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Or more than a few things.
I chanced a look back, silently contemplating if I could run for it. Not going to happen. Not only did Batian have much longer legs than I, but his Catalyst gave me a look as though she was expecting it.
By the Goddess! It was as if they knew me or something. Even the Boy moved one step over, blocking the straight shot to the end of the hall that stretched forever with its tall ceilings and sconce-covered walls that were an endless length of black stone, made longer by the lack of windows that were a signature this far into the castle.
The royal chamber had once been located near the front of the Runturin, but Mother had demanded it be moved closer to the mountain the Runturin was built into after she and Father married, citing safety concerns. Now, this deep into the castle, everything was a maze of identical dark corridors and flickering purple shadows thanks to the low blue fire some fíra had set.
I’m sure some found them safer. For me, they were only a long, gloomy walk to my parents.
“I’ll be there with you.” Batian’s voice had dropped as he wrapped his hand around mine. His hand was big and covered in calluses from years of fighting, each one of them familiar. His touch was the same comforting weight it had always been for every one of these meetings.
Warmth from his palm radiated through me as we turned the corner and faced the giant metal doors that stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall of the oversized corridor. The deep gray stone rippled with purple shadows from the banks of low-burning fire by the floor. It gave us enough light to see and made everything feel like it was haunted by some sinister spirit.
“Just don’t make me punch you again,” I finally said, deflecting the pain gnawing at my chest. He chuckled, squeezing my hand as the chill from those giant doors hit me. I didn’t know what it was about those, but sometimes I swore they were made of ice.
Guards from the Ramal’s royal army stood straighter at our approach, whatever they had been talking about cutting off with a hiss. Black-gloved hands flew to golden swords, purple tunics and white capes fluttering at the quick movement.
“You have returned, sire,” one of them said with more flare than was necessary as he gave a quick nod to Batian and a slight glance to me.
I made sure to cough extra loud that time, which earned me a baritone growl from behind me. I coughed again.
They want a sick princess; I’ll give them a sick princess.
“And you have brought the Princess.” He didn’t sound nearly as excited to see me.
I coughed obscenely loud that time, which earned me a look that could have been humor or frustration from Batian and yet another growl from the Boy. I could have sworn, however, that Batian’s Catalyst was once again trying to swallow her laugh.
“I have. Please announce us.” The man gave him a bow, not even sparing me a nod before he disappeared into a smaller door that had been cut into the large metal ones.
“Try to control yourself, Elara,” Batian hissed as the booming voice of our announcement echoed through the door.
“I always do.”
He glanced in warning, but it wasn’t a lie. I always tried. I just wasn’t very good at succeeding.
A second later, the larger double doors began their slow, creaking advance. Batian led me through the moment they were wide enough for us to pass, the aroma of stale dust that I usually associated with the castle replaced by the crisp scent of a wind before the first snowfall of the year.
“Your Royal Majesty, Queen Dalyah, I present the Crown Prince Batian Dulane, our future Ramal, and the Princess Elara Illianna Dulane.”
The Boy and Batian’s Catalyst moved to either side of the door as we entered, staying at the back of the large open space. Not for the first time, I wished I could join them.
The throne room was massive, the soot colored stone broken up with large stained-glass panels that were illuminated from the back to give off the illusion of daylight. The flickering flame behind them, however, cast weird streaks of color over the stone floor, making the whole space look as though it was moving.
On the far end of the cavern sat two oversized thrones, one made of onyx, the other of ivory. The people in them matched their pedestals. My father, the Ramal, sat in elegant clothes of violet and gold, his dark curly hair and beard trimmed short. He sat with a sag, his eyes gazing off into nothing. He did sit a little straighter as we walked in and I gave him a little wave. He waved back, even though Batian was already giving me a warning glance.
Right. Be a princess. Control yourself.
Mother, on the other hand, sat straight and tall, her ivory throne matching the silvery white of her hair and her pale blue dress that draped far beyond where her feet were. She looked as though she was more dress than person. Or maybe it was that she was being eaten by the dress, the heavy white fur trim on the gown threatening to swallow her whole. If one didn’t get too close, you would swear she was an ice statue sitting there. Fitting, seeing as that was her power.
She could wield ice with a skill never seen before in a Requisite. She embodied the skill, right to the glare of displeasure she was currently fixing me with.
Clearly, it didn’t take her long to notice the dirt on my dress, or maybe it was that I was wearing cotton and not silk, or that my hair wasn’t coiled the way a Princess’s hair should be. I straightened my back, preparing for whatever blow she would deliver first. By the curl in her lip, I was putting my money on the dirt.
“My children!” Father beamed before Mother could find her voice over her disgust. “It has been an age.”
“Father, it has only been since breakfast,” Batian laughed, squeezing my hand again before replacing his hand on the hilt of his sword. I took the opportunity to straighten my dress more. Not that it mattered. Mother's lip was curling to the point of absurdity now.
I willed my eyes not to roll. I didn’t want to know what hell would await me on the other side of that action.
