Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Pale blue carpet painted a path to the base of an imposing triad of stained glass windows. Depicting the martyred Saints of Ravka, their watered colors splashed patterns across marble sculptures and the thick brocades of the couriers. Sankta Lizabeta of the Roses, a swarm of descending bees illuminated in the foreground. Sankt Feliks Among the Boughs with the branch of the very apples he'd brought to harvest skewered through his chest. Sankta Anastasia occupied the center panel, arms outstretched toward the throne room. Glowing ruby blood poured from her veins to heal the plague that ravaged her lands.
Olenna could paint the colors from memory alone. She'd taken solace beneath their watchful eyes while the nobles and Royals enacted their selfish machinations around her. As she stepped into the light, Courtiers and Advisors pivoted. Necks craned to catch sight of the newcomers. Fabrics hissed as skirts brushed against the floor.
They almost looked as if they hadn't been ready and in position for the better part of an hour. A familiar floral perfume tickled the back of her throat.
A sweeping hum of murmurs floated through the crowd like pollen on a spring breeze. Though rather than flowers, whisperers grew rumors. Olenna had already heard several wild tales in the halls of the Grand Palace. She knew too little of her brother's situation to confirm or deny their validity.
The King and Queen sat atop golden thrones surrounded by voluminous bouquets of gaudy white peonies. The Apparat was glaringly absent from his designated position over the King's shoulder. He and his followers were exiled from the city for their part in The Darkling's coup. The punishment might've been far worse had The Apparat not fled before it was revealed.
A young footman scurried forward and stood at attention. His voice echoed off the marble pillars and arching ceiling. "Tsesarevich Vasily Lantsov, Grand Duke Nikolai Lantsov, and Grand Duchess Olenna Lantsov." The royal trio stepped forward as a united front. Nikolai Lantsov, the returning darling Prince between his beloved siblings. Olenna sensed Alina and her company following behind, but she couldn't dare a glance behind her to check. She lifted her head high, chest rising and falling within the corseted bodice. She felt the courtier's envious eyes on her like the slither of a serpent along her skin. Any glimmer of weakness would be an opportunity to strike.
