𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 ✔

Chapter Nine

Mrs. Dansbury disappeared from our sight in a matter of seconds, leaving us to stand there in uncomfortable silence.

Then, the silence grew deafening once the voices that seeped under the large doors came to a halt. My stomach dropped, and for a moment my body begged me to flee. If it had not been for the button in my mouth, I would have surely chewed my lip off in all the anxious anticipation. I was scared of the people in that room that waited for us, I was scared of what they were going to think and say about me.

I was terrified that they would hate me.

The truth was that I feared the thought of being disliked, unwanted and alone. I wanted to be accepted, loved and a part of something. I did not wish to stand in the shadows any longer. All while being loathed by the very people who were supposed to have loved me to the bitter end. I was tired of being forced to take their beatings, their abuse.

A small voice of doubt and fear whispered into my ear, "If I run away now and keep running. Then I could be free of it all. . . I could disappear to the coast or the mountains and no one would ever find me. I could hide away for the rest of my life and be happy."

Run? Hide? I did not want to hide; I was tired of hiding. I did not want to run. I was sick of pretending everything was okay and accepting only what was given to me. I wanted more, and I was going to do whatever it took to have what I thought I deserved.

The doors slowly creaked open, and I was sure we were all thankful for being forced to wear those silly gilded masks. Because I, for one, was not confident in my ability to hide the terror on my face, especially once I saw all those hungry eyes looking back at me.

As we all hesitantly made our way into the massively grand space, I couldn't help but peer around in awe at the beauty that stood before me.

Six massive marble statues of men in golden tunics had been carved into the pillars, making them not only beautiful to look at but functional as well. They held up the ceiling with their arms and shoulders while kneeling on a pedestal. The six marble men had been spaced quite the distance apart leading up to the throne, and around the base of them, obscuring the entire floor, was a great deal of people.

The walls were ornate like the rest of the palace, but on them hung huge paintings of bloody battle scenes and paradises. As well as large portraits of the Alwyns, both those dead and alive. The room was about three levels high, and around the second level balconies lined the walls and were reserved for some of the more important guests. From them hung tapestries that bore the Alwyn family crest, which was the head of a wolf with teeth bared as it held a sword in its mouth, and that of the new religion.

The Alwyns were known as the war wolves of Myrce, as the family had not lost a single war in the last two hundred years, nor had they been dethroned. They had always been that of a large family, a pack, and took care of their own. And despite our kingdom being smaller than others, the Alwyns were feared and respected by their enemies and allies, as well as loved by their people.

At the far end of the room was the King's throne, and it looked ancient. The hauntingly beautiful seat was made from a glossy dark wood, appeared two times the size of the king, and carved into it was symbols I had never seen before. Above the king, deeply carved into the wood, was the head of a wolf, where a real, very large, sword was sheathed in its growling mouth. Making me wonder if it had been the sword the King had used to win the previous war, when he cleaved the head from the late Thufrim King's body.

Painted on the wall behind the throne was a mural of a giant wolf in chains, biting off the right hand of the man, in armor, who stood before him. It was a grand sight, befitting of the family that had sat before it. But also a warning to those who dared attempt to fool an Alwyn.