Chapter 37

Chapter 37

T he sitting room walls were painted white and covered with resplendent paintings, each set in a similarly rich plated gold frame. They were signs of opulence and wealth, power emanating throughout the room. All the way down to the stiff chair upholstered in maroon suede, where Anniliese Hareth sat in her lilac gown, clutching a cup of tea and wondering how bad the bruises from her corset would be tomorrow.

She daintily sipped the warm liquid, chamomile and vanilla tickling her throat. Across from her sat Lady Florithe Beauchamp, the youngest of the lord’s wives. Anniliese’s father had instructed her to take tea with the other young woman, to foster a friendship.

What her father hadn’t mentioned was how dreadfully boring and drab the lady was. Pretty enough, as Anniliese eyed her honeycomb hair and milky skin, but as empty as the decorative vase sitting between them on the marble coffee table.

“I suppose as we move into the spring and summer, we can fill the space with peonies and tulips. But I fear the pollen might upset my allergies! How dreadful, to be sneezing all over. Simply would not do.”

“Yes,” Anniliese said dryly then drained the rest of her tea. “Goddess forbid the men remember we are human with a sneeze.”

Lady Beauchamp went rigid.

Oops . She definitely hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She’d been raised better than that. Was bred better than that.

“I only mean,” Anniliese tacked on hastily, “that it is simply not lady-like! The men work too hard; they deserve our best, always.”

That assuaged Lady Beauchamp, her posture relaxing as a smile filled her smooth and empty face. “Yes, you are absolutely right. To please our lords is our greatest honor in life.”

Anniliese smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She’d had tea with Lady Beauchamp before—plenty of times, actually. And while the lady certainly was as simple as they came, these afternoons never used to grind on Anniliese the way they did now.

She’d always been happy with her station in life, content knowing she was blessed to have been born into one of the six Royal houses. Growing up knowing of the high possibility she would be Chosen as Ryenne’s successor, would move into the palace, would continue her life of wealth and opulence and comfort.

Even when that future was snatched from her, she’d still been relatively content. Still happy with her dresses and tea, the flowers and pastries and jewels.

Until the lords brought in the new queen, and Anniliese was forced to confront everything she’d lost. Everything that was given to another so beneath her, so unworthy .

The worst part was that by the end, she wasn’t sure if she even still hated Mariah.

Anniliese set her teacup on the table with a clink. “Well,” she said, standing and pressing out the front of her skirts as her corset pulled tight across her chest. “I fear I must be going. I am to have dinner with my father and our hosts this evening; can’t be late for such an honor!”

Lady Beauchamp nearly dropped her cup before bustling to her feet. “Oh, my! No, you absolutely cannot. I do hope I have not kept you. As always, it was such a pleasure to take tea with you, Lady Anniliese. Let’s meet again soon!”

Anniliese smiled, another fake, forced thing. “Of course. These meetings for tea are always the highlight of my week.”

Lady Beauchamp beamed, and with a sigh of relief, Anniliese stepped from the room on her delicate, slippered feet.

The air about the great keep at Khento was light and relaxed, the thick haze of celebration and comfort evident in every room. The lords gathered in the great hall and feasted every night, their raucous laughter echoing down the hallways. It was only in her rooms, situated in a comfortable guest wing of the castle, where Anniliese could find any peace.

The merriment that filled the keep was … bizarre, to put it mildly. Anniliese hardly knew what to make of it all. A little over a week ago, Mariah had escaped with the help of her Armature, and ever since, the lords had behaved as if this was a cause for celebration. As far as Anniliese knew, no attempts were made to search for the young queen or to follow and bring them back to the keep. How any part of the situation could be good for the lords was an unwelcome mystery.

The only lord who seemed at least mildly perturbed was Lord Laurent. Anniliese twisted her thin necklace, a debutante gift from her father, around the column of her throat as she padded around a corner and up a flight of stairs. The foul-tempered Lord of Antoris was even pricklier than usual, his mood worsening after it was discovered Andrian had fled back to Verith with Mariah.

Clamminess washed over Anniliese’s skin, the air too hot. She remembered the part she’d been asked to play. Even at the beginning, when she was all too eager to rub her victory in Mariah’s face … something had never settled right in her stomach. She swallowed past a lump in her throat, remembering Andrian’s empty stare and blind obedience, only shaken when in the presence of the young queen.

Anniliese would never tell Mariah, but that night she’d kissed Andrian at her father’s behest, she’d raced to her room, sick for hours. She’d sat in the shower until her handmaids had to drag her out, desperate to wash the disgust and shame from her skin.

She shook her head, delicately clearing her throat. She’d done what she had to do to support her family. Just as she’d always done.

Anniliese wound her way down the upper-level halls, inching closer to her rooms in the west wing. She strode past the northern hallways, a part of the castle reserved for the members of House Shawth. It housed not only their residential rooms but their family coffers and troves.

Her steps quickened.

She did not fear House Shawth. They were the most powerful of the Royal families and had led Onita with strength and dignity for centuries. As their gracious hosts, her family was indebted to them for leading this battalion against the unworthy claimant to the throne.

But she couldn’t stop the shiver of fear scraping down her spine each time she walked by this section of the castle. How an air of darkness, of misery, of fate, seemed to reach out with clawed talons, wanting to reach itself around her and draw her down into the whispering deep.

It was a figment of her imagination; Anniliese was sure of it. She just wasn’t used to living in a castle so large and ancient. She’d spent nights in the palace, certainly, but that was the palace. A place she’d thought to one day call her home.

She was just unfamiliar with this place, that was all.

But each day, it became harder and harder to deny how the darkness grew in force and strength. How it cried out to her with increasing fervor, a dangerous temptation that scared her far more than it intrigued her.

And today, it was almost unbearable. She was nearly running by the time she reached the end of the hallway, fleeing from whatever invisible force chased her and called to her at the same time. She rounded a final corner and kept running.

Anniliese halted when she reached her guest wing and slumped against the wall, catching her breath as her mind churned. It had never been so bad before. She wondered if anyone else noticed, if the castle staff who ventured there could feel it. It was now past the point of her imagination; what she’d felt just then was undeniably real and terrifying.

Mariah’s words to her before she’d fled the castle gardens with her Armature in tow, flashed through her mind.

“I understand why you feel you must stay. But stop letting these men run your life as if it wasn’t your own. You know, deep down, that isn’t what you want.”

Anniliese straightened.

She certainly felt no affection for the young queen. Mariah was brash and rude and unpolished, all the things Anniliese was not. But, for whatever reason, when Mariah had asked Anniliese to abandon her family and go with them … she’d hesitated. And then, even when she’d said no, Anniliese had turned her back and made for the castle without sounding the alarm.

She hadn’t said a word about that night to anyone. And still, she didn’t know why. A weakness had sprouted that night, one she hadn’t been able to overcome.

However, there was something about those last words that lingered. Some truth in them. Anniliese pushed her head higher and made her way to her chamber doors. A handmaid greeted her, having already drawn a bath and laid out her evening gown.

As she was cleaned and primped and dressed, she resolved to ask their gracious host about the darkness she’d felt. She was, after all, a lady of a great house.

She deserved answers about the place where she currently rested her head. And answers she would get.

Anniliese sat beside her father in the private dining chamber, picking daintily at the lemon tart she’d been served for dessert. A glass of sparkling wine also sat in front of her, untouched.

She wanted her wits about her tonight as she asked her question.

Across the table sat Lady Shawth, her silver-streaked auburn hair coiled into a crown atop her head, her hazy eyes empty and emotionless. The Lady of Khento was quiet, but of just the right breeding to bear Lord Shawth’s sons. Those sons were too young to join them at the table, but Lady Shawth seemed ambivalent to the absence of her children.

She seemed ambivalent to most things, actually.

Her husband sat beside her, whiskey tumbler in hand, leaning back in his chair as he jested with Anniliese’s father, Lord Hareth. Anniliese speared a piece of her tart with her fork as Lord Shawth roared with laughter, her father chuckling forcefully in answer.

Anniliese felt sorry for her father sometimes. He was a widower—her mother had died many years ago, leaving him alone with a daughter, a castle in Ettervan, and no male heirs. Anniliese had a baby brother once, very briefly. But that baby brother was the same life that took her mother from the world before following her quietly into the afterlife a few days later.

She chewed on her tart, the bitter sweetness pleasant on her tongue, remembering those early days after her mother and brother had passed. It had made her Choosing even more critical. The Royals had all been informed of Ryenne’s abdication, and the future of Anniliese’s very house hinged on her ascension to the throne.

That was what her father had told her every single day as she’d grown up. She had to be perfect, the ideal image of Onitan Royalty. One who the magic could not possibly pass up.

Then Mariah had stolen that from her, and she’d returned to her father with her head bowed and an apology on her lips. All their plans slashed to pieces.

Anniliese’s fork clattered to her plate. Lord Shawth paused in his animated storytelling, and her father shot her a frustrated look. Even Lady Shawth’s dead eyes flickered away from her glass of wine.

Flames licked up Anniliese’s cheeks. “Apologies, My Lords.”

She felt her father’s attention linger on her for a few more moments before he turned back to Lord Shawth.

Lord Hareth was a quiet man, content to follow behind those with greater ambitions than his own, but Anniliese didn’t think he would ever forgive her for her failure at the Choosing.

“Did you enjoy your meal, Lady Anniliese?”

Well, at least she no longer had to sit here in boredom, picking at her lemon tart.

“Yes, Lord Shawth,” she answered, softly clearing her throat. “Thank you, again, for your hospitality and the wonderful meal.” She dipped her head to him, then turned to his wife. “And my thanks to you as well, My Lady.”

The empty woman just smiled back.

“So,” Shawth said, swirling his whiskey. “Have you enjoyed your stay here in Khento? I am sure it is nothing compared to the cliffs of Ettervan, but I do hope you have found it comfortable enough for your liking.”

This is my chance.

“Yes, My Lord. You keep a very beautiful and splendid home. I—we—are honored to have joined you as guests these past months.”

Lord Shawth smiled, nodding once, and leaned back in his chair. He turned back to her father, about to return to their conversation.

“However,” Anniliese said, “there is … something. Just a small inquiry, something that could make things more comfortable for myself. If that’s not too much to ask.” Her father stiffened. Ladies didn’t ask for favors from their hosts. Ladies only offered compliments, only smiled, never spoke out of turn.

For the first time in her life, Anniliese ignored her father, focusing on the Lord of Khento. Shawth’s pale blue eyes had gone cold and calculating, and he took a slow sip from his whiskey.

“Of course, Lady Anniliese. After all, we certainly want all our guests to be comfortable.” The last word was a sneer, but Anniliese chose to ignore it. She swallowed once before pressing on.

“Is there something my father and I should know about the castle? Sometimes when I walk by the northern corridors, something feels … strange. Dark. Malevolent, even. Perhaps I might be permitted to inspect it myself? I’m sure it’s nothing, but I must always be concerned about our safety. I pray you understand.”

The second she heard the words leave her mouth, she knew she shouldn’t have said them. They were improper, intrusive, and accusatory. What am I thinking?

She expected Lord Shawth to explode into a fit of rage at her impropriety.

Instead, he simply set down his glass and smiled. A cold, terrifying smile, his eyes trailing down her body.

“So curious about my private wing, aren’t you, Lady Anniliese? Do you wish to visit my bed? To assist your family by sleeping your way through the lords? I will give it to you—you are a pretty little thing.” He licked his thin lips, and something in Anniliese’s stomach turned. “And with your mild resemblance to our little whore queen, I imagine you would fetch quite a price.” Lord Shawth turned to her father, who wore an expression of horror and indignity.

“Would you sell your daughter to save your family, Lord Hareth? Was this your plan? Seems a little desperate, even for you.”

Anniliese wasn’t even sure where to look. At Lord Shawth, with his hungry, vile expression. At her father, his eyes blown wide with panic and mouth stuttering like a floundering fish. Or at Lady Shawth, empty as ever, her eyes glazed as she watched her husband invite another woman to his bed.

“Please, My Lord,” her father said, choking on his words. “Please forgive my daughter. She is young and curious and forgets her place.” He glared at Anniliese, rage and fear in his eyes. “She will apologize. And from now on, she will remember her manners and hold her tongue before inquiring into the privacy of others.”

Anniliese gaped. Not only had her father declined to defend her from Shawth’s despicable words, but he reprimanded her. There. In front of Shawth and his wife.

Her cheeks burned, her stomach twisting into knots, as she turned to Lord Shawth, her eyes downcast and tears burning behind her lids.

“I apologize, My Lord,” she whispered. “I … I was out of turn. Please forgive me and do not pin my mistakes on my family.”

Lord Shawth tsked. “You are forgiven, Lady Anniliese. But from now on, perhaps you should not invite yourself to places or start conversations you have no intent of seeing through.”

Anniliese dropped her head further, a curtain of dark hair hiding her face from view as she stared at her lap. A single tear fell, landing on her folded hands.

“Stop letting these men run your life as if it wasn’t your own. ” Mariah’s words again flitted through her mind.

Not only had she let them do just that, but she was no closer to learning what monstrous nightmare might inhabit the castle with her and her father.

The shame that washed over her and lingered in her mouth for the next week tasted like flame and ash.