The raven tilted her head but said nothing—at least nothing I could hear.
I cleared my throat, desperate to salvage something from this catastrophe. “Would you like a tour? It might help you get oriented.”
Sasha studied me for a long moment, her composed gaze making me wonder what she saw. A giggling fool who’d made a mockery of their wedding vows? A frivolous fae king who couldn’t take anything seriously? Her politeness felt like quiet judgment, confirming I’d already proven myself unworthy.
“A tour would be acceptable,” she finally said.
Not enthusiastic, but not a refusal either. I’d take what I could get.
“The throne room is this way.” I gestured to the maincorridor, then fell into step beside her. Close enough to be polite, but not so close I’d invade her space. She walked with her posture as straight as a sword, and I found myself admiring the way she moved. She appeared precise and controlled, with nothing wasted.
Eyes in the portraits hanging on the wall followed us.
She stopped beside one, staring up with a frown knitting her brow. “Are they…trapped in there?”
“Oh, no. They infused a touch of themselves into the art. It’s…a long-standing joke in the fae court.”
She turned her frown my way. “Why?”
“It’s…supposed to be fun.”
Her shoulders twitched. “Fun.”
“Yes, um…that.”
“I see.”
I suspected she didn’t.
“This way.” I directed her to the end of the hall.
The throne room doors stood open, and I led her through, into the heart of my court. Pride swelled in my chest despite my overwhelming urge to burst into laughter. This room never failed to impress visitors.
The throne itself had been grown from a living tree, its branches forming a natural seat and backing. Gold and yellow leaves rustled in the limbs overhead. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, each one holding hundreds of tiny lights that danced like captured stars.
As we passed underneath them, the crystals chimed, reacting to our presence with melodies that shifted based on our moods. A few of the lights broke away from the chandelier, spiraling down to circle us like curious pixies before returning to their positions.
Sasha sucked in a breath and studied them, but I couldn’t read anything but bemusement on her face.
The walls were covered in living, flowering vines. Or they should’ve been blooming. My steps slowed as I noticed several sections where some had drooped, their petals curling inward.
When had that started?
“This is where I hold formal audiences,” I said, gesturing to the raised dais. Another giggle escaped me, despite gritting my teeth to hold it back. “The throne is over two hundred years old, grown by my great-grandmother when she?—”
“Your Majesty!” A voice rang out, and I suppressed a groan as Lord Turren swept into the room.
As always, he was impeccably dressed, his purple hair secured at the nape of his neck with a jeweled clasp, his coat an elaborate creation of silk and embroidery. He pressed a hand to his chest as he approached.
“This giggling crisis is affecting my complexion,” he announced, pulling out a small mirror to check his reflection even as he spoke. “I’m so consumed with worry, I’ve barely slept. And you know what lack of sleep does to one’s appearance.”
I felt another laugh building and tried desperately to swallow it down. “Lord Turren, may I introduce?—”
“Is that—” He paused mid-gesture, his eyes widening as he took in Sasha’s gown and elaborate hairstyle. “Is this the new fashion trend? How fascinating. Darling, you simply must tell me where you acquired that look. The structured elegance is oh-so intriguing.”
Sasha’s eyebrow rose, and I couldn’t tell if she was amused or offended.
Savory made a soft sound, and Sasha’s lips twitched.
