got hijacked the moment she touched me. Upon contact, strength had seeped into me, chasing away my fatigue. She really did wield energy magic, then. And at an apple baby level.
Why would she help me without first demanding payment? No way she’d accidentally touched me. Not a warrior like her; she knew what she was doing every second of every day. But what she’d done was just so...so...un-witchlike.
Two new guards waited at the top of the staircase. They opened a set of double doors, allowing us to pass without a hitch in our step. We entered the foyer, and I could only gape at the incredible luxury. How long since I’d beheld anything so fine? Shimmering gold veined the floor, glittering as sunlight streamed in through large, stained glass windows. A breathtaking battle-scene mural covered the far wall. On another wall hung portraits of past kings and queens with elaborate frames. A hand-carved dragon flanked each side of the staircase.
Visual stimulation overload.
“Keep moving, Princess Staresalot.” Ophelia gave my shoulder another nudge and another boost of energy.
“Thank you,” I said, beaming a smile at her.
“It was an accident,” she lied, as if embarrassed for herself.
We stopped in front of another set of double doors, where two more guards waited, their swords drawn and crossed. They eyed me with distaste. No big deal.
“Princess Ashleigh Charmaine-Anskelisa to see King Philipp,” Ophelia announced, her tone tight. “And I suggest you rearrange your expressions before I rearrange your faces.”
The men sheathed their weapons and snapped to, shoving open the doors. Tremors plagued me as I stepped inside a throne room overcrowded with courtlings—the upper class, dressed in their finest garments and jewels.
Everyone turned to eye me up and down. Whispers and short bursts of laughter soon erupted, and my cheeks blazed anew.
Ophelia waved her hand, and the courtlings parted as if they’d been pushed, creating a pathway to the royal dais, where my father perched upon a golden throne. A girl I’d never met sat beside him, and Milo stood behind him, stroking the key that hung around his neck. The same key he’d worn the day of my mother’s funeral—the one my mother used to stare at with longing.
An invisible fist punched the air from my lungs. I needed to speak with the warlock. Alone. But first... I swung my gaze back to my father, the parent I had here and now.
In our time apart, he’d barely changed. His dark hair might possess more gray, and new lines might branch from his brown eyes, but everything else remained the same. Regal cheekbones. An aquiline nose, and a strong jaw. A chin with a slight dent in the middle.
Wearing a large golden crown and a red robe flecked with gold, he appeared every inch the king.
The witch stopped, so I stopped, too, and moved my attention to the girl. My stepmother? No, surely not. We must be the same age. Could she be one of my stepsisters, then? The tournament prize?
Whoever she was, she was a stunner, with long hair as dark as a moonless night, eyes just as dark with a slight up-tilt, and pale skin. She wore wrist cuffs. Her gown...my heart fluttered with envy. Soft pink with flowers sewn into the skirt.
I glanced down at my sackcloth and wished the floor would open up and swallow me. All right. So maybe I could be embarrassed by my appearance, after all.
Ophelia gave me a little push forward. “Go get ’em, queenie.”
I trudged the rest of the way alone and stopped before the dais. My knees quaked as I executed a wobbly curtsy. “Hello.”
Father compressed his lips into a thin line. “You dare appear before me dressed in such filth?”
“I—I’m sorry, Father. There wasn’t time to change—”
“I’m a king twice over. When you address me, you will refer to me as Your Majesty, just as my other subjects must.”
He hadn’t forgiven me at all. I stared down at my feet. “Yes, Your Majesty.” Never let them know they’ve hurt you.
“I’m so happy to meet you, Princess Ashleigh. I’m Dior,” the girl said. Such a gentle voice, even melodic. “I would love to—”
“If you are in Sevón—Majesty—who is ruling Fleur?” I said, speaking over her. I wanted a friend, yes, just not her. Anyone but the one who occupied my mother’s throne. A stranger who oh, so clearly had everything I’d been denied. The king’s affection and respect. A bright future. Magic.
Why were some people so privileged and others so...not?
“Who do you think?” His tone