Waiting for us in the center of the open gates is a gathering of people. Siphons, most likely, judging by how pretty they are.
Is one of them this King Lucien? I scan the crowd, but nobody looks more regally decked out than the rest.
A man steps forward with his hands clasped neatly before him. He’s tall, immaculately dressed in a long, flowing robe patterned with cherry-colored blossoms. There’s even a ribbon tied around his throat.
Actually, a lot of them have ribbons. Astreonan high fashion, maybe.
The man’s pitch-black hair gleams in the light. He arranges his face in a polite smile, then bows only his head. Shallow. “I am Felippe, the Royal Chamberlain of Brightbane Castle.”
Royal Chamberlain. King Lucien sent the chamberlain to greet me rather than greeting me himself. A gaggle of politicians and servants stares up at us like they have no idea how insulting this is.
I scowl. “And where’s your king?”
Felippe presses his lips together like he’s restraining a smile, and his voice twists with something close to amusement. “The king wouldn’t personally greet visitors at the door. You will see him when he summons you to his presence.”
His choice of words, particularlysummons, immediately sets me on edge. Anassa silently growls over our bond.
I can’t figure out if they’re intentionally offending me.
Elias lets out a piercing whistle. It startles Felippe, who scowls at Elias.
Our guide spins his finger in a circle. “Our job is done.”
Then Elias turns to look at me, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he bows entirely at the waist. Low and deep. When he rises, his eyes linger on me. Then he and the others march their horses through the gates and into the castle courtyard beyond.
Felippe looks disoriented. Whatever just happened—whatever Elias just did—it meant more than I entirely understand.
“He showed respect where it was deserved. When you required it,” Anassa tells me.
I slowly smile. Felippe’s confusion makes more sense. Elias elevated me when Felippe was closing me into a box. My smile drops when I realize that my father is still here, lingering at the back of our group.
Maybe they’re not sure what to do with him, either.
Stark strides forward on Cratos. A few of the people skitter back out of teeth-range. “We need accommodations for our direwolves. Are there suites with connected terraces or a similar space where our wolves can stay close with easy outdoor access?”
One of the women in Felippe’s entourage titters. “We don’t keep pets indoors here.”
Cratos lurches forward, snapping his teeth. His fang catches the very edge of the woman’s neck-ribbon, unfortunately dyed a deep crimson color. As the ribbon flutters down, it looks almost like blood.
The woman isn’t the only one who shrieks, and I note that Stark takes his time calming Cratos and urging him back a step.
His expression darkens as he coldly says, “Direwolves are notpets. The failure to consider appropriate accommodations for the wolves shows disrespect not only to them but especially to Queen Meryn and Anassa, who have traveled all this way atAstreona’srequest.”
Stark’s voice carries with it a threat.Respect or decapitation. Your choice.
At the severity of Stark’s tone and the wolves’ reactions, Felippe quickly bows in apology—much deeper than before. It makes me think he never actually intended to insult me.
He might just be ignorant, which is easier for me to forgive.
“There is a back garden adjacent to the castle that leads to the mountains beyond. We will immediately prepare it as suitable accommodations for the direwolves, with direct access to the Nocturnan quarters,” Felippe says hastily.
Noemi steps in then, dismounting Ephyse. She flashes her pearly, beautiful smile and says in the tone I now recognize as coaxing, “Thank you for your solution, chamberlain. If you would be so kind, my friends and I would appreciate being shown to our rooms. We’ve been traveling for many days and would like to refresh ourselves.”
Felippe straightens and nods. “Yes, of course.” He lifts his hand and snaps loudly.
One of the men behind Felippe steps forward hesitantly. “I can… lead you there. To the gardens,” he says. “The wolves, I mean.” He’s clearly terrified.
Venna leaps from her wolf’s back before reaching to help Saela down. Stark swings from Cratos as gracefully as ever, but even that does little to distract me. I slip from Anassa’s back and share my unease.
