Through the arch that signaled they were entering the king’s hall, where his and the queen’s chambers lay.
Down the long corridor that separated the royal wing from the rest of the palace, steep cliffs on either side of the breezy, open arches.
And finally, descending a set of sweeping marble stairs that led to the grand entrance.
Each step felt monumental to Soren, and she had the odd sense she might never walk them again. It could very well be true. She and the princess were about to enter dangerous territory.
The smell of jicaba tree blossoms wafted in on a cool mountain breeze, and harsh, early morning sunlight illuminated the airy space. The king and queen awaited them, along witha party of knights clad in thick leather armor, yellow bands on their left arms signaling their station.
“They will accompany us,” Cion said quietly to Soren.
Soren nodded. “I see, my princess.”
Cion walked slowly to her parents and then bowed low in front of her father. Soren followed her motion, a few paces behind.
“Rise, both of you.”
Soren ignored the unease in her belly. The king was addressing her too now, and he met her eyes as she straightened. She did not dare look away, not this time. Instead, she merely murmured, “Your Majesty,” keeping her voice soft and reverent.
The king tilted his head, examining her before turning his attention back to Cion. “A Misean servant. Interesting choice, daughter.”
Cion kept her back straight and her voice firm. “She is the most loyal and capable of all my handmaidens.”
The king’s brow rose. “Let us hope she remains that way.”
Soren bowed her head submissively, and the queen laughed softly. “Do not worry, my dear. I have observed all her handmaidens with scrutiny over the years, having picked them myself. This one will fare well serving our daughter on this long journey.”
The king merely grunted, but Soren could feel his gaze still upon her. It made her feel as if she had done something wrong, but she had no idea what.
“Sometimes, special people are used for bad things.”
Soren shut her eyes ever so briefly, banishing her dead mother’s voice from her mind. It was amongst a handful that were not permitted residence in her thoughts. Not anymore.
The king’s attention finally shifted.
Soren uncurled her fist, ignoring the bite of pain from how hard she’d dug her nails into her palm, and praying no one saw the single droplet of blood that fell to the shining floor.
No one paid her, or the blood, any further mind.
Cion led her out the familiar sweeping, gold-painted arch, a door that had only ever been an entrance and never an exit. Soren had to crush the fledgling cry of victory in her chest as she stepped onto the wide, packed road surrounded by mountain greenery and wildflowers.
The queen stepped forward, and Cion stiffened as she pulled her daughter close, kissing her brow then murmuring in her ear, words Soren could not catch. Cion stepped away quickly, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. The queen’s thin smile remained, but Cion’s composure had fallen. Soren wondered if the display of affection had merely been a way to mask a threat.
As always, the king watched them closely.
Not wanting him to catch on to the princess’ sudden anger, Soren took a step towards the princess and quietly said, “My princess, the horses await.”
Soren’s words snapped Princess Cion out of whatever shock had overcome her moments before. She lifted her chin, tightening her trembling lips, and walked to the two horses as the knights followed suit to mount their steeds, one approaching Soren.
“My name is Lanor,” the knight said, his kohl-painted eyes bright. “I will be assisting you with your horse. Our princess tells me you have not ridden much prior to today.”
Soren bowed her head. “No, sir. Just once or twice, as a child.”
Lanor nodded. “I’ll help you mount her, and then I’ll ride beside you so you may learn the basics as we go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Lanor chuckled, offering her a hand. It was half-gloved in rough, worn leather, open at the fingers so she could see the many callouses adorning his flesh.
