Page 227 of The War and Deceit Series omnibus

“Are we late?” I ask Naril quietly over my shoulder, never taking my eyes off the king.

“No, we are early.” His reply is curt as he confirms my suspicions, and I know he’s just as frustrated by this as I am.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, partially because of the dress, but I hear awed whispers of ‘crown’ and ‘queen’ as I pass. It makes me feel powerful, which is an odd sensation for me, so contradictory to how I felt last time I was here. Although I don’t want to take my eyes off the king, I’m so desperate to look around and try to see my friends. Is Jacob here? What about Wilson? Jayne and Aileen? Flicking my eyes to the side, I see only three of the five thrones are filled. My mother’s, the queen’s, is still empty, and on the king’s other side sits Rhydian and Michael. The last throne is noticeably empty.

A warning, prickling feeling runs over my skin, and my attention instantly snaps to Rhydian. I don’t know what drew me to look at him, he appears perfectly normal from a distance. The impeccable, handsome prince. However, with every step we take that brings us closer to him, the farther I want to run away. There is something inherently wrong with him, and it just seems to radiate from him, not that anyone else notices. His black eyes seem to mock me. He knows the effect he’s having on me. Resisting the shudder that’s trying to force its way from my body, I return my attention to the king.

His eyes are on my crown and my hair. Anger burns in his gaze, and I feel a sick sense of satisfaction. Movement just behind his throne catches my eye, and I see High Priest Rodrick glaring at me with a hatred that almost causes me to pause. I’ve never known what I’ve done to cause him to dislike me so much, but now I guess I’ve become everything he loathes.

With only the sound of our feet on the stone floor and the murmured whispers of the watching lords and ladies, we finally reach the dais of the thrones. I look up at the king, my aunt and mates half a step behind me. I’m supposed to curtsy or at least bow my head in a show of respect, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’ve spent too many years on the floor before this man.

“Your Majesty,” I greet, keeping my head high as he leers down at us with gleaming eyes. “It appears we were given the wrong time and missed the beginning of your…” Pausing, I look around the silent room, arching a single eyebrow before returning my attention to the king. “Celebration,” I finish. He simply smiles, opening his arms wide as if to welcome us.

“You’re here now.”

Enough of this. Striding up the three steps of the stone dais that separate us, I approach the thrones. The guards jump to stop me, but the king waves them away, not that they would have been able to prevent me. A snarl behind me does cause me to hesitate though, and I see the guards have stepped between my mates and me. My eyes meet Vaeril’s, and I feel him through our bond, waiting for my command. They could easily push past the human guards, but we are trying to remain peaceful. For now. Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. Now is not the time to start a fight. Vaeril pulls back from the guards roughly, tugging a snarling Eldrin back with him. My eyes flick over to Grayson, worried he could slip into euisa, the killing trance mages can go into when they feel their mates are threatened, but he seems to be in control.

Turning back to the king, I suppress my own snarl at his amused expression. “Where’s Jacob? Why am I here?” I demand, already tired of the games when I know we’ve only just begun.

“There will be time for that later.” Waving off my concern with a flick of his hand, he leans back in his throne, crossing one leg over the other like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s not scared of me at all. “You and your companions must be hungry.” I’m sure he’s making a dig at the fact I used to be starving, and from Rhydian’s laugh, I know I’m right. The king frowns slightly at his son’s outburst, glancing briefly at him before returning his full attention to me. He might have tried tohide it, but I didn’t miss the look that flickered across his face when he glanced at Rhydian. It was fear. Why would the king fear his son’s reaction?

Maybe I misunderstood and it wasn’t fear. After all, the expression was gone in a flash… No, I know what fear looks like, I’m sure of it, I just don’t know why.

“Eat, drink, dance. This is all for you, after all,” the king announces with a saccharine grin, clearly dismissing me with a wave of his hand.

The guards must have parted, because I feel my mates gather behind me. Knowing my back is protected, I turn from the king and stride down the dais, hoping my frustration is not evident on my face. Picking a direction at random, I walk towards one of the tables lining the walls. The king is right about one thing, everyone will be hungry. It was a long journey from the guild. I nod at my entourage, and they spread out to mingle nearby, all while keeping a close eye on me and the actions of the king. The music has started up again, and dancers are hesitantly moving onto the floor. Low conversations begin around us, but I get the feeling we are the topic of many of those, based on the looks we seem to be getting.

Naril appears at my side and hands me a plate of food, holding his own overflowing plate in the other hand. Snorting, I accept the dish and pick at the beautiful, delicate food. We discussed not eating any of the food here in case it had been poisoned, but as it’s a buffet, there would be no way for the king to know which food we would be consuming. Unless he didn’t mind poisoning the entire ballroom in the process, which wouldn’t necessarily surprise me.

Picking at the food on my plate, I scan my surroundings and see Naril was right about my dress. All of the other ladies here are wearing full skirted, modest dresses. In fact, they all look so similar that it’s almost as if they were told what to wear. Theatmosphere in the ballroom is tense, and even though people are obviously trying to appear as if they’re having a good time, fear is palpable in the flash of their eyes as they glance at us. At first, I think it’s the presence of the elves, but the longer I watch them and observe the multiple nervous glances they throw at the thrones, I become less sure. What exactly has been going on here?

My companions make small talk around me, picking at the food and making it look like we’re ignoring everyone else, while actually carefully watching those near us. No one tries to talk to me, however, knowing I’m too wound up to hold a conversation, but my mates hover close by, their gentle touches reassuring.

I’m still desperately looking around the ballroom for someone, anyone, I recognise when someone calls my name. Instantly recognising that accent, I spin to see a short, red-haired woman hurrying towards me.

“Aileen!” Abandoning any pretence of ‘cool and collected,’ I rush towards my friend, my mates close behind. Surprise fills me, she obviously recognises me without the magic Grayson used to turn me into ‘Lady Clarissa,’ and I realise that Wilson must have told her. I saved Aileen’s life the night I escaped and left her in Wilson’s care, he must have told her the truth about me.

I reach out to place my hand on her shoulder, but she throws her arms around me, pulling me close for a hug, surprising me with her strength. My hands hang awkwardly at my sides for a second, since I’m still getting used to casual touch outside of my mates. However, I’m so pleased to see Aileen alive and well that my happiness overrides my discomfort and I return her hug.

Pulling away from her vice-like grip, I smile tightly at her and then nod at her father, who I see is standing just behind her, watching us carefully. “I’ve been so worried. Are you okay?” I inquire, realising her face looks gaunt, her smile tight, and herskin much paler than I remember. Glancing again at her father, I notice how worried he is. His body is stiff as he warily looks at my companions, and I get the impression he doesn’t approve of his daughter being so close to the elves. Lord Bastian was always very welcoming of me before, not agreeing with the politics and hierarchy of the court, so I’m a little surprised at his attitude.

You have no idea what’s been going on here since you left, besides, he doesn’t know them like you do. You thought all elves were evil before you got to know Vaeril, I remind myself, thinking he’s probably just worried for his daughter when their every move is being scrutinised by the king.

Looking back at the young woman in my arms, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been burning in the back of my mind. “Where’s Wilson? When Grayson told me he didn’t return to the guild after the mages split from the king…”

Aileen’s face twists, a shadow passing over her features as she looks around to make sure none of the king’s men are listening, and then she takes a step closer to me. She glances at the elves at my side and the towering tribesman, an unspoken question on her lips.

“You can trust them,” I promise.

Nodding, she blows out a pent-up breath. “Things have been bad, Clarissa.” Her voice is quiet and harrowed, and I wonder just what’s happened to have changed her from the carefree woman I knew. “The priests are totally out of control.” She glances up at her father, shuddering at some unspoken memory. “They patrol the hallways and the streets, doling out punishments for those they deem ‘unworthy’ of the Great Mother’s love, or for committing crimes against Her.”

Meeting Grayson’s gaze, I feel his anger and horror through our connection and something else…guilt. He feels guilty for pulling the magicians from the city, knowing they were the onlyones holding the priests back, and by leaving, it only gave them free rein to terrorise the people.

Lord Bastian huffs at his daughter’s last statement, his voice low as he looks around the room to make sure no one is watching as he speaks. “Most of these crimes are either small infractions or made up. The punishments, however…” He trails off as his eyes land on someone over my shoulder. The sound of footsteps alerts me to someone close by, and my mates stiffen at my side. The steps don’t falter, and as I glance in their direction, I see a priest passing by, his eyes boring into mine with a glare of undisguised hatred. Considering they are supposed to worship the Mother and I am her beloved, you would think they would show at least some respect in public, otherwise, it just makes it look like they disagree with the goddess’ decision, which is a dangerous path to go down.

I impatiently count the seconds, waiting for the priest to leave, my mates close as they react to my anxiety. Finally, once he’s out of earshot, I reach out again and take Aileen’s hand. “Wilson?” I question, unable to keep the worry from my voice any longer. Her eyes fill with tears, and my knees suddenly feel weak as dread fills me. “No…” Worst case scenarios fill my mind, and a part of my heart feels like it’s trying to fracture. Surely I would know if Wilson had died? I would have felt his death, right? The thoughts spin through my mind, one after the other, guilt plaguing me that he could have died alone while I was living in luxury in Galandell. No, he’s not dead. Someone like Wilson couldn’t leave the world without leaving a mark.

A sharp throb in my chest makes me groan and release Aileen, and I grip onto Eldrin. With Vaeril on my other side, my elves hold me up as I take a deep breath. Grayson’s concern and pain are like knives in my chest, even though he’s trying to appear calm on the outside.

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