I have seen neither hide nor hair of Wilkins, my former valet, and don’t recognize even one of the four footmen who were assigned to assist me.
Now that I’m bathed and dressed, the men are standing at attention, two of them in front of my door. I will not be trapped by servants, any more than I’ll be ordered around by klericks.
Striding toward them, I flick my hand for them to move out of my way, relieved when they do. It’s not yet time for the eveningfeast, but I plan to find someone I trust to answer my many questions before I see the King.
They open the door, and another footman is standing outside. “Your Highness.” The footman blocks my path. “His Majesty requests your presence in the dining hall for the evening feast.”
“This early?” The sun set less than an hour ago, making this an unusually early hour for my family to dine.
All five of the footmen follow me out of my chambers, flanking me in front and behind, like I’m a prisoner. Am I a prisoner?
Stopping, I turn toward the footman who seems to be most senior. “Your escort is unnecessary. I know my way around. This is myhome.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” He bows slightly. “But we have strict orders.”
“Orders to do what?” My heart is thumping, but I keep my demeanor calm.
“To assist you at all times,” he answers quickly.
The man’s expression houses a hint of fear. I don’t want to cause him trouble that would lead to his punishment—I know what happens to disobedient servants here—so I concede to having an unwanted escort. These servants are no real obstacle to my objectives. Surely, my former valet or perhaps one of my tutors is somewhere in the castle. I’ll find someone to answer my questions.
Failing that, I’ll head for my father’s chambers after the meal. It’s best I speak to someone before my audience with the King. Father may have beaten me senseless many times, but he’s never withheld information—not as far as I know.
And tonight, I also have secrets.
That reminder makes me feel powerful, and the trepidation that’s been haunting my belly since I walked through the castle gates subsides.
I’m no longer the boy I was when I left here. I am a dragon rider, a man of four and twenty. I will never again suffer a beating at the hands of my father, or grandfather—nor any of my seven older brothers.
Let them try. My skills with hand-to-hand combat and swordplay improved greatly during my time at camp. I have faced the Darkness. I have faced dragons. I can face my father.
Passing their room, I turn toward the door to Xendus’s and Surath’s chambers—Xander and Sarah—I remind myself.
“Allow me, Your Highness,” the head footman says.
I turn toward the servant, catching his gaze for a split second before it darts away from mine. His reluctance to make eye contact isn’t necessarily a sign of deceit. I am a prince. I may be ninth in line for the throne behind my father and brothers, but I’m still a member of the royal family. This servant might fear that meeting my gaze, without express invitation, could lead to punishment. Some men in my family have beaten servants for sneezing.
The footman knocks on the door. It instantly opens. Xendus and Surath are standing in the center of their room, well away from the door and looking very displeased. Not that I’ve ever seen either one lookingfullypleased. Except when they were having sex.
I open my mouth to greet them, but Xendus scowls, shooting me a look that tells me I shouldn’t. He takes his mate’s hand, and they come into the hall, accompanied by their own footmen. The pair step in behind me and, surrounded by footman, we continue down the hall like some kind of formal parade.
Some familiar family portraits and landscapes hang on the walls in this long corridor, but their ornate, gilded frames have been removed, replaced by unadorned wood.
Even stranger, an effigy of Othrix sits on nearly every table and cabinet I pass. The Khotori royal family has always strictly adhered to the tenets—officially—but I don’t recall so many religious symbols lying about, at least not outside the chapel.
We pass a low console I well remember from my childhood. A fine ceramic vase once sat upon it that was my mother’s favorite, and it remained there after she died. I used to touch it each time I passed.
It’s gone, replaced by a candle holder, featuring a large symbol of Othrix.
Two Acolytes of Othrix guard the doors to the dining hall, standing where I’d expect Knyghts of the King’s Guard. Very strange. But as odd as it seems, the acolytes open the door in the same way the knyghts would have done.
But even more familiarities vanish when I step inside the hall. My step stutters, but I stride forward, head high as I scan the room. Everyone has fallen silent, or perhaps they were already silent before I entered. I’m no longer certain.
Long banners, displaying the likeness of Othrix, adorn the dining hall, and the chandeliers are tarnished, as if their gold plating has been rubbed off and they contain fewer candles. Themale members of court are seated at long tables, stretching up both sides of the room and intersecting with the long head table.
This formation of tables is the same, but only men are seated, not one woman, and every man wears a plain suit of clothing similar to my own. The plates, not yet containing food, are simple in style and formed from what looks like pewter instead of porcelain, and the goblets are also pewter, not crystal or glass. It’s as if all the trappings of our royal family have vanished. Even at camp we had finer things.
The head table alone is set with the plates and cups I remember. At the center of the head table sits the King’s throne. My grandfather’s throne. That, at least, is just as I remember. The Head Klerick of Khotor sits to the throne’s side, wearing a large head dress normally reserved for services on the holiest days. But that’s where the familiarities end. Nine other Klericks are seated along the head table, occupying the places of favor, which my family should rightfully be taking. I should be given one of those seats.
