Bring Me Their Hearts(36)
Ulla stops us before a door of glass and knocks twice. Uptight-looking guards open it. The sound of a crowd carries on the chilly air coming from the entrance. Ulla turns to us, proffering several silken veils attached to filigree headbands.
“You will wear these, and walk down the center of the Hall, abreast one another. Do not take them off until instructed to do so by the royal family. In addition, you will speak only when you are addressed by the royal family.”
“We aren’t children, Ulla. We’ve seen this done for years now. We know how it goes,” the Steelrun girl says, breaking her silence for the first time. Her back is so ramrod-straight, her every step graceful. I don’t know her first name, but Grace will do in my head.
“I’m simply repeating it, milady. Some of us”—Ulla’s eyes flicker to me—“are newer here than others.”
“And some of us don’t have the patience to babysit country bumpkins.” Grace holds her head high and steps through the door. The other girl follows, timid, flashing me a charming smile nonetheless. Charm. That’s a good head-name for her. Ulla ushers me after Grace and Charm, and I take my first steps into the dark hall. It’s narrow and low, my scalp almost scraping the stonework, but then it opens up into a vaulted cavern. Whoever made this carved it straight out of the stone, stately pillars as big as ancient trees punctuating the otherwise airy space. Light spills from a perfectly round glass-covered hole in the cavern’s ceiling. It shines bright sunlight on a stone platform in the center of the room, upon which an ostentatious glass throne sits. And the people are, regrettably, everywhere. A crowd hangs at the sides of our walkway, tittering softly and melding with the shadows of the cavern. I can’t see their faces, but their dresses and tunics stand out in all colors. Their voices, though soft, echo eerily off the high ceiling.
We approach the throne. It isn’t glass at all, but crystal shimmering with rainbow opalescence. How clever! Make the throne shine, and all your subjects will be in awe of you. No gold or jewels can compare to the light the king’s seat gives off. No human lawguard can compare to the intimidating celeon guards standing at the foot of the throne. They’re the tallest celeons I’ve ever seen, armed to the teeth with razor-sharp halberds. Grace waltzes right through their parted weapons, and Charm and I scrabble as gracefully as we can to catch up with her. My mouth goes dry when one of the celeon looks at me too long—I know they have good noses; can she smell my Heartlessness? No, Zera, that would be stupid. If they could do that, Vetris would’ve won the Sunless War much earlier.
We line up before the throne and curtsy deeply to the man on it.
King Sref of Cavanos watches me with the deadened eyes of a raven circling a corpse.
It’s just one analogy about the king’s worth being equal to a single potato. But it has the entire court gaping at me. Either these nobles are easily impressed, or they just don’t get out much. If I wasn’t a penniless monster in the midst of committing treason, I’d put money on the latter.
With the Brides presented, the ceremony draws to a close, and the king and queen leave the Hall of Time, their guards leaving with them. Prince Lucien stays, though. I watch the prince’s profile now that I’m not so nervous, the proud hawkishness of it striking. He isn’t as handsome as I first thought, not in the traditional sense, but he’s nothing if not arresting. His sharp features demand that you look, but only gently, for fear of cutting yourself on them. It’s then I notice with some rampant disgust that I’m not the only one staring at him—practically every woman in the crowd titters and coos at his every sigh of his, every motion of his hand. Did I somehow fall into a hole of vapid unreality between leaving Y’shennria’s manor and coming here? It’s almost absurd, laughable how much attention he’s getting, but then I remember he’s the heir to the largest country on the Mist Continent. If this is his everyday life, if he’s constantly watched and simpered over to this extent, it’s no wonder he harbors such distaste for the court. It reminds me of Whisper, almost. Whisper. He’s here somewhere, isn’t he? Excitement like static runs through me at the thought that he could be looking at me right now, but common sense dampens it. I’m here for the prince, not him.
I tear my eyes away from Prince Lucien promptly; I can’t afford to act like just another girl in the crowd. Charm and Grace, however, have no such compunctions as they try to parse the bored look on his face.
“Do you think he liked what I said?” Charm whimpers. Grace turns to me, face twisted.
“You think you’re clever, do you?”
“No.” I purse my lips and tilt my head. “I know I’m clever.”
“I thought she was wonderful.” Charm smiles at me. Grace scoffs.
“Oh, yes, wonderful. If you think insulting our king is a form of merriment, like some drunken commoner.”
“You clearly missed the point of my riveting analogy,” I say. “Which I will forgive. Subtlety isn’t for everyone. And neither is losing gracefully.”
“You arrogant little—” Grace begins to curl her lip, but a noblewoman approaches her with a smile, engaging her in conversation. Soon more nobles cluster around her, then Charm, then me, all of them complimenting us over one another.
“However did you come up with something so prescient, Lady Zera?” A lady fans herself, wafting the smell of her my way. The hunger licks its lips, but I force it silent.