Navin placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in an act of reverence. “The plan to take your throne, Your Majesty.”
The others discarded their Rook uniforms as they walked, leaving a trail of black along the tiled floor. The dungeons gave way to gilded opulence, flowing in Olmdere’s patron colors of burgundy and gold. By the time we reached the ground floor, Ora was dressed in their performance uniform once more, Sadie and Hector along with them. I couldn’t help but smile at the fanciful silver toggles and ballooned brocade trousers. Sadie cut me a look, daring me to comment on it, and I pressed my lips together.
I tried to take in the castle—my castle—as we rushed toward the grand hall. The gold-flecked stone shimmered in the midday light, the rooms accented with cream and black. Detailed reliefs covered the walls along with portraits of Wolves in gilded frames. I wondered which Wolf was my father as I passed portrait after portrait of the Olmderian kings. I wondered which room would have been mine. I was born under this roof. This was my very first home.
“This way,” Navin whispered, leading us into an anteroom filled with bustling performers.
Jugglers and bards, fire dancers and minstrels, all crammed around the warped mirrors painting their faces and unpacking their trunks. No one paid us any mind, even though Grae and I looked like a monster had nearly eaten us. Maybe they thought the Rook capes were costumes? Maybe we were actors in a play? Whatever they assumed, they were too busy dressing themselves to notice.
“Here,” Ora said, passing us two crimson robes, painted in spirals of gold. They grabbed a glass bottle off the countertop and misted floral perfume all around us until we were practically drowning in it. “This should cover the worst of the smell.”
We hastily dressed, shuffling toward the screen against the far wall. A tapestry wove across the window, obscuring the grand hall from view. Navin pressed his face to the sheet of stretched fabric and I followed, gasping as I saw the throne room through the gaps in the weave.
The grand hall was warmer and richer than the halls of Taigos and Damrienn. Six golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, shaped like stag’s antlers, a candle atop every point. The wood-accented wall trimmings reminded me of the cabin I grew up in, though much grander, and I realized Vellia had put nods to our kingdom in every corner of our home. Long burgundy banners hung on either side of a dais, and upon that dais was a carved-wood throne.
Sawyn surveyed the festivities with a crooked grin, sitting upon my father’s throne. She held a piece of paper between her pointer and middle finger, tapping the edge of the paper along the armrest.
I scanned over the festivities, searching. The room was filled with entertainers; the walls lined with chattering Rooks. They all stood casually, not guards at attention but attendees to the party. There seemed to be no other Wolves in attendance . . . apart from one.
I gasped as my eyes landed upon Maez. She sat on the steps of the dais, an iron collar around her neck, chained to the throne. The collar was flush against her skin—too tight for her to shift forms without snapping her neck. I wondered if she’d been tempted to try, but if she tried and failed, her death would mean the death of her mate, too. She was filthy, her hair matted and her face stained with grime. In the weeks she’d been gone, she’d withered away, looking weaker and leaner than the muscular Wolf I’d seen in Damrienn. Her eyes were hollow as she stared straight down at the floor.
“Are you enjoying your victory?” Sawyn called, and the Rooks echoed a booming reply. They raised their goblets to her, pulling down their masks to swig down their drinks.
“This is the world we have won together!” Sawyn’s shouts were met with more cheers.
I choked down my anger at her fake words. They were cheering for a false savior and in turn were just pawns for her own glory. Yet her praise seemed to be enchantment enough for them. Ply them with drinks and good food, tell them her victory was theirs, and they’d fight for her, die for her, and I could see why that was enough.
She glanced one more time at the piece of paper in her hand and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it onto the floor, bored.
“King Nero thinks he can threaten me with his possession of the Crimson Princess. He thinks he’s still powerful.” Her predatory smile made her teeth gleam. Her Rooks jeered at her words, spitting and cursing King Nero’s name. Sawyn held up her hand and the Rooks silenced instantly. “Worry not. King Nero couldn’t see the many cracks in his threats.” Her fingers twirled, green lightning zapping between her thumb and fingers. “But that’s because he knows nothing of true power.”