But his guards were there waiting. Her needle would likely break against their armor.
Eldrik chuckled, a low, mocking sound that grated on her nerves. “We shall see, princess.”
With a dismissive wave, he motioned the guards to stand back. Then Eldrik strode out of her mother’s workroom, golden cape fluttering behind him, leaving Alora seething in his wake.
CHAPTER 9
Alora
The rain fell hard in the evening. It beat against the stone windows like fingers desperate to be let in.
Alora’s new heels pinched at her feet, nearly catching on the hem of her green gown as she paced her bedrooms. The gaudy thing the servants had dressed her was insufferably suffocating and tight. Gods, she didn’t want to go to dinner. She didn’t want this life at all.
Her restless steps traced the chamber’s edge, every turn sharpening the knot in her chest. The memory of Eldrik’s grin still burned on her skin where his fingers had dared to touch.
From the courtyard below came the shrieks of Hydras, their cries splitting the night. She paused by the window. Calveron guards stood at attention at the gates, their white-gold armor catching the light like fire. They had come beneath a banner of peace, but this was no alliance. This was a conquest paraded in the open.
Her stomach twisted. The bars of her cage were closing in with every breath. She could feel Argyle slipping away, swallowed whole by the serpent’s maw.
Her pacing quickened, steps clicking across the marble. She turned sharply and her hip struck the bureau.
She winced at the jolt of pain, then heard a clatter struck the floor.
The crimson spindle bounded then spun away, catching the sunlight as it continued rolling before coming to rest against her bedpost. Alora bent to pick up the spindle, frowning.
Such an odd material for a sewing needle.
Almost without thought, she lightly tapped the sharp end, and at once the air shifted.
Her skin prickled. A low hum rose, faint as a sigh, threading through her ears. An indistinct whisper, steady and insistent, like an eerie lullaby she had never heard.
Alora quickly set it down on the desk.
The scar on her finger tingled again, pulsing strangely at the tip as though itlongedto pierce itself on the needle’s point. Her hand lifted of its own accord, heart hammering, the hum growing stronger, coaxing?—
A sudden knock snapped her out of it. “Princess?”
She startled, yanking her hand back against her chest. Theia’s voice followed, her footsteps quick across the outer chamber.
Alora scrambled, slamming the spindle into her desk drawer. The hum cut off at once, leaving her heart pounding.
The doorknob turned and Theia peaked past the door. “May I come in?”
Alora forced a smile, though her hand still trembled. “Yes, of course,” she said with an airy laugh, brushing her damp palms against her skirts.
Theia entered in a fine gown the color of the sky. “How are you feeling?” She searched her face worriedly. “You missed your breakfast this morning.”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Alora straightened and folded her hands at her waist, resisting the urge to rub her scar. “I wasn’t hungry, so I went out for a walk in the gardens.”
Theia’s brow furrowed. “The gardens?” she repeated uncertainly.
The same gardens that were now mere weeds and thorns.
Alora inwardly cringed.
Theia blinked then at the overcast sky outside to the storm, then at her mother’s journal on the bed. But she didn’t press the obvious lie. “Are you ready to greet tonight’s guests?”
“Intruders, you mean.” Alora crossed her arm as she glared at the courtyard below.
