“Now. We were sent to fetch her urgently. Please, come with us.” With another bow and murmur of “Your Highness,” all three spin on their heels, the expectation to follow obvious.
I share a look with Elisaf as we trail them down the hall, my anxiety swelling. That Zander didn’t warn me about this when we spoke this morning sparks my annoyance and my worry. He said himself that he wants to keep me away from the court until I’m better prepared. What has changed? Thoughts of the night Korsakov insisted on seeing me at the warehouse come flooding back, as does the horrifying bloodbath I walked into.
Am I walking into a trap? Has he figured out who or what I am?
Not likely. I school my tone to keep the shake from it, reminding myself that I am playing a role. “What is happening in the throne room today, soldier?” I ask, addressing him as Elisaf did.
“Ybarisans were captured near Eldred Wood, Your Highness. They’ve been taken prisoner and brought before the king for questioning.”
Ybarisan soldiers. That means Princess Romeria’s men. But why does Zander want me there? It’s not like I’ll recognize any of them.
“And the king insisted Princess Romeria attend the session?” Elisaf must have the same thoughts.
“Yes, sir.”
I give Elisaf another questioning look.
My dutiful guard shrugs but then offers me an assured smile, as if to tell me it will be fine.
By the time we reach the long hall to the throne room, my cheeks are burning, my tongue is parched, and sweat builds around my collar and down the center of my back. The grand doors sit open, and a heady buzz of voices carries where before there was pregnant silence. Perhaps the court is normally like that, or perhaps it’s the excitement of their enemy capture.
“Remember who you are,” Elisaf whispers.
“The problem is I remember who they are.” Or rather, what they are. I’m walking into a room full of vampires. Courage from my “you are toxic” mantra isn’t kicking in. Right now, all I want to do is hide.
“They can’t hurt you.”
“They don’t know that.”
“Come on … You’ve already battled a daaknar and won. Where’s that reckless courage Annika boasted about?” Elisaf goads. “You’re the future queen.”
“I don’t want to be the queen,” I hiss, but I lift my chin and steady my breathing, as if I were strolling into a high-society event where I belong. A noticeable hush falls over the crowd as my escort leads me up the center aisle toward the dais without any preamble or announcement.
Zander sits on his throne. Atticus leans into him, whispering something in his ear. That mane of thick, golden-brown hair tumbles back in a wave to frame his riveting face. My pulse skips as it always seems to when I first lay eyes on Zander. It’s annoying that those nerves haven’t settled any. In fact, now that he’s no longer threatening to execute me, I’m quickly losing my fear of him, despite last night’s reveal.
Zander notices me approaching and waves a dismissive hand to his brother before standing. He takes the fifteen steps down with slow, casual ease to meet me at the bottom. Deathly silence falls over the room, as everyone waits for our exchange. I feel like we’re two savage beasts being introduced at a zoo exhibit before an eager audience. The question hangs in the air: Will they attack each other with claws and fangs, or will they mate?
Certainly not the latter.
“Romeria,” Zander murmurs, dipping his head in what I assume is the king’s version of a bow.
We’re doing first names now. “Zander,” I respond with a slight curtsy.
He displays that intoxicating smile that ensnared me the first time, and then holds out his hand, palm up.
You agreed to this. My heart races as I slip my sweaty fingers next to his cool, smooth ones. Would I have, had I known what he was?
Of course, I would have, the same way I agreed to be Korsakov’s chameleon, and how I followed Sofie out of that slaughterhouse and onto a plane. I would have, because it is a means to an end, and I am a survivor.
I remind myself of this as he leads me back up the steps and whispers, “Take your place.” I don’t ask questions. I settle into the smaller throne.
A flurry of murmurs erupts.
Zander sits next to me, and resting his elbow on his throne’s arm between us again holds out his hand, palm up.
I slip my fingers between his. It feels awkward and forced, and yet his touch isn’t unpleasant. I steal a glance his way to find his face smooth and unreadable as he watches me.
I smile, because that is what Princess Romeria would do. We’re acting. This is all an act, albeit a strange and complex one. But the most foreign part of it all may be that I am not on my own, as I have grown accustomed to being for so long. Now, I have a partner in crime.