Page 80 of Hunger & Harmony

His eyes shine crimson in the dim light of this closet. The space is too small for the two of us. The whole world feels claustrophobic with him crowding my psyche.

“You feel it, too?”

He nods. My knees buckle.

A Dissonant. I’m a Dissonant. Even to myself, it feels wrong. Like an outfit made three sizes too small.

“What do we do?” I ask.

When his gaze hardens, what little hope I have shatters.

Before despair suffocates me, his hand extends ‌to me. I stare at his fingers, those that have intertwined with mine so many times. A hand that now feels like my own as I tentatively take it.

“We answer the Court’s call.”

18

DISSONANT

The Vox Crown is quiet.

So quiet.

Life breathes within Sancte Noctis. What was austere only yesterday is now inviting. Amber flames flicker along the halls, and patches of moss squish sporadically under my boots. It’s unnerving. Unnatural. Ivy shouldn’t curl around these reverent sculptures. Flowers shouldn’t bloom in the ribs of vaulted chambers.

Robes swishing across stone join the echo of my disjointed breathing, as well as the clicks of Niko’s footsteps. We’re both shrouded in ceremonial midnight. It’s the only thing I'm thankful for.

The walls feel like eyes following our every move, and I wouldn’t make it out of my room without some protection.

Ezren passed on that Lorelai wouldn’t make it to the assembly. Something about fixing our social media disaster. Still, I wish someone else were walking me to my doom. Someone who isn’t so personally impactful to this meeting.

Niko wasn’t kidding. I could barely make it through a shower without him right at the door, and breakfast was just as painful. Whether I like it or not, this . . . bond between us is real.

I flick my gaze toward him. He’s leading the way, a good few steps ahead of me. His hair is slicked back under the bone crown, his unruly charm switched out for formality.

He cocks his head back a touch. Immediately, I find something interesting on the wall.

“We’re here.”

It’s not lost on me that no one guards these heavy doors. No matter where I go, I sense the Court’s authority. As rich mahogany parts for us, dread spills out of the room like warm candlelight, curling around our ankles.

When I steal another glance, Niko is already looking back.

“His Majesty, Reigning Supreme of the Western Courts, King . . .!”

Whatever the announcer said next is lost to static. The interference scrapes at my ears, and I suck in a silent hiss. Surely that was only Niko’s name. Did they cloak it on purpose?

“And his esteemed guest, future Queen Consort of the Western Courts, Lady Cadence Monroe.”

What?

I nearly stumble over my own boots. Barely keeping upright, I simply bow my head. This isn’t a good first impression, but I have zero intention of being a queen. Not of vampires. Not of anything.

Iron clings to the air, woven with rich incense and scorn. It’s as stifling as the silence as I follow Niko. When he stops, I do too.

When he offers a hand, I look up.

Sweeping opulence gleams from wall to wall. The finest metals, jewels, and artistry orchestrate a gaudy display, including those in attendance. There must be dozens of figures lining the courtroom, masked faces bowed in respect. Unlike the dreary, cold reverence from before, these court members now sparkle in rich golds and flowing fabrics, like vibrant koi fish in a sun-dappled stream.