“I warned you that you’re only safe here as long as we find you useful.”
We reach the table, and he pulls my chair out for me, then takes his own seat. Someone behind us rings a bell and then everything moves quickly. People hurry to the tables, and a dozen servants arrive from hidden doors with bottles of wine. Our goblets are silver instead of black, and as soon as the last person is sat, servants quickly pour wine for everyone.
Then all heads turn toward the still-open double doors. A man in long black robes—a priest—slowly ambles in. I recognize him as Darius, the same priest who met me when I arrived. He kisses his palm, then touches his chest before extending his hand, as if blessing everyone in the room. The gathered courtiers repeat the gesture, kissing their palms, then touching their chests, but they don’t extend their arms after.
Caiden remains still, so I do the same. Apparently, the royals don’t need to show reverence to the gods.
The priest walks up to our table, where he drops into a bow, his attention focused on Caiden. When he rises, he scowls at me before taking the smaller wooden chair next to the throne.
Suddenly, everyone stands, and a tapping sound makes a faint echo around the ballroom. Caiden and the priest stand, so I rise with them. A hunched old man stands in front of one of the double doors. He’s clothed in a fine black jacket and trousers, similar to Caiden’s. Thinning white hair is combed across a pale scalp. Leaning heavily on a cane, the man takes careful steps toward us. As he passes by, everyone drops to low bows or deep curtseys.
He pauses near a table, then gestures to a woman. She dips lower into a curtsy before rising, then walking over to his side, loops her arm through his. They continue walking and it appears that she’s helping stabilize him.
As they get closer, I recognize Lady Drathmore. My brow furrows as an insane thought circles my mind. Could this old man be the emperor? Is this why nobody’s seen him?
I dismiss the nonsense idea. It’s impossible, isn’t it? But what if it’s not? What if he’s already dying?
When he approaches us, the priest lowers his head. Caiden doesn’t, but I intuit that I’m expected to, so I do. This has to be the emperor. My pulse races. What does this mean?
Two servants pull the throne away from the table and Lady Drathmore assists him, then she returns to her seat. The servants push the throne closer to the table, then retreat through the secret doors.
Once he’s settled in his chair, he thumps his cane against the stone floor twice. The sound is like a crack, amplified beyond what it should be. It must be a familiar message, though, because after the second crack, they rise from their bows and take their seats again. Caiden sits, so I sit as well.
I force my gaze forward, resisting the urge to study the ancient man in the throne. Has he always looked like this? Were the stories and depictions of him a lie? Or was something wrong with him? My fingers twitch. I want so badly to turn and stare.
The room is deathly silent. The emperor coughs and I risk a glance. He wipes his mouth with a dark handkerchief, but I swear I can see blood on the cloth. I turn back away.
“Welcome, everyone.” His voice is weak and raspy.
I fix a smile on my face and turn my attention to him. He glances over at me, then nods once before looking back at his gathered court.
“You are all my most loyal and trusted friends. Since the loss of my dearest wife, I have not been myself. But with this new alliance comes a brighter future for Pendralia. Our great empire faces new threats and unfamiliar challenges. But withthe marriage of my son and the might of the Iskvalandian armies to bolster our own, we will be unstoppable.”
Applause and cheers rise from the gathered courtiers. My stomach twists and I swallow down the rising bile. It’s a reminder, though. It’s why I’m here. This alliance can’t happen. And this empire can’t continue.
The emperor lifts his goblet. He turns to look at me and raises his cup. “To Princess Sabina Volkov and our newfound alliance with Iskvaland.”
“To Princess Sabina Volkov,” the courtiers repeat.
I pick up my goblet and smile demurely. In my head, I imagine watching this frail old man collapse to the ground. The courtiers would rush around him, desperate to save their emperor. In the chaos, I might be able to find a weapon and kill Caiden. Brevan would hunt me down and I’d be hanged unless the rebels could get to him first, but either way, the job would be done. And Pendralia would have a chance to rebuild better. My smile widens and the emperor grins back at me. Good thing he can’t see what I’m thinking.
“Now, in honor of our future princess, let’s feast,” the emperor says. Immediately the hidden doors open again, and servants return with steaming bowls of soup, delivering one to each place setting.
Course after course, the servants return to take away plates and replace them with more food. I have to start pacing myself and only taking a few bites of each dish. I’m not the only one. I notice that most plates go back overflowing with food. It’s hard to imagine having so much food that you don’t eat everything on your plate, but that’s what I do now as well. Guilt makes my chest tight.
Between bites, I glance at the emperor. He looks frail up close. His skin is thin and papery, his eyes glassy. Living to be nearly 500 has caught up to him. I thought he’d be frozenin a younger, healthier body. Lady Drathmore looks so much healthier and younger than him, but maybe there’s a limit to the magic. Maybe he’s not immortal and instead, has reached his peak. Is that why Caiden is marrying now? Aside from the alliance, is he preparing to take over as emperor due to his father’s health?
Caiden speaks in hushed tones with his father, the priest sometimes joining in. Despite my attempts to get closer, I can’t hear a word the trio says.
Nobody at the long tables seems to care that he’s a frail old man. They are engaged in their own conversations, few of them even taking time to glance toward the royals. Have they seen him recently? The citizens haven’t seen him since his wife died, but perhaps he’s been locked away in here, still engaging with his favorites.
“They will clear the tables after dessert,” Caiden says.
I look over at him, surprised that he’s turned his attention away from his father. “Thank you for the warning.”
“My father likes you,” he says.
My brow furrows. “He doesn’t know me. He hasn’t even spoken to me.”
