As she ate, the twin remained unmoving by the door, like a silent, patient shadow. Maris could feel the woman’s eyes on her, studying, measuring.
Finally, when the last bite was gone, the twin stepped forward to remove the tray, her movements as graceful and silent as before.
“Sleep,” the twin said. “You will need your strength.”
“For what?” Maris rasped.
The twin paused, lids lowering slightly, as if pitying her.
“Tomorrow you meet the full court.”
Then she was gone, leaving Maris alone with the dying fire.
The hours crawled by. Every sound from the halls, distant footsteps, the creak of iron hinges, a cry that could have been laughter or pain set Maris’s heart pounding.
She tried to sleep. Tried to pretend she was safe, back in Eryndor with her family, before the plague. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Kael’s face beautiful, terrible, unreadable and felt the iron grip of his hand around her wrist.
Why?
The question spun endlessly through her mind, as unstoppable as a prayer.
At some point, exhaustion crushed her at last. She dreamed of roses with teeth, of her mother’s voice calling her my little porcelain doll, of wolves prowling the edges of black stone gates.
When she woke, it was to pale light filtering through the barred windows, catching on the velvet curtains until they glowed faintly red, like old blood.
Her mouth was dry. Her body ached from sleeping so tense. But she was still alive.
A knock at the door made her flinch.
This time, it was Valea who entered, her black gown sweeping around her ankles. Her face was as unreadable as ever, though Maris thought she saw a faint hint of surprise that the girl was still in the bed and had not tried to break a window or run.
“You will rise and get dressed, it is well past midday.” Valea ordered.
Behind her, the twins waited again, carrying an armful of dark cloth that shimmered with an oily sort of shine, a gown, Maris realized, cut in a style nothing like the homespun dresses she’d ever known.
“The entire court will see you today,” Valea continued, tone as cold as a blade. “The King has requested you be presented.”
Maris’s throat closed up.
Presented. Like a prize hound, she thought bitterly.
But she was too tired, too confused to fight. She let them guide her up from the bed, into a basin of steaming water to rinse away the sweat of the night, and then into the new dress.
The fabric was so dark it seemed to swallow the light, fitted tight across her chest with sleeves that flared at the wrist in graceful, floating layers. Tiny seed pearls had been sewn into the neckline, like tears frozen in place.
When she saw herself in the polished standing mirror, Maris barely recognized the woman staring back , black hair combed until it gleamed, porcelain skin pale glowing, and those pale green eyes with their silver starbursts around the pupils, shining strange and otherworldly in the low light. The color looked almost too bright, too clear, like starlight, and it made her feel more a stranger in her own body than ever.
“I look like a ghost,” she whispered.
Valea’s mouth twitched, the barest hint of a cruel smile.
“Appropriate,” she said, and turned to leave.
Maris hesitated only a second before following, her slippered feet brushing across the heavy carpets. Her stomach twisted with dread as Valea led her back through the thorn-lined corridors, toward the hall where a King awaited, and beyond him, a world she could not escape.
Chapter two
King’s Claim
