Page 117 of Reign

She scuttled down the hallway, barefoot on the chilling tiles, wearing humble gray rags and balancing mounds of fresh linens in her tiny arms.

“Pay no mind to the goblins and goblinettes—they take their servitude very seriously,” Wolver grumbled.

“Wolver,” a raspy, aged voice vibrated through the hall.

I glanced over my shoulder but saw no one.

“I can take it from here,” the voice called again—this time from directly below me.

Looking down, I beheld another goblin clad in a red doublet and breeches, with a matching cap perched atop his small head. His wrinkled face stared upward as he blinked rapidly, his eyes clouded as though shrouded in fog.

“Billy the Blind, adviser to the Queen,” he said, tapping the daisy-shaped pin fastened to his doublet’s breast. “Her Highness regrets that she’s unable to receive visitors on this eve, but invites you both to join her Unseelie Court on the morrow.”

“We’d be honored,” Fitzroy replied, tilting his head slightly.

I mimicked the gesture, uncertain if it was customary.

“Bronwyn?” Billy called.

A goblinette appeared beside him, her black pigtails framing sallow skin. She wore what resembled an old pillowcase, cinched at the waist with a shoelace.

“Master Billy,” she squeaked, giving him a curtsy.

“Show Prince Fitzroy, and…” Billy hesitated.

“Niamh Smith,” I interjected quickly.

“…Lady Niamh to their chambers. Run them hot baths, arrange dry clothes, and be at their beck and call.”

“Of course, Master Billy.” Bronwyn gave him a curt nod. “Follow me.”

We trailed Bronwyn through a labyrinth of passageways, eventually arriving in the keep where the private chambers were located.

“This will be your chamber, Lady Niamh,” Bronwyn announced, her voice strained as she heaved open the heavy wooden door.

I stepped inside and froze, awestruck by the grandeur. The high ceilings adorned with geometric carvings contrasted sharply with the exposed wooden beams. Ornate tapestries depicting magical creatures in mid-hunt decorated the stone walls. Drawn to the crackling warmth of the fireplace, my attention was captivated by an arched stained-glass window that glimmered dreamily in the moonlight.

“I’m staying here?” I asked, marveling at the opulence.

“If this chamber is to your liking,” Bronwyn replied.

Running my fingers over the intricately carved floral designs on the mantelpiece, I was stunned by the craftsmanship.

“It’s very much to my liking,” I said, squealing in glee. “I’ve never seen a bedchamber this grand!”

Underfoot, the flooring changed from hard boards to something soft and cushiony. Beneath my boots was a thick fur rug, and upon that sat a four-poster bedstead, draped in velveteen curtains and topped with a canopy. Flanking the bedstead were gilded tables adorned with candlesticks flickering atop them. At the foot was a chaise lounge upholstered in sumptuous fabric.

“I should take you to the King’s palace,” Fitzroy said, amused by my delight. “You’d surely faint.”

I caught my reflection in an oval-shaped mirror mounted above a marble vanity. Clad in Fitzroy’s large coat and Finn’s old, fraying breeches, I looked more like a vagabond than someone fit to dwell in this chamber.

“Am I right to assume you’ll be attending the Queen’s Unseelie Court on the morrow?” Bronwyn asked, breaking my reverie.

I nodded enthusiastically. “I’m never leaving,” I declared—and in that moment, I meant it.

Fitzroy laughed. “You’ve yet to taste the food. You might not like it.”

At the mere mention of food, my belly gargled audibly. “It has to taste better than pottage.”