Page 21 of Elysian

I kept my spine straight, not blinking at his lean forward.

“Why is she so frightened of you?” I asked unimpressed.

He pulled back a bit, visibly taken aback by my challenge. This was not a good man. He was the epitome of how many entitled bluebloods behaved.

The door swung open.

The blond officer stood at the entrance. He frowned, taking in how close he stood and how I shrunk away from him.

“Has she finished, Officer Devin?” he asked, nothing of note in his tone.

Officer Devin leveled a hateful look at me. I did not twitch, and by the narrowing of his eyes, he did not like that.

“Yes,” he said, extending an arm.

I stepped past him, taking my time. My damp hair moved around my shoulders, touching the bare skin. The blond man said nothing as I stepped out. Drusilla waited there, and I came to a halt.

She appraised me from gown to hair. Her lip curled with disgust.

“It will do,” she announced and looked at the blond. “Let us go, Officer Brandt.”

She turned her back on me. I had a clear shot of her back. Easily, I could spring forward. Officer Brandt cleared his throat and studied me through squinted eyes. If I attacked Drusilla, I might not have a chance to work alongside Al.

I ground my teeth and fell into step behind her.

“You will stand aside, as you have in the past, and serve alongside the other feeders.” She spoke as she walked us through the council wing, past the ascending steps to the Archives. Taking me to a section I had yet to see. “You will follow the feeder waiting for you at the entrance.”

Another pair of officers stood at an open entrance of a hall half the size of the one hosting Cassiel’s throne, yet it was more elaborate—the west banquet hall. Gold sconces lined the top of the wall, holding the flames alive.

I slowed even as Drusilla continued inside, passing Branwen.

Officer Brandt left my side to approach the other officers at the door. I continued forward to Branwen.

She curtsied.

“My lady, you will be personally serving Lord Vaner. Ensure his wineglass is full. Come and I will hand you the pitcher.”

She matched her stride with mine as we entered.

The polished floors were ivory with gold embedded within the reflective stone. Upon entering, chatter and clinking glass assaulted my senses. Along the long table were various council members dressed in beautiful clothes. Velvet coats and trousers in various ivory shades. The women sitting beside each of the men were notably younger, all in pale dresses.

“Vera told me,” Branwen whispered, and the chatter became a hum in the background. I kept my reaction under wraps and followed her to a corner where there were two pitchers. She handed me one, and her fingertips touched mine, lingering pointedly.

I faintly nodded.

Vaner sat at the head of the table, and right beside him was Cassiel dressed in a black silk tunic that angled tighter in a manner that said it was tucked into trousers. Thick cuffs bound his wrists together, chained to matching iron around his ankles. Hollow dips indented his cheeks. Veins had become more visible along his temples; black lines beneath the surface. I had not realized how malnourished he had become.

Drusilla sat beside Cassiel, cooing over him. She held a glass full of blue liquid to his lips. He sneered, drawing straighter.

“You promised to behave, son,” she tsked, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“I never believed I would see a Warlord collared like a dog.” One of the council members who sat opposite Cassiel laughed.

“Because you have always been a pessimist, Lord Dillon,” Drusilla chimed in, turning to look at Cassiel who seemed to find the ivory cloth covering the table fascinating. “And he is my son. Show some respect,” she chided.

Why was Cassiel so still? Why had he not fought this? Despite the line of officers behind Vaner, they would not overpower him . . . I followed his attention. Beside the entrance, against the corner stood Egan. In his hand was the effigy.

Branwen led me around the long table, crossing past Ida who stood with her back flush to the wall. She did not seem as bothered; instead, smiling as if holding secrets. I focused my attention on the chill seeping through the glass into my palm.