Page 89 of The Chains You Defy

But there was no time to dwell on the affront.

As I stalked through the vast throne room, with Naya always a half-step behind me—as if she weren’t my equal—I collected all my bearings, or at least attempted to.

A few paces in front of the raised dais, I stopped my approach. As customs dictated, I went down on one knee and bowed my head in fake reverence, although everything rebelled inside of me. Scraping before the male sitting on his so-called Eternal Throne and degrading myself in front of a weak tyrant killed another piece of my dignity every time I was forced to do so.

Nayana, still in a short distance behind me, sank into the deepest curtsy she’d ever made. She wasn’t the most athletic person, so I couldn’t do more than hope that she would be able to hold her pose until she was allowed to get up.

Fuck, she didn’t deserve to have to grovel, even less than me.

“Scriosta.”

“Your Royal Majesty, High King Galrach Folus Iadrann, my Emperor. Grandfather.”

“Get up, runt.”

Instantly, I rose from my position, straightened myself, and as I faced his scrutiny with bored defiance, one thing was clear. I was in deep shit—all his subtle tells screamed that Galrach was livid.

My grandfather was an imposing fae. He was as tall as me, and his bulk could compete with Fig’s any day of the week.

Whenever I was in his vicinity, the fear that I might resemble his likeness in a couple of centuries became overbearing. Not because he was ugly or I was very vain, but imagining finding a copy of my tormentor every time I looked in the mirror was unbearable.

Galrach wore his raven hair shorter than I kept mine, the ends just grazing his shoulders, and his eyes sparkled crimson instead of my amethyst ones. My skin wasn’t as golden as his, but when compared, no one could deny our relations.

“Grandfather, may I present Nayana Garnet Ortha, my Amplifier, bound to me in divine magic through the Rite of Binding?”

Another breach of protocol I’d deal with later. On the never-ending list of my punishable crimes, taking charge in an official conversation was only a minor offense, and I’d gladly accept the penalty if Nayana could get up sooner. Already, her leg muscles were twitching, and I had to get her out of this situation before she was in pain—or worse.

My grandfather threw me one of his famous side eyes, then examined her from head to toe, and his gaze lingered for a second too long on the golden choker covering her divine marks.

Oh fuck, so he did remember this special set, and the subsequent crime—giving away parts of the crownjewels without permission—followed breaking High Court rules.

“You may rise too, Eachtrannach.”

Swallowing the growl building in my chest at the very last moment, I dug my fingernails into my flesh. Even though I’d perfected the role I portrayed for centuries, not succumbing to my temper became increasingly more challenging.

But not only did Galrach stare at Nayana as if she weren’t worthy of the air she was breathing. No, he’d also called her Eachtrannach. Although the word could translate to foreigner, the way he’d pronounced the term transformed something neutral into a slur, the worst one you could use to address someone alien. And not only that, Galrach had two more instances where he was using the moniker.

First, for the few magicless fae still hiding somewhere in Galanta, and second, for courtiers who’d fallen from grace but evaded execution and had been banned to the fringes of society forevermore. So, yes, in calling my Amplifier Eachtrannach, my grandfather had clarified from the beginning what his opinion of her was.

Hopefully, her grasp of Galantian through our binding wasn’t letting her in on such nuances. Her face, at least, showed no signs of anger as she rose to her feet and kept her gaze lowered to the ground.

“Scriosta, I am more than disappointed. Abandoning your duties, your world, yourking? With only leaving a glorified note behind? One not even explaining where you were headed or for how long? And then I had to learn you accompanied my brother to do gods-know-what in the world we had sealed away for a reason?”

“Even the lowest foot soldier serving under me collects two weeks of leave every winter. And if they’re granted holidays, why shouldn’t I? So yes, I took the liberty of taking a few winters’ worth of free time off. It’s not like we’re at war.” Inspecting my fingernails, I reminded myself once more of the role I had to excel in. “But rest assured, Grandfather, the majority of the journey has been a giant waste of time. Ivreia is still as dull as in the past, if not worse.”

“Yet you chose Amalach, or whatever remains of the City of Air, as the site to enact one of our most sacred rites. Why?”

Why indeed? Because me preferring any place over Alaiann wouldn’t be the right answer, no matter how much this was the truth.

When Galrach turned to Nayana, I cursed myself for hesitating a second too long. “Speak, Eachtrannach. What explanation did Scriosta give you? Both for what he intended and why you had to accompany him to a city your lot deems haunted?”

Fuck. This wasn’t good. If I’d assumed he’d interrogate Nayana that early on—or at all—I would have briefed her on more than just the necessity for her to pretend submission. Never, in any scenario, had I foreseen Galrach developing a desire to confabulate with her.

“Your Royal Majesty, I was left in the dark about so much. His Royal Highness kept many secrets, still does, I assume, and he also had no special reason for picking Amalach. He just assured that visiting the ruins is safe and the destroyed city isn’t cursed.”

“So, you believed him to be one of your kind?”

“Yes, Your Royal Majesty.”