Page 47 of A Queen’s Betrayal (Legends of Worldbinders #1)

Worden halls were not small by any means, but Arenna felt as though they were closing in on her as she trailed behind Selphia. The forest-green walls seemed to melt, as though the paint was candle wax burning down to its base.

She blinked and brought a hand to her forehead as her world swayed, and her stomach plummeted. Grogginess from oversleeping—that must be it.

An hour ago, Selphia had woken Arenna from a day and a half’s sleep. She had missed the welcoming feast entirely, sleeping through it in the comfort of her new chambers. The chambermaid had assured her it was no problem and that King Kayson himself had instructed Selphia not to wake her.

Now, after too much rest and an entirely too large plate of roasted meats and steaming vegetables, she was being escorted to a meeting in the war room, as Selphia called it—a place where battles and strategies were discussed between the council and the king.

Arenna wasn’t sure why she had been invited to something so secretive, but she thought it best not to ask.

Glancing to her right, she noticed a change in the light hallways. Large golden windows now replaced the open arches that had let in the night air. She caught her reflection, almost needing to stop and look closer at the person staring back from the spotless glass.

Selphia had dressed her in a simple green skirt and corset over a cream-colored blouse, then brushed back her hair, letting it cascade down her back in thick, dark waves.

She had only been here a day, yet there seemed to be a spark of life returning to the hollow shell of her soul, as though being in Rot-free lands had restored part of her.

She allowed herself to smile until her eyes caught the sight of the scar jutting down her face.

Her expression quickly faded as she turned away, and hurried after the chambermaid.

A deeper sense of unease pooled in her belly.

Arenna hated that Jaksen might always control some aspect of her life and wondered when even small things like a reflection would stop resurfacing memories she struggled to bury.

At the end of the hall, a chandelier hung high above. Arenna tilted her head back, almost gaping at the fine golden work and array of candles. But then her stomach lurched, her head spun, and the nausea returned, overwhelming her once more.

Suddenly, she was brought to her knees, clutching the skirt pooled beneath her as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the roaring pain tearing through her head.

A wave of unrelenting agony slammed into her like a crashing tide.

Visions flashed in her mind—fluffy gowns, tailored suits, spinning couples, and long curtains. She heard muffled voices. Then came softness. Melancholy. Emptiness.

Music .

Soft notes thrummed in her ears—the unmistakable sound of fiddles, drums, and violins, easing the pain.

But when she opened her eyes, Arenna was no longer in the hallway leading to the war room.

She was in a grand ballroom filled with chandeliers, balconies, flowers, violinists, and dancers.

Tables were piled with pastries, jugs overflowed with red wine, and laughter echoed all around her.

Where am I?

Arenna spun around, looking for an exit, a window—anything to escape. How had she gotten here? Nothing about the extravagant ballroom or the vibrant Fae made sense.

Reaching out to touch a female draped in satin, Arenna’s breath caught as her hand passed right through the Fae’s shoulder. A hallucination. Relief flooded Arenna; none of this was real.

She was still in Worden.

A young girl with hair as black as night darted across the ballroom, drowning in a skirt of pink tulle and ruffles. A boy with similarly wild, untamed hair chased after her, weaving through the dancers.

Arenna blinked once.

Twice.

The girl’s green eyes were just like her own. But this girl’s face was different, her features sharper and more defined than Arenna’s. The boy swatted at the girl with pale hands, and she laughed, smacking him back before they ran off again.

White dots of light began to poke through the hallucination, signaling its end.

As the ballroom faded, bleeding into the forest-green walls of Worden, a figure appeared at the far end of the room, pulling Arenna’s attention from the children.

The hallucination was nearly gone, but the figure walked closer, revealing a crown of dragon heads resting on thick hair.

A king—though she didn’t know which one in the Valor family history.

His presence, his crown, and the way the crowd parted for him were undeniable, even as the final remnants of the vision distorted, leaving Arenna alone in darkness.

She blinked again and again until the familiar halls of Castle Worden came back into focus. Selphia stood in front of her, wide-eyed and worried. “Thank the goddesses,” the chambermaid exclaimed. “What happened?”

Arenna shook her head, bringing a hand to her forehead. The pain was gone, though it still throbbed faintly. “I—I’ve had these hallucinations since I was a child.” She winced as Selphia helped her stand.

“Hallucinations?” Selphia’s brows knitted in confusion.

Arenna knew how it sounded, how little sense it made. “It’s fine,” she said, straightening and smoothing her hair. “I’m fine. Let’s just get to the meeting.”

“King Kayson will understand if you need to lie down—”

“No,” Arenna interrupted. “Please, show me the way.”

Selphia nodded, her features sad. “As you wish.”

* * *

“We were beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” Kayson called from the far end of the room.

Arenna and Selphia exchanged glances.

Thankfully, the chambermaid spoke for her. “She’s here now, my king.”

“That she is,” Kayson drawled.

Still feeling the lingering effects of her hallucination, Arenna didn’t respond to the Fae King’s remark, or perhaps the roar of the waterfall behind him drowned it out.

Had she not known to behave better, she might have scoffed at the magnificence of the war room.

It was barren and led to a platform five steps high.

Atop it stood a large, round table surrounded by seven stone-carved chairs.

Beyond the table, two massive white marble pillars stretched into the ceiling, framing a small lake fed by the roaring waterfall.

Arenna didn’t wait for permission to sit before she moved toward the table. As she approached, she noticed it was covered with a map, dotted with small figurines scattered across both continents.

Each piece was a different shape—a serpent, which she assumed represented Brookworth, a wolf for House Nicosa, a bear for House Casierie, a stag for House Lorfin, and a fox for House Forx. Other than the dragon for Worden, she didn’t recognize any of the symbols representing the Vlazian Houses.

Her eyes met Kayson, who sat idly in his chair, one leg draped over the other. “As you all know, this is Arenna Steele, former Queen of Brookworth, former Ruler of Humans.”

As she took her seat, Arenna scanned the room, recognizing only two faces—Bramnen and Marea. The other two males seated beside Kayson were unfamiliar, their expressions unreadable.

Kayson continued, “For too long this war has raged. I know what you see when you look at her.” His jaw tightened, as though he too saw only the enemy she had married.

“But you will keep those thoughts to yourselves. She is one of us now, and a vital piece of the prophecy we’ve spent years working toward. You will show her nothing but respect.”

Everyone’s gaze slid toward Arenna, but she kept her eyes on the king.

“This is the rest of my council,” Kayson said to her, then gestured to his left.

“My Lord Justice, Eldric.” An elderly man in turquoise robes glared at her, his hooded eyes like specks of coal.

Half of his dark, shoulder-length hair was tied into a knot, the other half spilled freely over his broad shoulders.

He seemed older than the king by many years but looked just as lethal. “He oversees enforcing our laws.”

Despite Eldric’s clear distaste, Arenna nodded toward him, meeting his gaze without flinching.

Next to Eldric sat an olive-skinned man with striking violet eyes, paying her no attention as he stared at the jewel-encrusted staff in front of Eldric. His silver hair cascaded down to the middle of his back, and even seated, it was clear he was tall and lean.

“Rodsan,” Kayson introduced, dipping his chin toward the violet-eyed male. “Lord Admiral. Responsible for our fleet and naval affairs.”

Those sharp violet eyes finally flicked up, roaming over Arenna’s face, each glance like tiny needles pressing into her skin.

“Glad to meet you both,” she said.

Neither responded.

“Bramnen and Marea, you know them, of course.” With a swift motion, the king pushed the figurines aside on the table. “Our most recent map,” he said, unfolding a large yellow parchment, “drawn up last night.”

It was a map of their world with Varios on the left and Vlazias on the right. But something was . . . different. Arenna had spent hours in Brookworth’s libraries, familiarizing herself with the layout of both continents, yet she hadn’t seen this map before.

Her fingers traced the mountain range that split into two at the center of the parchment. To her surprise, the map was textured. Mountains rose beneath her fingertips, rivers seemed to flow, and buildings and castles appeared to pop up.

It was as if she were one of the Seven, looking down at a miniature world.

“I don’t recognize any of this,” Arenna murmured. “Maps in Brookworth didn’t show these mountains or rivers.” She pointed to a range encircling something called the Crystal Palace—a place she’d never seen or heard of.

“No map of Vlazias is ever the same—”

“ My king ,” Eldric interrupted. “Do you think it’s wise to share this information with the Firewielder?”