“Of course.”
The one time I don’t have my dagger on me.
The smile on my face feels brittle as I step from the room, pulling the door closed behind me. Hopefully Nyssa could hear the entire exchange from wherever she was hiding.
“Are your ladies with you?” Jorah asks.
“No, I sent them to run some errands.”
He says nothing further as he heads down the hallway. I follow. The halls are empty, not a single servant in sight, and our footsteps echo off the walls. Each heartbeat assaults me like the strike of an executioner’s blade, resonating through my chest. I breathe deep, willing myself to calm.
When we reach the outer doors of Keres’s chambers, I’ve finally managed to rein in the fear, drawing it out from where it’s been steadily poisoning my body like the venom of a viper. Jorah leads me throughthe antechamber toward the study and raps his knuckle on the door. I hold my breath as we wait for a reply.
“Enter.”
Jorah ushers me inside. But he doesn’t stay. Instead, he pulls the door shut behind me, sealing me in with the prince.
Keres stands behind his desk, his back toward me as he stares out of the bank of tall windows that lines the far wall. The same heavy gray mist dances beyond the glass, shrouding the view of Eretria normally visible below.
He doesn’t turn at my entrance, so I take a moment to observe him in the silence. His shoulders are tense under his white-and-gold tunic, one hand braced on the window frame while the other cradles a glass of amber liquid. His usually meticulously styled hair is ruffled, like he’s been running his hands through it, upsetting the glossy curls. His broad shoulders rise and fall with deep, controlled breaths.
Seconds drag into a minute, and with each passing moment, fear creeps back in, slithering through my veins and poisoning my mind again.
“You sent for me, Keres?”
Finally, he turns.
Furious red eyes clash with mine.
I am unequivocally fucked.
I stand my ground, a smile plastered on my face as he rounds the desk and walks toward me. I track every move he makes, the way his eyes run over every inch of my body before once again settling on my face.
“I’ve heard stories of the princess of the Sorrows. They say she was never accepted by her father. Instead of claiming her and giving her the title, he cast her out, sent her away to the Isle of the Winds. The stories end there, until you conveniently returned when I announced the trials.”
A cold sweat breaks out over my body, and I force my hands not to curl into fists at my sides as the intense need for fight-or-flight tries to take over my body.
“Those are stories, Keres. As you can see, I stand here before you.” I hold my hands out to emphasize the point. “Royal title and all.”
Keres tilts his head, studying me like a predator sizing up its prey. “You know, Princess, I’ve always found lies fascinating. They’re like threads in a tapestry—pull one, and the whole thing unravels. But the truth? The truth is a blade. Sharp. Precise. Deadly.”
He steps closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you know what happens to liars in my court?”
I force myself to meet his gaze, my voice steady despite the anxiety clawing at my chest. “I imagine it’s something unpleasant.”
His lips curl into a bitter smile. “You imagine correctly.”
I stay silent, my eyes following Keres as he reaches for an aura resting on the corner of his desk. The faint glow within the glass shimmers as he turns it over in his hand, inspecting it before stepping closer. Without a word, he places the sphere into my palm, the cool surface sending a slight shiver through me.
Keres leans against the edge of his desk, his unnerving gaze fixed on mine. “Sit,” he says, his tone authoritative yet calm.
“I’d rather stand,” I reply evenly, tightening my fingers around the orb. My voice is steady, but the tension in the air is palpable.
Keres stares at me for a moment longer, his dark eyes narrowing, and the menace in his posture becomes unmistakable. “What is your name?” he finally asks, his voice soft but cold, like ice creeping over stone.
I straighten my shoulders, refusing to be cowed. “Why am I being interrogated?” I counter, my tone sharp. The room feels smaller with the tension thick between us, his piercing gaze never leaving my face.
“I asked you a question,” Keres replies, his demeanor edged with impatience.
