Page 17 of Crown of the Courtesan

After reaching a wide stone landing, the captain raps his knuckles against the wooden threshold. The arched door creaks open, and we enter, passing silent sentries and healers who eye us curiously.

It’s a circular chamber, comfortable with shaggy rugs, sofas, chairs, and overflowing bookshelves. The fireplace burns wood fiercely while a telescope points at the constellations through a crumbling hole in the turret wall.

King Xander hunches over and coughs violently beside the fire while two attendants hold him up to prevent his collapse. Even though I’ve just seen him at the Bidding Ceremony, I hardly recognize him in his dressing robes as we give our bows and curtsies. He looks so small, so ordinary, so sick.

King Xander’s eyes rise and catch sight of Balor’s bending form. “What is he doing here?” the king barks at Wellcrest. “I said to be discreet.”

“Your Grace,” Balor drawls, low and oily. “I am her Keeper. It is my responsibility if she’s offended you in some way.”

“You are the only offense before me.” Once more, the king begins coughing, leaving blood on his white handkerchief. He motions for the wingback chair, and his attendants bring it to him. He lowers himself onto its cushion with a deep sigh and rasps, “Let it be known, she has no Keeper and never will again⁠—”

My eyes widen. “What—do you—do you mean?” Embarrassment washes over me as I remember that I’m speaking to the monarch. “Your Grace…” I dip into an extra curtsy, hoping I didn’t cause insult.

He gives me a skeptical look, tinged with a hint of hesitation. “If what Phyrne claims is correct, you are the daughter of Queen Theodora and the rightful heir to the throne.”

My hand flies to cover my mouth, stopping me from saying something I might regret. Because what the king says couldn’t be true—it simply couldn’t be. My sharp pinky nail digs into the skin above my upper lip. Dizziness tilts me while I process what he’s just said.

“That is impossible,” Balor exclaims, his stance wide as he gestures sharply with his hands. “Phyrne has always been conniving, but to bring Tabitha into it is low, even for her.” It’s surprising he would defend me after everything he’s put me through.

“The only reason I have not had you thrown from this tower is that you are the Chancellor, but I caution you: utter another word… and I’ll summon the strength to expel you myself. I am in no mood for your distractions. Now shut your foolish mouth.” Balor’s face puckers into sour obedience as he stops talking, eyes narrowing into slits. “Bring her forward,” the king orders the guards. “We shall listen yet again.” Under his breath, he adds, “And perhaps this time, she’ll make more sense.”

We wait in silence while they retrieve Madame Phyrne. My mind tries to sort through everything that’s happened since her collapse, but my thoughts barrel into a wall.

Flipping on his heel, Balor exits the chamber, and I exhale. Whatever is happening is better without his presence.

The king beckons me to his seat as attendants bring more pillows. I kneel by his side. He locks eyes with me, his back rigid, as he seizes my shoulders with an ice-cold grip. “Regardless of what happens tonight, you must assume the heirdom. It’s yours by blood law⁠—”

“But—”

“Refrain from interrupting and listen,” he implores, releasing me. “You must also never surrender to the Witch-King, not until you wipe his lands from the map and claim their resources in retribution for the atrocities they’ve committed against our people and our ancestors.”

I rise as the stomping boots announce the guards’ return with Madame Phyrne. I’ve known her all my life, ever since my earliest memories of training, and yet I’ve never seen this wild, terrified expression on her face.

The king tries to speak, but blood gurgles in his throat, bubbling onto his lips before he wipes it away once more. “Well, what—are you waiting for?” he sputters. “Tell the girl what—what you told me.”

She falls to her knees and clutches the fabric of my ripped ceremony gown. This distraught madame is so unlike the one who drilled etiquette and composure into my lessons. Looking at how frail and meek she’s become makes me sick to my stomach.

“Is it true?” I ask softly, my voice sounding strange.

Every wrinkle converges on her face as her white brows knit together. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Her words ring through my ears with weighted implications. Panic prickles over my body like sharpened needles.

I snatch my gown from her hands and back away before I flee to the opposite side of the king’s chair, my breathing growing rapid.

This must be a fever dream.

Wellcrest stands beside me, barely moving, his expression unreadable. I’m unsure if this is an attempt to be reassuring or if he wants to be close just in case he needs to detain me.

My racing thoughts boil down to one question. “Why?”

Phyrne cries, “They sent a vision.”

The king stops hacking, and his eyes flit back and forth like he’s trying to work something out. “You said nothing of this earlier.”

“Because they compelled me to seek you out and confess. I wasn’t in control of my body, and still, to this very moment, a lingering presence disturbs the very root of my soul, pushing me to tell you everything. W-what I saw in that place is more than anyone should have to bear. I’m scared that if I speak of them, they’ll invade my thoughts once more—and I won’t go back to that Otherworld labyrinth. I won’t!”

Those in the room remain silent, listening to her.