Vivienne stilled. “Sounds like you’re expecting bad news.”
Lewis sighed, clasping his hands together. “I hope it’s not, but your parents have been gone a lot longer than?—”
“So you’ve already given up?” The words lashed out before she could stop them, anger flaring hot in her chest.
“It’s not giving up,” Lewis said, his jaw tightening. “It’s being realistic.”
Vivienne clenched her fists. “Well, if we’re beingrealistic,” she snapped, “my parents are out there, and I’m sure this whole thing is just a huge misunderstanding?—”
A pointed cough cut interrupted them. Vivienne and Lewis turned.
Chancellor Montaghue had materialized in the doorway, his face as severe as ever.
“The King will see you now.”
6
Chancellor Montaghue led Vivienne and Lewis back into the grand entrance hall, their footsteps echoing against the cool stone. The stern woman behind the desk flicked her gaze toward them, disapproval written in the taut line of her mouth, but she said nothing.
Ahead, two gigantic mahogany doors awaited, their deep grain polished to a near mirror sheen. Flanking them stood two castle guards, their armor gleaming in the fractured light of the stained-glass windows. As the trio approached, each guard seized a massive golden ring embedded in the wood and heaved the heavy doors open, the hinges groaning under the weight.
Vivienne and Lewis gasped in unison as the throne room unfolded before them in breathtaking splendor.
The same gleaming white stone as the entrance hall made up the walls and vaulted ceiling. Three enormous chandeliers hung from above, crafted from hundreds of pieces of sea glass arranged in cascading waves of blues and greens. As the sun filtered through them, rippling reflections danced across the polished floor, an ethereal mimicry of the Phythean Sea beneath the cliffs.
Blue and gold heraldic flags, bearing the royal crest, swayed gently in the drafts from the high-arched windows. The golden threads woven into their fabric shimmered in the light.
At the far end of the room, the throne stood atop a broad stone dais. Carved from dark, thick wood, its back stretched skyward, designed to intimidate anyone who dared stand before it.
Montaghue strode ahead, motioning to a circular mosaic embedded in the floor. “You’ll stand there.”
The command stung, delivered as though she were a child needing direction. Vivienne stole a glance at Lewis, irritation flickering in her eyes.
“I’ll be right here the whole time,” he murmured, his voice steady, reassuring.
Vivienne inhaled deeply, pushing down the unease curling in her stomach. She stepped onto the intricate mosaic, the royal emblem of Fendwyr glinting beneath her feet. Guilt flickered through her.A work of art reduced to a platform for petitioners.
She curtsied, then lifted her gaze to the throne.
The King’s coronation portrait had been generous. Time had not been.
Where the painting had depicted a noble, dignified ruler, the man before her was anything but. His once-dark hair, now a thinning tangle of brown and gray, hung past his shoulders in limp defeat. Wrinkled, pock-marked skin sagged around eyes the color of storm-heavy clouds. A full beard did little to disguise his drooping jowls.
The only aspect retaining any splendor was the crown—a halo of sapphires encircling his brow, their deep blue depths glittering with cold fire. Vivienne grimaced. No amount of jewels could mask the reality: King Berius was a man far past his prime.
Vivienne had expected a small audience, but not the two dozen courtiers murmuring at the edges of the throne room. Their hushed conversations buzzed like a swarm of wasps, their gazes flitting toward her, assessing, dissecting. She brushed her sweat-slick palms down the front of her navy skirts.
To the King’s left, Montaghue stood poised, clutching a stack of booklets and parchment. To his right, a stoic man in full armor gripped a tall staff adorned with the royal flag.
Montaghue leaned in and muttered, “This is Miss Banner.”
“MISS BANNER!”
The thunderous voice of the armored man sent a shockwave through the room.
Vivienne’s heart slammed against her ribs as she jerked back instinctively, a hand flying to her chest. Every muscle in her body braced for an attack that never came.Well, now I know what his job is.
Montaghue barely hid his wince, his lips pressing into a thin line as he flipped through his notes.
