Page 87 of The Last Heir of Elsewhere

She didn’t so much as twitch, and didn’t reply. A strange, uneasiness fell over me in the following silence.

Thankfully, at that moment, the servants returned and began doling out food onto our golden plates. Conversation stopped for a few minutes, as everyone ate, and when it started up again the king seemed to have moved on from questioning my presence.

Ambrose and Gancanagh spoke animatedly as we ate. They discussed only business; the success of their trade routes, and politics that flew directly over my head. My mother was not mentioned again, and as the meal progressed, I began to tune out the conversation.

Perhaps I should have listened, tried to learn their secrets, but my thoughts kept wavering to other parts of the castle. Were my mother and my mates starving, while we sat at this feast? Would I know if they were seriously harmed, as they seemed to with me? Or could they be dead already, and I was too human to notice. When would we be freed from this pointless charade so that I could go search for them?

“You will have to join us for the hunt tomorrow,” Gancanagh was saying to Ambrose, their business evidently having concluded. “Or, are you planning to return right home? If I’d recently acquired a palace, I cannot say I’d have left so soon for a simple business meeting.”

Ambrose stiffened beside me, and I was not sure why. “The palace is currently not fit for visitors. It’s being rebuilt after the unfortunate damage it sustained in battle.”

“You will have to invite me to visit when the repairs are complete.”

Again, Ambrose went stiff, but his voice was even when he replied: “Of course.”

A spark of anger flitted through me. They were discussing travel, as if the king was not holding his own son beneath the castle. Perhaps torturing him, or worse.

With a smile so brittle it could shatter, I pushed back my chair, the sound jarring against the marble floor, and rose to my feet. I couldn’t sit through another moment of this or I would scream. “I believe,” I blurted out, my voice cutting through the drone of pleasantries like a blade, “a breath of fresh air would do wonders for me.”

Ambrose’s gaze flickered to mine from across the table, dark and sharp as obsidian. His gaze bore into me with a silent warning, but I turned away.

“Of course,” came the king’s honeyed reply. “My dear,” he intoned, addressing his veiled queen with a nod so subtle it was almost imperceptible. “Would you be so kind as to escort our guest to the terrace?”

Fuck.

Ambrose’s silent reprimand still lingered in the air, but at the king’s command one of the veiled queen’s rose, and beckoned silently for me to follow.

I ground my teeth. Now, there was no chance of me searching for anyone, but I couldn’t very well pretend to have changed my mind. I would simply have to get some air with the queen, and return.

The queen led me silently out of the hall and down another opulent hallway.

“Your home is quite lovely, Queen…” I trialed off, hoping she would interject her name.

She did not respond, her veiled gaze fixed on the path ahead. I shivered again. Her silence was a tangible thing, wrapping around me with unease. My eyes flitted from one dark corner to another, seeking any hidden threats.

Then, the queen opened a door onto a large terrace, and I stepped outside, my mouth falling open.

The sky stretched on forever, the stars twinkling over the tops of red mountains. Strangely, I felt my throat tighten at the sight. It looked like the mountains of Aftermath, and after the casual mentions of my mother and sister, my emotions lingered too close to the surface.

“It’s beautiful,” I said honestly, glancing over at the queen.

As I turned, a flicker of motion caught my eye, and I whipped around sharply, only to see nothing but the dance of candlelight against stone. I bit back a curse, chastising myself for nerves that felt like rampant lightning beneath my skin. This castle, these people—they had a way of burrowing under the skin, of making you doubt your own senses.

And then, without warning, the shadows burst into life.

A robed figure stepped out of the darkness of the terrace, a long blade raised to strike.

“Look out!” I cried, throwing myself toward the queen.

Time seemed to stutter, like a heartbeat suspended in the mid-air.

The assailant’s blade sliced toward us, its whistle a discordant note against the hushed silence of the balcony.

“Behind me!” I snapped at the queen, shoving her roughly out of the way.

Before leaving, I had carefully concealed a small blade in my boot, hidden from view by the flowing layers of my dress. Now, my hand instinctively went for it as the assassin bore down on us.

I didn’t have time to wonder why this was happening, or who the man was. My hand found the familiar grip of my hidden dagger, and I lurched forward.

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