Page 13 of Fated to the Wicked King

But before I could move to answer it, the heavy steel hatch burst open with a bang.

“What—?” I blinked in surprise.

It wasn’t Chez or the Duchess.

A black stagecoach was floating right outside the front door, despite my loft being about five hundred feet above the ground. Shrouded in shadow, I almost mistook the carriage for storm clouds.

A blank-faced footman wearing a stiff, boxy uniform emerged to open the door, his other arm gesturing for me to get in. The scolding voice that boomed out didn’t come from his sealed mouth.

“Did you think you would escape the king’s notice? It took His Majesty mere moments to figure out who the owner of the boot was that nearly hit his head.”

I wrinkled my nose, mocking my correction out loud to the air, at nobody in particular. “Uh, I think you mispronounced ‘saved his life’.”

“Regardless, the king summons you, and you will be quick about it.”

I almost flinched at the snappy bark in the disembodied voice. For a moment, I couldn’t make myself move. It was much easier to dismiss my apprehension of seeing him last night. But the thought of him seeing me sent a ripple of dread through my insides.

Perhaps to some degree, it was on purpose that I had stayed away, preferring to stay in the dark about the truth. What if there was really no trace left of the man I once knew? What if he was really gone? Irretrievable? As long as we never saw each other again, there would be no proof. I was content to live in the same haze I had been in for the better part of a year. The limbo paradise of not knowing. Schrödinger’s cat.

I considered trying to slip away, to escape, to race through the tower, jump into a rabbit hole, and disappear through the woods. I ran through possibilities the way I would a problem on my chalkboard—outcomes, variables, risk—but emotions were maddeningly unscientific.

There was only one conclusion left to accept. Whatever he had become, whatever we had been, I would walk through that door and face it.

I threw up my hands in resignation. “Fine. Fine. I suppose it is high time to pay tribute to His Royal Majesty.” I unhooked my lab coat from the wall and threw it on, then grabbed my one boot. As I stepped through the hatch onto the metal balcony, that voice boomed again.

“Hands.”

I stared at the iron shackles magically appearing in the blank-faced footman’s grip. My jaw dropped in full skepticism. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Five

STRANGER

The stagecoach left me at the foot of the daunting castle steps.

Despite the brisk wind blowing gaily through the elegant flags upon the castle spires, the morning sun didn’t lend the stone walls and sprawling gardens any cheerier atmosphere than the previous evening. The hazy, shadowy fog muted everything else around us.

The guards backed away almost immediately. None of them were going to escort me inside.

I narrowed my eyes, studying each of their faces—all blank, sealed mouths, stoic eyes staring straight ahead. Were they even awake? Or had they been reduced to mere puppets, much like when the Red Queen was in power?

Cold metal clanked around my wrists, my waist, and between my ankles. Giving another pointed glance around, I held up my hands. “Isn’t this a bit excessive? Have you all forgotten I don’t have magic?”

No one responded to that either.

The great doors to the castle opened with a low groan.

Letting out a huge sigh, I made my way up the steps and through the doors.

Walking down the wide hallway, a chill wafted over my skin.

Last night, the place had blazed with music, laughter, candlelight, swirling gowns, and clinking goblets. Chandeliers blazed like constellations, and the smell of roasted meats and sweet wine drifted through the halls.

This morning, the castle was more of a tomb, halls smelling faintly of dust and cold stone. A stark difference from last evening’s Grand Ball festivities. Most of the torches lining the walls were dim. Shadows gathered thickly in the corners, along the high vaulted ceilings. Silence overwhelmed the air, save for my chains scraping against the marble floor as I walked forward.

Another grand set of doors to my right opened with a creak. I turned to look where the great hall stretched, enormous and silent. At its far end rose the seat of power itself—carved from black stone, looming over the room like a monument.

The king’s massive throne was intimidating. The man standing before it was even more intimidating.