These Gilded Seas

Chapter Fourteen: A Sheep to Slaughter

Madam Amaia leads me through a thin crowd of people in matching outfits. The girls all wear long dresses and aprons; the boys have gray pants and loose-fitting white shirts. They're an ocean of muted neutrals.

No one bothers to look at us as we pass, except Josef. He's leaning against a table with his arms crossed over his chest. His darker-gray uniform is smeared with flour and streaked with wet spots. As we walk, a younger boy comes up to him and asks if he can be dismissed. Josef nods wordlessly and goes back to staring at me.

He must be in charge of the kitchens, then.

Once outside the busy room, we cut left through a narrow hallway lit only by a row of small candles sitting in black sconces. It's chilly away from the ovens, and the cold stone walls don't really help. They're made from the same material as the outside of the palace—gray and bland. Plush navy rugs cover the floors and mute our footsteps. Otherwise, there's no color to be found anywhere.

It's sort of depressing after living in the rainbow that is Hygge.

"I'm going to take you the back way," Madam Amaia muses as she passes a grand staircase and a gorgeous stained glass door. She's walking so fast that I can't really study either of them, but I hope I get to later. "Keep you away from the palace busybodies"

"Thank you," I mumble.

The older woman nods and ushers me into another hallway. In front of us, stairs ascend. As I hurry up, my bare feet clack against the stone and the sound echoes between the walls. I fight back a cringe, but Madam Amaia just presses a reassuring hand to my back and follows me.

Once we reach the stop of the stairs, I push open a dark wood door and step into another gray stone hall. This one boasts of more decoration than before, a statue of hand-carved marble standing in one corner and a few framed paintings hanging from the walls. Silver candelabras hands from the ceiling, glittering from the candles within them.

It's a show of wealth, and apparently the servants aren't worth that. My stomach turns. Just another example of the greed of royal humans.

I step out of the way, and Amaia closes the door behind herself.

"This way," she says, taking my elbow and pulling me to a door that is cracked open. It's much sturdier looking than the door we just came from and is much more elaborate with its carved panels and curling design. There's a silver plaque hanging on it that reads "King Soren's Study".

I thought we were going to see the advisor? But the door says it's the king's office?

"Wait, aren't we—"

Before I can finish my question, Amaia lifts a fist and knocks softly.

The answer is almost immediate.

"Come in, Amaia."

Chills immediately race down my spine. His voice...

It's low and melodic, a shark's purr, the gentle moaning of a whale separated from its pod, or the guttural scream of a ship's horn as it falls victim to the sea's whims. It's all warning bells and shots of sharp magic telling me to turn around, that it's not worth it.

But I have to go in.

I have no other choice.

So I let Amaia lead me through the doorway and into King Soren's office.

The room is dark. There's a tall window sitting on the far end of the room, but heavy curtains have been drawn closed over it, leaving the room full of shadows and cold air. Soft tinges of pink can be seen on the navy carpet, the only sign of natural light.