I brush my mind against Anassa’s at that, and she sends me a rush of support.“Good luck. But should you need me to run wild, my fangs are eager to destroy our enemies.”
My mouth twists. I look around—it’s clear everyone else is talking with their direwolves as well. I wish they could all accompany us tonight.
Saela gives me a tight hug. She’s going to take dinner in our suite; political negotiations are no place for a child, especially ones that could devolve into violence.
Fredrich—I still can’t quite think of him asFather—has offered to stay with her. I tried not to let it hurt that Saela seemed excited about this.
Moving from my sister, I open the door and reveal a perfectly composed Felippe. If he’s annoyed that we kept him waiting, he doesn’t show it. He’s standing so straight I wonder briefly if there’s a metal rod surgically implanted along his spine.
“Good evening. You have been summoned for your dinner audience with King Lucien.”
Summoned.A ripple of irritation runs through our group.
Felippe, meanwhile, looks us over, clocking our transformation from travel-weary to dinner-ready. It’s clear from his sneering expression that he finds us lacking.
We follow his brisk gait through the castle’s glorious halls. Venna glares at Felippe’s back like she’s imagining ripping the rod out and shoving it into his eye socket.
He leads us through a series of increasingly ornate corridors—painted silk hangings fluttering in the warm breeze, tilework glistening in dozens of clear pools, statues of long-feathered birds in flight in the stone alcoves—until we reach the royal dining hall.
Felippe bows only his head as two servants push the tall wooden doors open in perfect synchronization.
The space they reveal is stunning.
The ceilings are high and arched, covered in intricate mosaics. It looks as if we’re walking under a star-soaked night sky, the constellations a swirl of shining gold leaf and glinting precious stones. Along the far wall, enormous windows offer panoramic views of the city below and the desolate yet beautiful desert beyond.
Several members of the Siphon court are already seated at the long, dark, polished wooden table laden with glittering dinnerware and wineglasses, including Elias, who gives me an insincere smile as we enter the room. They’re all glittering with jewelry and embroidered finery. Beautiful, like all Siphons.
And at the head of the table…
King Lucien Brightbane.
I know it’s him instantly, even if he’s nothing like I expected. His skin is smooth and pale. Flawless. I’m aware he’s ancient, but I was unprepared for howyounghe appears, physically.
He doesn’t look any older than Stark. Late twenties maybe.
His hair is white-blond and shoulder-length, tucked behind ears laden with golden earrings. The light locks frame a face of such perfect symmetry it seems almost unreal. Impossible, as if a master sculptor shaped him from ivory, smoothing his features with both hands in careful caresses—sharp and high cheekbones, full lips, a strong chin.
He’s beautiful to an almost painful extreme.
Lucien lounges with casual elegance in an elaborately carved chair, theback curving around his shoulders. A gold crown is perched atop his head. It’s formed of twisting metal spikes that look both beautiful and lethal. They frame his face like rays of sunlight.
I stifle a breath. It’s the crown I saw in my foresight vision, when I was trying to decide if we should accept Ruby’s offer.
Though seated, Lucien’s height is evident. One long arm is draped over the table before him, his heavily ringed fingers playing at the stem of his crystal glass. His broad shoulders are clothed in midnight-black fabric adorned with subtle gold embroidery.
Black. Bold choice for a land of seemingly eternal sun.
He’s clearly paid careful attention to his appearance. The black fabric complements his pale complexion. His golden jewelry draws out the strands of blond in his nearly white hair. The rings on his fingers are heavy but vary in design so as not to overwhelm the shape of his long fingers. But none of the trappings holds a candle to his eyes.
Their familiar glint sends a cold current through me. They’re a piercing deep blue, and despite the difference in shade, looking at them shoves me straight back into Killian’s arms.
At least Lucien’s eyes don’t play at innocence, I note. From first glance, it’s easy to see that he’s cynical and cunning.
I hope he doesn’t stretch things out longer than necessary. I’m not in the mood to play games.
King Lucien’s gaze is on me as he tilts his head back and speaks from his seat. “Welcome. It’s been quite a few years since I’ve met a Sturmfrost Queen.”
The casual reference to Queen Chiara, paired with that note of amusement in his voice, sends another shiver down my spine. He knew her. Personally, most likely.
