I bow to His Majesty and send him a tendril of curiosity, then furrow my brow when my magic detects excitement and satisfaction. Emotions he so rarely experiences, aside from actively torturing some unfortunate being.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid when his clammy fingers clamp down on my hand, which he places over the crook of his arm. He pats me before striding forward, and my heart slams against my breastbone the nearer we move toward the white stone castle.
Towering pillars frame a giant triptych of stained-glass windows, through which the mid-morning sun casts a vibrant mosaic on the floor inside the foyer. Its ethereal effect beckons us through the wide doorway where footfalls sound as two rows of Annovian guards march past the grand entrance.
Their bright blue uniforms bear the Annovian sigil over their left side chest—with a silver letter ‘A’, adorned with the same intricate vines and flowers lining the seams of every collar and sleeve. They halt facing inward, and if this is an Annovian show of force, it is nothing compared to our own.
Though perhaps their infamously clever Queen has staged this as a ruse, intentionally decreasing the number of guards spared for this purpose to prove to our ruler how little threat they perceive in our visit. Especially since they wield the power to ward us from entering their land, yet deigned to let us in.
Varic’s jaw feathers as he assesses me, while the rest of my Guards follow close, crowding together with the Emperor’s own.
An Annovian page arrives just inside the castle’s entrance. He raises a fist before his lips and clears his throat, then clasps his hands behind him to announce, “Emperor Aldritch and esteemed guests, I will escort you to the Queen. If you will please follow me.” The page bows before spinning around with a flourish.
His Majesty rushes forward, still holding my arm hostage.
Varic’s nostrils flare, and his wards slam in place, preventing me from receiving his mood directly. Though his rigid posture and tightly clenched jaw communicate it clearly enough.
The sound of our boots is muffled as we march along the blue carpet runner. While the brilliance and color in this space coalesce in a way it must have been designed to complement the gorgeous lands surrounding it, I cannot help but feel suspicious. The lightness with which I step is so unnatural, and the jovial strings thrusting out from my heart feel like a manipulation. As if every vase and assortment of flowers has been set where it is meant to induce exactly this, and my mind cannot help but prickle with unease from the awareness.
For this place, seemingly crafted to disarm all who enter, is doing quite the opposite with the souring of my stomach.
Portraits, still lifes, and lush landscapes hang in gilded silver frames along the corridor, and I allow my eyes to dart to either side in a hurried study of Annovian artistry—until my attention catches on the royal family portrait. Its near-life-size depiction must be at least twenty years old, as the King, who has long since passed, sits tall in his throne, and the princess and prince were still children.
The age difference between the siblings is obvious, with the prince roughly a foot shorter than his sister, whom we should not meet during our stay, as she is now a queen in another land.
Witnessing how they existed before the King’s mysterious demise brings on a sense of somberness. Until the Queen’s keen brown eyes seem to lock on mine, and a shiver casts down my spine. As if I can sense her presence from the portrait alone, as we draw nearer to the being herself.
We turn the corner to see Annovian guards standing on either of the oversized white doors they hold open.
“The Queen will receive you in the throne room.” The Annovian page gestures inside.
Tall, stained-glass windows rise on either side of the wide room, casting brilliant colors sparkling over the pews, amplifying the brightness of the blue walls and shiny white accents.
Queen Celine leans leisurely on the blue-tufted armrest of her ornate silver throne. Her brown eyes dart over to us from the center of the shallow stage, where she sits between an attendant and two guards.
Her black hair is worn in a style similar to my own, aside from the tendrils Drusilla tends to leave coiling down. Bright pink eyeliner accentuates her hooded eyelids, matching the shade of her pink dress, which fans out at the hem, apparently eschewing the expectation to wear the color of her land, proving she is a ruler who does as she pleases.
The prince’s throne sits empty beside her, and I release a breath, assuming he would be here were he at the castle. Tension releases in my shoulders at the prospect of having one less royal to charm, and I can only hope the prince does not return during our stay. Perhaps he is visiting his sister, or on some other political errand.
His Majesty’s ribs press into my arm as he takes a deep breath, then lets out a cough as we pause before the gleaming white stage. My magic detects and then siphons intimidation invading his chest as the Queen stares him down.
Lorn steps ahead to announce us. “Your Royal Highness, may I present Emperor Aldritch.” He announces my title, while I pull against the Emperor’s grip to dip into a curtsy in adherence to Annovian Court decorum.
Wyrth bows when his own title is announced, and Lorn resumes his place by the Emperor.
Queen Celine leans even further back until she is nearly horizontal, seemingly uninterested as she inspects her shiny pink nails. “Emperor Aldritch, would you care to explain the purpose of your unannounced arrival?”
Anger vibrates His Majesty’s frame, and I pull on as many calming, grounding emotions as I can before sending them in a tight-knit rope. I hold my breath and wait until the tension in his jaw relents.
The queen stares down at me as she plucks a white grape out of a silver bowl. She flicks her gaze to His Majesty when she pops it into her mouth and slowly rises to sit tall in her throne. Her teeth crush the fruit, and she chews it vigorously, all while glaring at our ruler, who has yet to speak.
“There have been multiple failed assassination attempts on Imperial Grand Witch Tasch,” Emperor Aldritch exclaims. “We have traveled to your illustrious lands to learn any information you have as to who may be orchestrating them.”
“I was sorry to hear of the loss of your former Imperial Lead Guard,” the Queen says, squaring her shoulders.
“Thank you, Your Royal Highness,” I say, fully extricating my arm from the Emperor’s hold so I might sink into a low curtsy.
“I would imagine it is devastating to lose someone who was such a constant presence.” My heart stalls as she continues, “Your situation is…unique. I simply cannot fathom what such a loss would be like.”
