies that couldn’t have been easy to procure here. Roast pork and duck, grilled chicken and lamb, mountains of peeled and cut fruits, vegetables glistening in glazes, and soft bread shaped like animals line the center of the table. And even this far away from any ocean or lake, there are scaly fish and shelled oysters and other sea creatures in thick sauces.
I wonder for a moment if it’s a magical mirage, like the glass city. It seems impossible that there’d be such variety and abundance in a barren place like the Great Waste.
Sparkling pitchers of water glimmer in the bright sunlight filtering through the open archways, and my mouth is suddenly parched.
“May I ask where the king is? We were told he was ready to see us,” Dietan says.
“Yes, in due time,” the butler answers. “His Majesty is occupied with other matters at present, but he will only be a moment. Please, help yourself to breakfast.”
“Thank you,” Dietan says politely. “I think the last time I had a good meal was in a tavern called the Raven’s Beak.”
He catches my eye, and a warm flush spreads across my face, putting me a little more at ease.
