The Dark World

Chapter Eleven: The King's Judgment

When they arrived at the ornate double doors leading to the King's parlor, Lieutenant Leon Greyjoy stepped in front of the Commander and Mina. His gloved fingers wrapped around the silver doorhandles and pressed down. The hinges gave a little sigh as the doors swung back.

Mina looked on, ummoved by the invitation to enter. Instead of moving forward, her attention drifted to the end of the corridor. It was pure instinct. Part of her desperately wanted to break free and flee.

Instead, she swallowed down her fear. It burned like a stiff drink that strangled the throat. Fighting that urge to strangle, her mind focused on every detail, every branching path, that it could find.

The palace was as she remembered from her fateful night; it was a portrait of excessive opulence. There were glittering mirrorglass floors, speckled with gold. Richly dyed and painted tapestries adorned the walls, trapping in the heat during the winter and adding needed color to an otherwise bleak palate. Delicately crafted chairs gilded with silver and gold and studded in jewels had been set against the walls at measured intervals. A domed stained-glass ceiling hung over them, inviting the moonbeams to spill into the passageway whenever the clouds parted.

It all deeply unnerved her. 

She felt small, insignificant. Mostly, she felt like an impostor. She didn't belong here, with these people, entertaining His Royal Highness. Worse, Mina was certain they knew. They knew she was a speck, a mere mote of dust.

She was no Summoner. She was a thief.  She had no name, no land, no title, no claim to anything or anyone.

And, for all her scavenging and hard-earned meals in the Rook, others lounged in vast riches and feasted regularly. Resentment prickled her as she began pricing what the trinkets in the hallway would fetch her on the black market. She could feed so many mouths with what they would yield.

"Miss Hightower," Leon said, voice cutting through her thoughts, "ladies first." He glanced in the direction of the doors, open wide like the gaping maw of a beast.  A beast Mina did not want to enter.

Leon's gesture, however, was only a courtesy. Before Mina could fully appreciate what was happening--the gravity of the circumstances--the Commander tugged her forward, and, without hesitation, she matched his stride.

She didn't repress the wince pulling the lines of her face tight when they crossed the threshold to the room. The moment her foot pressed against the hardwood of the King's conservatory, a strangling sensation of dark foreboding gripped her. Her focus splintered in all directions. Fractured, she saw the room in short, hesitant glances, like a camera shutter closing and opening in quick repetition.

Nothing about this setup made her comfortable. She didn't have a plan. She didn't know what was expected of her. Hell, she didn't know the proper protocol for being introduced to the King. Was there bowing involved? Oaths to swear? Well-worn recitations of fealty?

To her surprise and relief, the room was small, almost cozy, and simply adorned. Instead of mirrorglass marble, the floors were made of worn wood and the walls were lined with books in simple bookcases, instead of thick tapestries. The gold and silver dipped furnishings had been replaced with lumpy leather chairs and understated side tables, some of which looked weathered, and others of which had stains.

The King sat behind a small writing desk. A neat stack of envelops had been set at one corner. In front of him was a large scroll; the parchment was thick and white as snow. Balanced in his left hand was a silver pen that flew across the page in quick, choppy strokes.

Engrossed, he continued penning his thoughts until Mina and the Commander reached the middle of the room, where they stopped. The Commander straightened, pulling as taut as a the string of a marionette. He squared his shoulders, and he lifted his chin slightly.