There were other details too. A hint of redness that encircled my puffy eyes, and a shadowy darkness hanging below. I traced a small cut just above my cheek bone, feeling the rough edges of a healing scab. It wasn’t the only evidence of how hard I’d thrashed at the cabin; I was also speckled with finger-shaped bruises—remnants of the stranger’s tight grip. None of the marks bothered me, though, not when compared to what my parents had endured.
Confronted by the undeniable truth of what transpired, I had no other choice but to venture from the refuge of this chamber. The prospect sent a wave of dread crashing into me knowing only grimrealities awaited me past the confines of this room, but I needed answers.
Hand poised over the handle, I took a moment to ready myself before I turned the knob and sought out the man who called himself king.
I wasn’t prepared for the sheer magnitude that awaited me on the other side of the door. Stunned, it took me a moment to gather my bearings and scan the expansive hallway. Spotting a sentinel at the far end of the corridor to my right, I walked in his direction.
“Nyleeria?” A gruff, male voice sounded from behind, causing me to whirl in a jolt of surprise. “You’re expected.” The man motioned for me to go before him, indicating back the way we’d just come.
Not moving, I spotted a bandage covering a wound on his forearm in the same place I’d clamped my jaw down—he was the one that restrained me outside the cabin. The stranger followed my gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, my eyes dropping to the ground.
“It was an impossible moment for you,” he said, and I met his eyes again. “Shall we?” He offered a small smile and gestured again before we started down the hall.
Every splendid detail beckoned for my attention as we walked, but I reined in my curiosity, forcing myself to focus on less superfluous elements. I noted turns, doors, windows, and stairs, making a mental blueprint of the pertinent aspects of my surroundings—a habit I’d picked up from Eithan over the years.
The grandeur of this place was not lost on me, and a corner of my heart yearned to linger over the paintings, tapestries, and artifacts that were tastefully on display in every passage and nook we passed.
Eventually, we stopped before an imposing set of doors that were left ajar. The weight of the door creaked with age as my escort pressed against it and stepped through.
The space appeared to be some sort of study. It was bathed in natural light that poured in through the bordering windows, which were interspersed with handsome black walnut bookshelves thatwere filled to the brim. It smelled of paper, both fresh and aged, accentuated by a muted undertone of lilacs.
Undeniably, the centerpiece of the room was a grand escritoire that presented itself like a silent, solemn monarch holding court. The wood’s raw, unprocessed state preserved its beautiful imperfections—the knots and burls bore the testament of time in its uniquely expressive grain.
“Your Majesty,” my escort said. “Nyleeria, as requested.” His words forced me to pry my focus from the desk.
The man he’d addressed appeared to be engrossed in something of importance, and he noted where he was before putting the book down and standing to face us.
“Thank you,” the man said in dismissal. Evidently, I didn’t pose a threat. My escort inclined his head, then made his way back through the doors, shutting them as he took his leave.
The words spoken by my chaperone echoed in my mind:Your Majesty.The man I had been left alone with had claimed as much outside my parents’ cabin, but I’d doubted its veracity at the time. Yet, as I stood there amid the splendor, beneath the monarch’s emblem which was expertly etched into the stone mantle behind him, it seemed possible that he was, in fact, the king.
“Are you really the king?” I asked.
The edge of his mouth curved upward. “I am, but please, call me Thaddeus. Shall we take a seat?” He gestured to the relaxed lounge area behind him.
Tentatively stepping forward, I opted for a large chair on the far side, unable to stomach the couch. The king noted my hesitation but didn’t mention it as he joined me in the paired set.
“Can I offer you some tea?” he asked. Before I could answer, he started pouring from the porcelain teapot that was perched on an adjacent side table between us.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the cup before setting it back without drinking it. The last time I had drunk something he offered, I’d passed out. For how long? I still didn’t know.
He noted that too. “It’s just tea,” he said over the rim of his cup before taking a sip, then setting it down next to mine, offering me a disarming smile.
I crossed my legs, sitting up straighter, still not reaching for the tea. “Why am I here?” My voice was steady, and I was grateful it hadn’t betrayed the effort it took to stay composed.
“Can you tell me how old you are, Nyleeria?” he asked, ignoring my question.
“I could, but you promised me answers, not more questions.”
“Nyleeria, for me to give that to you, I need some information first,” he said patiently.
“I’m twenty-one.”
“When did you turn twenty-one?”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”
