Page 6 of Court of Secrets and Flames

Comfort seems to be the least of my concerns right now, but I don’t dare voice my opinion.

We reach a set of ornate double doors, and Zale pushes them open. “Your dinner will be delivered later. Should you require anything in the meantime, let us know. We’ll be around.”

It’s not until I step inside the chamber that I realize another guard now stands at Zale’s side.

As the doors close, I drink in the exquisite suite, and the sheer scale of the suite dwarfs me.

The sitting room can comfortably host a banquet, with its massive table and low-backed sofas.

No doubt to cater to the wings of the usual occupants.

Everything is so absurdly large, yet I understand the necessity behind it.

Here in Tirene court, furniture must accommodate more than just stature. The wings are a part of these people as much as any limb. Though somehow, they can make them disappear.

I cross to the door on the far side of a bedroom so large it can easily serve as a dormitory for a dozen people. My hand hesitates on the knob, and I half-expect another grandiose space designed to make me feel even smaller.

Yet nothing could have prepared me for the sight that meets my eyes.

In the center of the bathing room sits a tub vast enough for two fully grown alicorns.

The porcelain gleams under the glow of crystal lamps, inviting yet another reminder of this place’s unearthly extravagance. For a moment, I allow myself the luxury of imagining a leisurely soak within its depths.

A sharp ache in my back distracts me from my perusal by stealing my breath. That’s odd. I remember it hurting in that same spot once or twice before I left Flighthaven too. Maybe I tweaked it during training and then again during the chaos of the trial. I could have twisted the wrong way without even realizing it.

Being carried across two kingdoms and an ocean like a sack of potatoes certainly didn’t help, either.

Leaning against the cool wood of the bathing chamber door, I close my eyes and release a long, steadying breath. Thoughthe pain eases, my mind remains a tempest of thoughts and emotions, each vying for dominance.

Fear, sadness, betrayal, anger, and even a healthy dose of curiosity all swirl together until I can scarcely tell them apart. I open my eyes and take a few tentative steps.

If these are my quarters, then I will learn every inch of them.

Starting from the ornate bed with its headboard carved in flowing patterns, I inspect each piece of furniture.

Luxurious carpets cushion my steps. Pale oak and ash wardrobes stand against the painted walls, their surfaces smooth and cool beneath my fingertips. Within the splendor, I hunt for something altogether different. Potential weapons. A heavy candelabrum, the jagged edge of a broken vase, even a shard from the mirror can serve my purpose.

I eye the long, silken drapes that frame the windows. Perhaps those could be repurposed as bindings or a makeshift rope. I need options, however slight, to bolster the illusion of control.

Then there are the walls themselves. They are thick, likely insulated against both weather and eavesdropping, but I remember my mother’s whispered warnings of royal subterfuge. Kings and nobles play games of power with pawns unaware of the eyes upon them.

I scour the rooms for any signs of peepholes or concealed doors. Running my hands along the seams of the stone, I press my ear against cool plaster to listen for the telltale hollowness that might betray a spy’s nest.

My search yields nothing.

As I get closer to the door, muffled voices carry through the wood. Someone lurks outside, asking for permission to enter. I straighten my tunic, which feels simple and provincial among such opulence, and wait for my visitor.

The door creaks open, andhestands there as if waiting for me to invited him in, holding a tray with a covered dish and a goblet of what appears to be wine.

He’s the embodiment of betrayal clad in royal Tirene finery.

Knox.

Not Sterling, but Prince Knox of House Barda.

I smooth a hand over my hair, wanting to kick myself for not putting a little more effort into my appearance.

Stop. There’s no need to impress him. He’s seen you naked. He doesn’t care about you anyway. It was all an act.

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