Sam shifts awkwardly as Marina finishes her tirade with a hand at her hip. “Marina says…well, she, uh—would like to brush your hair before you meet the princess.”
By the incensed look on Marina’s face, I get the distinct impression this isn’t atallwhat she said and that perhaps she’d rather light my hair on fire than brush it, but my thoughts snare on the wordprincess.“Princess?” I repeat doubtfully.
There is no royalty in my world anymore, and the only thing I know of it is what I’ve read in the old fairy tales and history books I managed to pilfer before they were lost to the plague. Is Letum in some undiscovered part of the world, isolated and protected from the plague that’s been systematically crumbling the rest of civilization? A place of odd stars and evil kings? Of princesses and mermaids?
Or have I dreamed the world of Letum up, the sad coping mechanism of a desperate soul locked in the bowels of an Amelioration camp?
I clear my throat, pushing the thought from my mind. “If she’s the princess, why doesn’t she live in the castle with the king?” His black gaze flashes through my thoughts, depthless and as unfathomable as the sky itself. “Is it because her father is a death-wielding lunatic?”
Sam makes a noise in the back of his throat that could be a laugh, but he doesn’t rise to my rancor. “Adira is not His Majesty’s daughter, but a princess in her own right, of her own people.”
“Does she also murder children and cut out her servants’ tongues?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Sam replies with a wink that has me questioning whether or not he’s serious. He tilts his head, examining me. Not in the madness-edged way of the king, but in soft assessment. After a moment, he grunts in amusement. “His Majesty is a far braver man than me to endeavor to face the two of you at once. I’ll be sorry to miss it.”
“You aren’t coming?” I ask, the unease that’s been pooled in my stomach spreading to my limbs at the idea of being alone with the Carrion King. Unbidden, images of him press into my mind: the cruel slant of his lips, the dark curve of his brow. Those ribbons of midnight that shudder and writhe over his pale skin in a way that feels both unbearably decadent and horribly dangerous.
Death close enough to touch. What would it feel like for one of those silky tendrils to ensnare me? To give myself over to them completely?
Sam clears his throat, drawing me pointedly from the spiral of self-destructive thoughts by answering my question. “It’s betterfor all involved if the princess and I keep at least half a kingdom of space between us.”
Marina gives Sam a heartfelt look that only heightens my curiosity, but Sam doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he motions to the cloak in my arms. “If you would, miss.”
“Willa. Just Willa.”
“Willa,” Sam obliges with a tip of his head.
Shoving the gloves into a pocket, I wrap the cloak around my shoulders. The fabric is impossibly supple, and reflexively, I burrow deeper into it with a near-purr of pleasure. At Marina’s stern look, I run my fingers haphazardly through my hair before following Sam out into the corridor.
We walk in companiable silence, Sam seemingly lost in thought, perhaps about the mysterious princess, and me, focused on memorizing the maze of palace hallways. Despite the lack of color, the palace holds an irresistible gothic charm that has a part of me wishing to slow our pace in order to devour every beautiful detail.
Each wall is paneled and etched with delicate precision. The floor gleams, black marble streaked with deep shades of blue and purple reminiscent of the transcendent night sky beyond the geometric patterns of the inlaid windows. Everything glitters beneath the soft light of gilded lanterns and ornate candelabras, like stars have sprawled through every corridor.
“It’s called the Lunaedon,” Sam says, taking note of my wonder, though I’d rather him notice nothing about me at all. “The palace, that is.”
I shoot him a sidelong glance. “And were you born here? In the Lunaedon?”
Something like amusement dances over Sam’s face, like he knows I’m prying but doesn’t mind entertaining it. “I was born in London.”
My heart lurches in my chest at the mention of the city. The city where my mother was born; the place my father fled after her death in an attempt to escape the memories haunting him on every corner.
“London,” I repeat faintly. “As in, London, England?”
“The very same,” Sam replies, turning sharply and beginning the descent down the grand staircase.
“And Marina? Is she from London, too?” Is that why I can’t understand her sign—it’s British? And is that why everyone here all plays along with the same insanity? They were once living like normal people and then woke up to this plague-induced nightmare just as I have?
My ribs constrict and blood rushes past my ears. “Did you all fall through stars?” I demand hotly, my earlier panic resurging with a vengeance. Like a wave crashing down on top of me, drowning me in mud and debris. “Or was that a pleasure saved only for me?”
Sam’s answering smile is somewhat pitying. “Didn’t enjoy the trip?”
Unbidden, my body shudders as it remembers the feeling of falling. Plague-induced nightmare or not, thatfeltreal. The rush of air, the rapid blur of the buildings around me. The breathless pressure, the approaching concrete. “Does anyone enjoy being trapped in a nightmare?” I murmur, halting in place before my panic pushes me headfirst down the stairs.
Sam stops too, giving me a curious look. “Is that what you think Letum is? A nightmare you can’t wake from?”
I squeeze my eyes shut as an overwhelming sense of despair crests above me, threatening to sweep me away. As I admit aloud what I’ve feared since I woke up in the middle of the fall. “I think—” I lick my lips and try again. “I think after all this time, I’ve finally been infected. I think I’ve finally gone as mad as the rest of the unsound.”
I open my eyes and gesture helplessly around me. Nothing else makes sense but insanity. This wild world with its cruel king and glowing flowers and unimaginable sky—all of it has to be a figment of my mind. And if I were to somehow wake up, I’d find myself right back on those doctors’ tables, being torn apart day after day.
