Page 45 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

I have to do this.

I have to know.

So, I take a deep breath and trudge forward. As I move farther into the hall, I can’t tear my eyes from the many paintings that hang on each side. Framed canvases of many shapes and sizes don the walls, and a thick bronze colored carpet runs under my feet.

But the deeper I get, something awful fills my nose.

Rot.

Cracks form in the walls, getting deeper and more ragged the farther I go. Paintings hang crooked on rusted nails. Rocky debris litters the floor. Big holes fill the carpet, as if moths have eaten away at it.

A sickly murk muddles the air. I raise my hand to my mouth to keep myself from choking on the rancid odor.

What’s wrong with this place?

When I reach the end of the corridor, I enter a rounded area, with the mouth of a spiral staircase.

Curiosity begs me forward. Moving carefully, I walk to the steps and climb up them. As I do, darkness falls around me, even though there are windows on either side of the tower.

The stone bricks making up the walls have deteriorated, crumbling into dust in some areas. A few stairs are crushed, and some are missing all together.

Dodging the gaps, I reach the top of the staircase.

It’s a bedchamber.

There are no paintings here. No banners or drapes. Not even a chair or sitting area. The only cloth I can see is draped over a huge four-poster bed with splintered posts. There’s barely any light, but there aren’t any candles or candelabras to illuminate the room.

The long table opposite the bed draws my attention. It’s the only other piece of furniture, save for the bed. It looks as if it’s barely kept together—many nails are hammered into the strangest of places. On top of it, rests a collection of black leather gloves. They’re laid out neatly. Each pair is identical in every way.

The gloves look familiar. It only takes me a moment to recall why.

The High King wore a pair of these exact gloves when I arrived. In fact, he’s worn them every single time I’ve seen him.

I stagger back, my chest rising and falling with each of my breaths.

This is his bedchamber.

And these are his gloves.

Whatever secret the High King is hiding, the state of his private chambers makes one thing certain.

It’s so much worse than I could have ever imagined.

My heart rate accelerates, and my breathing quickens until I feel almost lightheaded.

Picking up my skirts, I flee from the chamber, down the stairs, and run the length of the hallway. The beautiful paintings that once captivated me pass in a blur.

I slow my pace to a fast stride when I reach the open area at the top of the main staircase. But I don’t stop to catch my breath. I continue at my adjusted speed, eager to put more distance between myself and the East Tower.

“You there!” a voice shouts.

I stop and turn around. A guard approaches me, his expression pinched.

“Yes?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“What were you doing in the East Tower?” he demands.

I gasp, placing the daintiest hand I can muster on my chest. “You’d dare assume that I would defy the High King’s command?”

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