Page 6

6

C hancellor Montaghue led Vivienne and Lewis back into the grand entrance hall, their footsteps echoing against the cool stone. The stern woman behind the desk flicked her gaze toward them, disapproval written in the taut line of her mouth, but she said nothing.

Ahead, two gigantic mahogany doors awaited, their deep grain polished to a near mirror sheen. Flanking them stood two castle guards, their armor gleaming in the fractured light of the stained-glass windows. As the trio approached, each guard seized a massive golden ring embedded in the wood and heaved the heavy doors open, the hinges groaning under the weight.

Vivienne and Lewis gasped in unison as the throne room unfolded before them in breathtaking splendor.

The same gleaming white stone as the entrance hall made up the walls and vaulted ceiling. Three enormous chandeliers hung from above, crafted from hundreds of pieces of sea glass arranged in cascading waves of blues and greens. As the sun filtered through them, rippling reflections danced across the polished floor, an ethereal mimicry of the Phythean Sea beneath the cliffs.

Blue and gold heraldic flags, bearing the royal crest, swayed gently in the drafts from the high-arched windows. The golden threads woven into their fabric shimmered in the light.

At the far end of the room, the throne stood atop a broad stone dais. Carved from dark, thick wood, its back stretched skyward, designed to intimidate anyone who dared stand before it.

Montaghue strode ahead, motioning to a circular mosaic embedded in the floor. “You’ll stand there.”

The command stung, delivered as though she were a child needing direction. Vivienne stole a glance at Lewis, irritation flickering in her eyes.

“I’ll be right here the whole time,” he murmured, his voice steady, reassuring.

Vivienne inhaled deeply, pushing down the unease curling in her stomach. She stepped onto the intricate mosaic, the royal emblem of Fendwyr glinting beneath her feet. Guilt flickered through her. A work of art reduced to a platform for petitioners.

She curtsied, then lifted her gaze to the throne.

The King’s coronation portrait had been generous. Time had not been.

Where the painting had depicted a noble, dignified ruler, the man before her was anything but. His once-dark hair, now a thinning tangle of brown and gray, hung past his shoulders in limp defeat. Wrinkled, pock-marked skin sagged around eyes the color of storm-heavy clouds. A full beard did little to disguise his drooping jowls.

The only aspect retaining any splendor was the crown—a halo of sapphires encircling his brow, their deep blue depths glittering with cold fire. Vivienne grimaced. No amount of jewels could mask the reality: King Berius was a man far past his prime.

Vivienne had expected a small audience, but not the two dozen courtiers murmuring at the edges of the throne room. Their hushed conversations buzzed like a swarm of wasps, their gazes flitting toward her, assessing, dissecting. She brushed her sweat-slick palms down the front of her navy skirts.

To the King’s left, Montaghue stood poised, clutching a stack of booklets and parchment. To his right, a stoic man in full armor gripped a tall staff adorned with the royal flag.

Montaghue leaned in and muttered, “This is Miss Banner.”

“MISS BANNER!”

The thunderous voice of the armored man sent a shockwave through the room.

Vivienne’s heart slammed against her ribs as she jerked back instinctively, a hand flying to her chest. Every muscle in her body braced for an attack that never came. Well, now I know what his job is.

Montaghue barely hid his wince, his lips pressing into a thin line as he flipped through his notes.

Vivienne’s eyes narrowed. We spoke yesterday. Has he already forgotten?

“Ah, yes,” Montaghue drawled. “Miss Banner is here to appeal her Crown housing denial and impending relocation, as well as the legal guardianship of a Miss Roberson.”

Vivienne exhaled sharply, her patience fraying at the edges. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Montaghue’s gaze swept over her, slow and calculating, before he licked his oversized teeth. “So you do not wish to appeal your housing? Or your guardianship?”

“Well... yes, I do, but?—”

“Banner, did you say?” The King’s low, booming voice halted their exchange. “I know exactly who you are.”

Silence fell, the courtiers stilling like statues.

The King’s expression barely shifted, but something about his tone sent a cold shiver up Vivienne’s spine. Why would he know who I am?

“Yes, what an unfortunate turn of events,” he offered, his voice devoid of sympathy. “I was sorry to receive the news of your parents.”

Vivienne drew in a slow, measured breath, but the words did little to disguise the apathy in his gaze. He doesn’t care at all.

“Your Majesty,” she said carefully, “I am here to inquire about their rescue.”

The King’s brows lifted ever so slightly. “Their rescue?” Something dark flickered in his gaze, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with sardonic amusement. “My dear, the time for rescue has long since passed.”

No. No. This isn’t right. Vivienne’s fingernails bit into her palms. He didn’t even try, did he?

“Your Majesty, they are only delayed a few months,” she insisted, her voice firm as desperation wedged its way in. “Surely there is?—”

The King’s expression hardened. “You have my answer.”

The verdict was a steel door slamming shut.

Vivienne’s chest burned with fury. She couldn’t stop the words before they left her lips.

“Sir, you must reconsider,” she pressed, her voice carrying across the cavernous room through gritted teeth. “My parents have served you and your court for decades. For all their loyalty, don’t they deserve to see an ounce of that loyalty returned?”

The air in the room congealed. The courtiers stiffened as if bracing for a blow.

The King raised an unkempt brow.

Montaghue visibly seethed, his neck turning bright red. “His Majesty does not reconsider, and you will address him properly.” A sneer overtook his angular face as his beady eyes inspected her head to toe. “You would do well to remember your station, Miss Banner.”

“YOUR STATION!”

The Court Crier’s voice struck like lightning, drawing another flinch from the room.

The King exhaled heavily, eyes flicking to Montaghue.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” Montaghue muttered, pointing discreetly toward the Crier. “He’s new.”

The King waited as the last reverberation of the Court Crier’s outburst faded. Only then did he inhale, a deep, rattling breath, as if the very act of drawing air pained him.

"You can take comfort in knowing your parents’ work will continue," he said at last. He lifted a heavily ringed hand, the gemstones embedded in his thick, arthritic fingers glimmering. "Captain Alonzo Enyo and his crew will pick up where they left off."

At the King’s signal, a shadow detached itself from the periphery of the throne room.

A man slinked forward, moving with the lazy confidence of someone who had long stopped fearing consequences. He was weathered, with skin like sun baked leather, his complexion permanently darkened by years at sea. His wiry frame spoke of endurance over brute strength, and the jagged scar running down the right side of his face tugged his mouth into a near-perpetual sneer. Greasy strands of black hair clung stubbornly to his balding scalp, their stringy defiance matching the glint of something feral in his eyes. When he grinned, it wasn’t a smile so much as a display of an unsettling collection of uneven, stained teeth, one capped in silver, another missing altogether. His clothes were stiff with grime, the dark tunic and trousers bearing the evidence of neglect. Even from where she stood, Vivienne swore she could smell the salt and sweat ingrained in the fabric. She resisted the urge to step back. Has he or his clothing ever been washed?

The King reclined in his throne. "Enyo is one of my chief advisors," he explained, "and has worked on… various projects for me over the last few decades."

Vivienne caught the fleeting glance exchanged between Berius and Enyo—subtle, but telling. I’m willing to bet those ‘projects’ were either illegal, heinous, or both.

Her gut twisted. This is the man meant to take over my parents’ work? She had doubts he could even read, let alone navigate the delicate world of Antiquarian research. The very idea of him inside the hallowed halls of the Library of Metis was laughable. No. If anyone continues their work, it has to be me.

Vivienne smoothed her skirts, gathered her resolve, and stepped forward.

"Your Majesty," she said, her voice even and intentional. She dipped into a graceful curtsy, though every muscle in her body burned with tension. "With your blessing, I would be honored to continue my parents' zoological expedition and complete their research."

The King’s laugh erupted so suddenly, so dark and guttural, a cold shudder ripped through her.

"They called it a zoological expedition ?" He cackled again, shaking his head. The sound was indulgent and mirthful, like a cat playing with its food. "Your parents always did have a way with words."

Vivienne’s brow creased. What’s funny about what I said? She glanced toward the courtiers, searching for some hint of understanding, but their faces remained impassive. They stood watching and waiting.

The King’s lips curved into something between a grin and a sneer. "I'll offer you a deal, Victoria."

Vivienne bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t dare correct him.

He laced his fingers together, his rings clinking softly. "I will give you one chance to further your parents' work, one opportunity to prove yourself worthy of the Banner name." The predatory smile widened, but his eyes remained cold. "I'll even provide a ship," he added, his voice dripping with mock generosity. "For their… loyalty. "

Something about the way he said loyalty made her stomach turn. "A ship, Your Majesty?"

"Well, yes. Did you plan to swim?" His laughter cracked through the room, booming and theatrical.

The sycophantic courtiers forced laughter of their own, some too eager, others hesitant, their strained faces betraying their discomfort.

The King let the noise swell, then fell silent, waiting for the room to do the same.

When he spoke again, something menacing lurked behind the soft tone of his voice. "Do you accept?"

Vivienne’s fists clenched at her sides. Something is off about this. The unease in her chest spread like ink in water. She searched the King’s face, but there was nothing to read except the smug patience of a man who always got what he wanted. What other option do I have?

Her pulse thundered in her ears. If she accepted, she might find out what really happened to her parents. She would need to figure out care for Briar before she left, but that was a problem for later. Right now, this was her only path forward.

She inhaled deeply, forcing her voice to sound more sure than she felt. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she said, dipping her head. "I accept your generous offer and look forward to building upon my parents' zoological research on the southern continent."

The King clicked his tongue, his amusement returning. "They really never told you, did they?"

Vivienne’s back went rigid. The cruel glint in his gray-blue eyes sent a jolt of ice through her resolve.

"Montaghue," the King snapped. "Clear the room."

The Chancellor bowed so fast it seemed reflexive. "Yes, at once, Your Majesty."

"CLEAR THE ROOM!"

The Court Crier’s shriek split the air in two.

Vivienne flinched, her pulse spiking.

The King barely turned his head as he lifted a thick finger and pointed directly at the Crier. "Start with this imbecile."

The man stiffened, paling beneath his helmet. As the courtiers began filing out of the throne room, Vivienne and Lewis instinctively moved to follow.

"No, Miss Banner." The King’s voice carried above the shuffling feet and fabric.

Vivienne halted mid-step, dread curling in her gut.

"You and your friend stay here."