Page 35 of The Shadowbound King

Rane’s stare was an ever-present weight as I moved around the hall. More than once, I wanted to march to the foot of the dais and ask if I had something on my face. But I clenched my jaw and did my best to ignore him. Apparently, he had nothing better to do than watch me pour wine over and over.

The only bright spots in the dark experience came from Ginhad, who dined with a rowdy group of lords near the largedouble doors. When I refilled their glasses, he touched my arm and spoke under his breath.

“You’re doing a good job.”

“Thanks,” I muttered. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he hadn’t offered more warning about what to expect at the feast. But I swallowed the question. A warning wouldn’t have helped anything. On the contrary, knowing what lay ahead would have only made me anxious.

Ginhad leaned close, his gaze on the crowd as he spoke to me. “Don’t wait to refill their glasses. Keep them topped up, so they get drunk faster. Half of them will fall under the tables. The other half will find somewhere to stick their di— Ah, attention.”

I nodded as I was called to another table. And the night wore on, the feast growing louder and more raucous.

The Embervale’s inhabitants weren’t shy about discussing me. They didn’t bother to keep their voices down as I weaved among the tables, filling their cups.

“She’s a pretty little thing,” a woman behind me observed. “I’d forgotten how charming humans can be. Adorable, really.”

“Too busty for my taste,” a man said.

I clenched my jaw as I kept my back to him, my fingers tight on the pitcher.

Another man spoke in an amused drawl. “Come now, Lord Darnius, you’re hardly in a position to criticize. Your tits are bigger than any woman’s at court.”

Laughter split the air. My face flamed as I moved to another table. A nobleman held his cup aloft, not so much as glancing at me as he continued conversing with his companion.

Blocking out the noise around me, I focused on the wine as it streamed into the cup. My stomach rumbled, the breakfast I’d eaten with Ginhad a distant memory.

The wine rose to the top of the cup, and I righted the pitcher. The nobleman flicked his fingers at me, wordlessly ordering me to move on.

“Girl!” a familiar feminine voice called. When I turned, Lady Vivia beckoned from a table near the hearth. The diamonds she’d worn outside the stable still sparkled in her hair, but she’d changed her armor for a tight-fitting, high-necked black gown. She sat with three men, all of whom wore black and radiated menace.

Unease knotted my stomach as I moved to the table. “Yes?” I asked, indignation simmering in my veins.

Vivia’s blue eyes narrowed. She shoved her goblet toward me. Wine slopped over the edge and splashed on the table. “Fill it, thief. And show the proper respect when you do it.”

My indignation burned higher. “I’m not a thief.”

“You look like a thief,” one of the men said. A long, pale braid hung over his shoulder. The sigils around his neck were a combination of twisted vines and plump badgers. The latter didn’t make him any less formidable. “You look like an elfkin who betrays his master. In Autumn, we give traitors exactly what they deserve.” He flicked a hard glance toward the dais. “At least, we used to.”

Vivia put a hand on his forearm. “I agree, Kassander.” She lowered her voice, her eyes following the path the man’s had taken. “The king has been too lenient. The cage should be in this hall, and the traitor’s spawn should sit in it until she rots.”

Another man spoke, his dark eyes hard. “First, she needs a lesson in how to address a noble.”

The conversation around us faltered as courtiers from other tables turned their attention our way. Vivia and her friends were looking for an excuse to further humiliate me. They wanted to provoke me—and in doing so, give themselves an excuse to retaliate.

Stiffening my spine, I pulled Vivia’s goblet toward me and filled it, willing my hand to stay steady despite the malice flowing around me. When the goblet was full, I picked it up and placed it carefully in front of her, careful not to spill a single drop.

“Where I come from,” I said, “true nobility is measured not by titles but by how a person treats those under their authority.”

Vivia stood in a rustle of sleek black skirts, two spots of color on her cheeks. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about nobility, you disgusting, lying?—”

“Wine!” Andrin’s voice boomed over the hall. When I turned, he watched me from his throne, his blue eyes glowing as brightly as the fire. He looked every inch a king in dark green jacket embroidered with delicate gold thread. His trousers were brown leather. Boots the same color rose to his knees. He wore his hair in another intricate braid, the long, fiery tail resting on his broad chest.

He gestured to the pewter goblet perched on the broad arm of his throne. “You neglect your duties, Mirella. My cup is empty.”

It was an unmistakable order. But for once, I was grateful to obey. A hush had fallen over the tables, and my footsteps echoed as I crossed to the dais.

Andrin’s stare was a weight against my face as I filled his goblet. When I finished, he motioned to the pitcher. “Put that in the kitchen and come back to me.”

Recalling his threat to dole out public “discipline,” I dipped a shallow curtsy. “Yes, Your Majesty.” I obeyed quickly, ignoring the pain in my back as I stashed the pitcher in the kitchen and returned to the hall. Heat touched my cheeks as I stopped at the bottom of the dais. Andrin crooked his finger, and the heat flared hotter as I ascended the steps and stopped before his throne.

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