Tall brick pillars rose on each side of a set of rounded arched doors, the pillars an echo of the ones we’d entered through below the courtyard. The doors themselves were painted a luminous cream adorned with a vibrant geometric floral motif gilded with gold that extended beyond the pillars, up toward a domed ceiling a hundred feet overhead. I’d thought the exterior of the palace was grand. But the inside was just as magnificent—and not crusted in ice.
“Deep breath,” my mother said. Her fingers twitched toward my buttons again, but she forced them back to her sides. “Andexhale,” she ordered. “Do not let them see that you are tired by the climb.”
I was not tired. I was exhilarated. But I did as she said, modulating my breath in time with hers.
Then the doors opened, and I forgot my breathing as all the air went out of my chest. The dome we’d stood in before was an antechamber, and a meager one at that. We must be at the very top of the palace, in the highest spire. The floor here was brick, too, but laid in an ornate circular pattern, each ring a different but equally intricate design. The brick pillars that held the domed roof were painted cream, blue, and gold. The dome itself soared so far overhead that I struggled to make out the images etched at the top, even with my supernatural eyesight.
The people were as beautiful as Balar Shan itself, ornamented in an array of colors as vibrant and varied as the designs painted on the walls. Not people—not human, at least. Fae. A race I’d believed no more than faerietales. Every day since the arrival of the scarlet letter had opened my world a little bit more. But as those doors swung open, it felt like my world exploded.
I wanted to reach for my mother’s hand. But she folded hers before her daintily and bowed her head. I understood. My father was the king of this land, and I must meet him on my own, as a man.
The crowd was already parted, leaving us a clear, direct path to the center of the room, where two thrones stood on a raised dais.
I understood why my mother had spent so long perfecting my clothing. She’d wanted me to fit in. She’d made sure of it—at her own expense. My eyes tried to find her, but she walked behind me, and turning back felt like a mistake. I could imagine her perfectly, anyway. Her dark hair hung in an elegant braid down her back. She’d woven in a spare bit of the red velvet she’dused to pipe the edges of my surcoat. But the modest wool gown she’d made for herself, which I’d thought so flattering with its soft gold color, paled in comparison to the opulence around us now. It must have been an oversight on my father’s part, not sending enough coin for both of us to be outfitted appropriately for our arrival at Balar Shan.
My feet shifted their path, just slightly. I hoped imperceptibly. But by the time we arrived before the set of thrones, my mother was angled nearly half behind me. It felt better, at least until my mother’s status could be rectified.
The set of thrones was not a set, I realized now that we were closer. One sat at the center, grand and gilt. On its left was a more modest, miniature version. On the right, a chair. A nice chair, engraved and decorated with gold paint, but a chair nonetheless. Not a throne.
And on them, what could only be the fae royal family.
But I did not have time to study them.
I dropped one knee to the ground and bowed my head, keeping my eyes averted and my lips sealed. I did precisely as my mother had instructed me.
Behind me, I heard the rustle of her woolen dress as she did the same.
For a few seconds, the only sound was my thunderous heartbeat. I was certain that every courtier in the expansive domed room could hear it.
Then the king stood. His footsteps echoed against the domed heights of the roof overhead. I could not even see his boots. But who else could it be? Who else could hold the entire court in thrall?
I tracked his footsteps down the dais.
“Rise.”
My legs moved on instinct while my heart grappled with that singular word. I had not expected his voice to be so cold.
I devoured every detail as my eyes rose in time with my body. The luxurious, metal-toed and fur-lined boots reached his knees. His trousers were a deep burgundy in the same color family as my surcoat. Another intentional choice by my mother?
His hair glowed the same singular, bright silver hue as my own. I could see the promise of my awkward body in his fully developed, powerful one.
I got only a glimpse before he turned, cloak swinging behind him, but it was enough to recognize. My eyes. Verdant green with rings of cobalt that together turned his irises a luminous turquoise.
My father moved back to the throne, taking it casually. But the action was not quite right. He crossed his legs, but only after he made a show of leaning back. He stroked a hand over the thick beard on his chin, while his other hand drummed out a pattern on the gilt arm of the throne. Every motion was careful. Choreographed. Meant something. It reminded me of our old neighbor, Walden.
“Greet the duke,” he ordered in a voice that echoed around the room the same way his footsteps had a minute before—with unquestioned authority.
Was he speaking to me? I slid my gaze from side to side, trying to ascertain who he meant. But no one stood out from the crowd gathered around the dais. I could not turn back and ask my mother; that would mean putting my back to the king, which she’d specifically instructed me was the height of disrespect.
But before I could move, the two women seated on either side of my father stood. My heart was galloping again. I would follow their lead, I decided. Wherever this duke was, they would go to meet him as well.
The woman who’d occupied the throne to his left descended first. She had long black hair that fell in regal waves past her elbows and a luxurious velvet dress the same color as my father’strousers. She was crowned with an ornate diadem of blue stones shaped to look like waves framing a larger center stone.
Her face was interesting, its angles entirely new to me. I would not have called her beautiful. Not like the woman who stood on the king’s other side.
She made no move to descend the dais. I’d never seen a woman as beautiful. Her lustrous auburn hair fell in thick waves around her shoulders, framing a face with high color and smooth lines. She did not wear any sort of crown, but there was no doubt in my mind that she was royal. Not the queen, who must be the dark-haired woman who’d sat on the smaller throne. A sister. She must be a sister—either the king’s, or mine. With the extended fae lifespans my mother had described, it was impossible to tell.
Whoever she was, she only moved when my father cleared his throat.
