Page 136 of The Chains You Defy

Perhaps the garment he’d picked was a traditional Galantan funeral dress?

Gods, what a macabre idea. One not even sounding far-fetched.

My stomach turned at the thought of meeting the High King, potentially alone, and my over-imaginative mind already calculated how high my chances of survival were.

Yes, terror held me in its grip.

But I had no choice. Neither in escaping a potential attempt to humiliate me with a dressing disaster nor in avoiding the monarch at all.

“Thank you, nameless chamberlain.” Even in the face of death, my sarcasm prevailed. “I’ll make haste so as not to let His Royal Majesty wait.”

Shutting the door in his dumb face was at least a slight satisfaction. So what if I affronted him? He hated my kind whatever I did, so why should I be more polite thannecessary? Ugh, the general unfriendliness all around me was infectious—and I hadn’t even been here for a whole week.

Hurrying into the sleeping chamber, I unwrapped the bundle on my way, distracting me from the anxious spiral holding me in its grip.

To my surprise, the garment was neither garish nor ill-fitting. As far as I could tell, the dress was tailored to current court fashion, with great care and quality materials.

The airy gown made from layers of silk and gossamer in various shades of pink hugged my curves as if the garb had been commissioned for me. Not unlikely, since the royal tailor had my measurements, after all.

The corset-style top closed over a white silky chemise and pushed my breasts up to form a shapely neckline, slightly lower than I preferred, but not indecent by far. Still, Dion would race for a cover-up faster than I could blink if he saw my decolletage. Despite the seriousness of my situation, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

The skirt was layered, expansive, and rippled like waves at the tiniest movement. Much to my surprise, there was also a jeweled necklace hidden inside the bundle, and the ruby pendant nestled on my skin at the perfect length.

This was too good to be true. Closing my eyes, I clung to the armoire and attempted to breathe the ever-rising panic away. But of course, this endeavor was in vain.

Slipping into soft, white shoes I’d received together with the rest of my wardrobe, I concentrated on the dainty glass beads in pinks and purples stitched onto them. At least my footwear matched the dress.

I left my hair unbound and opted against coloring my face—Galrach didn’t deserve that amount of effort.

My hope that Dion would return in time and prevent the meeting with the High King dwindled, and I had to accept I couldn’t escape the summons to a potentially lethal royal morning tea. So I gathered my strength to face the brutal monarch, who most presumably hadn’t taken being humiliated on my behalf too kindly.

Gods, I was screwed.

The size of the Alaiann royal palace was dizzying, even compared to the castle the Ivreian monarchs called their home. Fae seemed to prefer everything bigger and more ostentatious, mirroring their personalities.

The chamberlain herded me for a perceived eternity, passing plenty of doors protected by impressive warriors. As we reached a massive wooden door decorated with carvings of battle, I was utterly lost in the maze of corridors.

Four guards—heavily armed with a multitude of weapons—secured the entrance, and the bad feeling inmy stomach intensified.

When we approached, the sentries parted. Simultaneously, the door swung open.

My guide nodded to a female servant waiting inside and, without a word, left us alone. Observing the room, which resembled the antechamber in Dion’s suite—only this was more luxurious—might not have been polite, but since no one expected me to have manners, why not live up to their expectations?

After a short perusal, I was pretty sure these were the private quarters of the High King, and that didn’t bode well, no matter which scenario was playing out in my mind.

In the end, I nodded to the female, who glared as if I were the bane of her existence.

The servant, nameless again, glowered at me, then approached another set of doors without acknowledging me, and I followed her.

A spike of dread shot through me as I realized I’d forgotten to leave a note for Dion and that none of my friends had any idea where I’d been summoned to.

Gods, how could I have been so careless?

The bitter taste of regret coated my tongue as the next door opened, and the female ushered me into a richly decorated dining room. Art on the walls depicted plenty of war scenes, and another section displayed portraits of the royal family. There was even one of a younger Antas—without his mask—and some of Dion. If I should survive my morning tea, I would tease both males relentlessly over their likenesses in their king’s personal chambers.

The furniture, positioned on plush emerald carpeting, was finely crafted but oddly cozy for a tyrant like Galrach. I’d have expected a massive dining table, butinstead found four chairs surrounding a much smaller version of the one my imagination had conjured.

Tea and small bites of fruit and candy were plated on top of a decorative emerald runner, and a tempting smell made my mouth water, even if my throat tightened with fear—there was a real chance that the food was poisoned. The table was set for two, which meant either Galrach wanted to converse with me alone, or I wasn’t supposed to eat and drink as yet another way to degrade me.