Seven | h.s

xii

Bloodshot eyes, blue-tinged skin, saliva seeping out from the corners of his mouth. The sight was horrific.

Clara latched onto Beth, grasping her hands in a deadly grip. As she pulled Beth's hands, begging to leave the ghastly scene, Beth searched the sea of frightened courtiers for the Princess. From across the room, she spotted her—Magdalena, in the midst of the pandemonium, slipped away from the table at which she sat and into the servants' passageway that was built into the walls of the Great Hall. Before Beth could break free from Clara to run after the Princess, she found herself in being pushed out of the Hall from one side of her body, and pulled by Clara on the other.

Meanwhile, Magdalena balled up the skirt of her dress in her fists and began to run through the corridor, which was dimly lit by torches along the stone walls. She paused when she came to a fork in the passageway and peered down both options. To her right, she heard the faint footsteps of someone running. She rounded the corner and headed after them.

In the darkness, she could barely see the silhouette of a man. "Harry," she called, her voice echoing in the emptiness of the corridor.

The man came to a halt and turned around, his face backlit by the fire of the torches. "Elena," he said.

She was trembling; knees weak and heart pounding against her ribs, but it was not for fear of him. She ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. "His face, Harry," she whispered, "His dead face."

He held her tight, rubbing her lower back to soothe her small sobs. "I know, but our work here is not yet finished."

———

The King trudged toward the Duke's body, which had been cut from the rope and was laying flat on the stage. He crouched down next to it and pried open his mouth, only to find it empty. Angrily, he tore through the pockets of his clothing, emptying them out like a criminal searching for coins.

"My lord, what—"

"Get everyone out of here," he commanded, cutting off the guard who was speaking to him. "Out! Everyone out!"

The guards began ushering courtiers out of the Hall as if they were cattle in a field, but the King paid no mind. He grasped both sides of the Duke's shirt and pulled, popping the buttons apart, and there he found it; nestled neatly between his undergarments and satin shirt, a square of cloth with red stitching. Gluttony.

He stood to his feet, crumpling the cloth in his fist by his side, and gritted his teeth together. He marched over to the nearest guard and grabbed him by the collar, causing his body to pivot toward him. "Search the palace. Anyone who seems suspicious, take them in for questioning," Felipe demanded. "And no one is to leave their chambers after dark. I want men on duty all night, posted at every corridor. You tell that to your superior." He released the man from his iron grip and watched him dart through the crowd of people, disappearing to deliver the King's message.

———

"You don't understand, I must tend to the Princess," Beth said to the guard outside of her chambers.

"The Princess can manage on her own tonight."

Beth heaved a sigh and folded her arms over her chest. "Why don't you escort me to her chambers? That way, you know where I am going."

"No one is to leave their chambers, my lady. 'Tis the order of the King."

"And will the King not be tended to by his servants? Am I to believe that he will ready himself for retirement?" Beth asked, her brows raised.