“Where are you taking me?” She tried to bring a bit of oomph to her words, but they fell flat.
“You’ve won the favor of being presented to the duke.” He grinned menacingly. “Now, let’s go.”
Where was she that she was being presented to a duke? Amaris recalled what Theo had said yesterday, but she thought he’d been crazy when he’d mentioned being a soldier in some kingdom.
Her thighs ached from riding, and she was starving, but she willed her body forward like every day at the fire academy, when all she wanted to do was stay down and curl into a ball. She glared up at Alan, unable to throw up her mask and keep the peace. He dug his fingers against her skin, pinching bits of flesh as he made for a fast pace up the stairs. She should’ve torn her arm from his hold and shoved him down the stairs, but with her luck, it would’ve only pissed him off.
They emerged into the daylight. Amaris had to squint against the blinding rays of what should’ve been beautiful sunlight, but all she wanted was the cover of darkness. They rounded the corner. It was a massive stone fortress. She was torn between the stunning beauty and the rage that filled her.
How is this place possible?That shivering ripple returned as it snaked down her spine. She couldn’t be in Gainesville anymore, let alone Indiana.
As Alan dragged her up the elaborate steps, she thought about every impossible reality. She tripped at the top, and his only response was to grip her arm tighter and yank her forward. She shot him a menacing glare. He was wearing a billowing, maroon shirt rolled to his forearms. At least he was more presentable than the last time she’d seen him, but gone was his uniform. His square jaw was clean-shaven, and his ash-brown hair had seen a brush.
He threw open the doors, their loud boom emanating into the hollow space around them and swaying a candlelit chandelier made of brass loops hanging above their heads. “This way,” he grunted, not that it mattered since he was still dragging her along.
They trekked down a hallway stretching with floor-length windows draped in forest-green, velvet curtains. Gray stones composed every wall around them, and the interior walls were decorated with paintings of creatures, vivid landscapes, and portraits. Her eyes lingered briefly on the faces, settling on one particularly familiar one, and she scoffed. The painting, however dreadful, did nothing to capture the true essence of Theodoric’s eyes. They bordered more on dull and gray than the vibrant shade of green.
Alan dragged her down more hallways, getting her completely lost by the fourth turn. They didn’t pass a single soul for how huge the place was. He wasn’t as tall as Bennet or Theodoric, but his long strides were still annoying. She didn’t know where she was, but she already hated this place, Alan, and most certainly, whoever the duke was.
They finally came to a halt in front of a set of exceedingly tall doors. They were decorated with carvings of elaborate battles instead of iron vines, and above the arching entrance was an arrangement of symbols. They swung open on creaking hinges, as if their mere presence willed them open. Alan forced her over the threshold and into a throne room. A pit grew in her stomach, along with the crushing reality that something unworldly had happened to her.
The slamming of the doors behind her brought her back to reality. Soldiers scattered the sides, parting for them and leaning against dark Gothic pillars. All the curtains were pulled shut and shrouded the room in an intimidating darkness. If they were trying to scare her, it was working. The only sounds were the jingling of the zippers on her boots, the crackling of the fire within the torches hanging from the walls, and Alan’s heavy breaths in her ear.
Ahead was a dais and a large throne with vines wrapping around the armrests like snakes and a crescent adoring the high back of the wooden chair. She couldn’t make out the rest with the man seated on it, but the blood drained from her face. Every part of Amaris’s being screamed for her to rip her arm from Alan’s hold and run.
She shifted her gaze from the throne as the soldiers grunted and sneered, their viciousness visible by their grips on the pommels of their swords. Everyone’s stares were soulless, their eyes only beholding what they wanted to see, a murderer. Amaris was slowly regretting staying by Theodoric’s side instead of letting him pass out so she could run for her freedom.
Her worry only dissipated for a moment when her eyes latched on to the one face among all the rest, the only one not drawn into a snarl. A single head poked out from behind one of the curtains. She had a square face with high cheekbones sitting below her green eyes, ones Amaris had become all too familiar with. Her black hair was Theodoric’s, too, but where his had small waves, hers was sleek and pulled back into a long ponytail. Her skin was a complete contrast to his. Theodoric’s had a tan glow, and hers was paler than Amaris’s, with signs of sunburn along the bridge of her nose and cheeks.
Her eyes met Amaris’s, but there wasn’t shock or the twitch of her jaw. She stared at her, studying her. Alan shoved against her back, reminding her she wasn’t in a staring contest with the floating head peeking out from the curtain. Amaris took a short breath, watching out of the corner of her eye, but the woman was gone.
Alan forced Amaris to her knees at the edge of the dais. She bit back what felt like the hundredth scream as she hit the floor. Her head dropped, her chin resting on her chest as she fought back the urge to cry. She needed to compose herself.
Someone before her cleared their throat, and several steps echoed to her right. A pair of black boots stood a few paces at the foot of the dais.
She hadn’t prepared anything. Should she scream and demand to belet go or cry and plead it was all some misunderstanding?
Alan gripped her hair, pulling several strands out as he lifted her face. Amaris refused to make eye contact with the supposed duke, but her eyes snapped up to meet Theodoric’s instead. He stood before the dais with his hand resting on the hilt of his knife, as if he were ready to strike her down. He rubbed a thumb along the edge, most likely contemplating whether to cut her head off or bleed her dry. He was a guardian, a soldier to the duke, but why was his portrait hanging on the wall?
Her throat constricted with the sandy-haired man standing behind the throne, but she forced her eyes from his taunting glare and finally acknowledged the duke. His jaw was hidden behind a light-brown and graying beard, but his defined cheekbones were a sharp contrast to the purple bags sitting below his mismatched eyes. One was a dark shade of shit brown that pierced her soul, while the other was a bleached white and threatened to pin her to the floorboards. A scar started from his right temple and ran through the eye, stopping short of his lip.
The man on the throne broke the deafening silence. “What’s your name?”
Amaris held her lips tight.No immediate proclamation of my death or torturing information out of me?
The duke inclined his head to pierce through her silence with his beady eye. In the few seconds she had, she attempted to piece together everything she’d learned. Derek had always said to keep her eyes and ears open, taking in everything. She should’ve paid more attention instead of discounting everything as a dream.
“Your name,” he bellowed.
Her anxiety-ridden thoughts were going to get her into further trouble. Her silence was definitely a cut to this guy’s ego.
“Alan.” The duke motioned with a simple wave, and Alan tugged harder at her hair, eliciting a short yelp. “This is your only chance to defend yourself, and you wish to throw it in my face. You can rot in the dungeons for all I care. I am at least giving you the decency of a trial.”
“You call this a trial?” Jury, judge, and executioner all rolled into one.
“One I hope you take seriously before there are graver consequences,” he threatened, grimacing.
Theodoric’s grip tightened around his knife.
