Page 147 of Ashborne Forged

With a deep breath, I looked up at the looming castle, with its stone walls, high towers, and an interior that I knew intimately, full of dark corridors, and passages, and hearts.

Before us, servants stood in a broad V, awaiting our arrival, as would be usual. But at the peak of that V, to my surprise, stood the King and Queen of Fyrehold, personally waiting to greet us?

I hastily dropped into a curtsey, as Breckon bowed, before he led me up those broad stairs under the eyes of the royals, who’d never once personally greeted my parents on arrival at the castle, despite the fact that they were of higher blood than Breckon—though far less wealthy, and rarely attendant at court. But still… why was Breckon being afforded such an honor? I’d never anticipated this. When he’d described the king as a friend, I’d assumed he simply meant a political ally.

Instead, as we reached the top of the stairs, I found myself curtseying once more, to the king first, then the queen, murmuring the formal greetings, and watching dumbstruck as Breckon was greeted warmly by the king. So warmly, the skin around his eyes crinkled.

‘Why do you feel shocked?’ Koa asked through the link. I’d warned her to remain off the castle grounds until dark. I didn’t want anyone to see her who might know enough of dragons to recognize her in later days.

‘Breckon wasn’t exaggerating his relationship with the king,’ I told her. ‘He wasn’t bluffing with the Queen of Vosgaarde. He really is a personal friend.’

How had I not known this? Was this why my father pressed for the contract? Or had this developed without my parents knowledge?

They’d avoided all but the necessities of Court for over a decade, telling me they had no interest in political gain. Breckon and my father traded goods, which was how they’d become friends. Breckon had always been more ambitious, more present at Court. But to my knowledge, never an intimate. When I’d been here for the Festival of Lights, I’d rarely heard his name mentioned.

Now, I wondered if that was because I’d been doing my best to avoid speaking of him? How had I missed this?

“Well done, Breckon,” the king said with a smile, as if I were a fish hooked on a line. “We’re looking forward to the ceremony.”

“As am I, Your Majesty,” Breckon replied with an arrogant glance at me.

“What a pleasant excuse for a party,” the queen added, her fine features tight. But she always looked brittle. Once, when my mother had too much wine, she’d joked that the queen looked as if she needed to break wind, but couldn’t find a polite corner to do so.

At ten, I’d thought that uproariously funny.

Now, I wondered if it was a joke at all.

I curtseyed once more. “Thank you both for your hospitality,” I said calmly. “I am humbled.”

“As you should be,” the king drawled. My lungs went cold, but the queen shot him a look, then half-smiled at me. She looked as if she might speak, but the king turned on his heel, already talking to Breckon, striding ahead.

“You’ll be shown to your rooms—I’m certain you need to bathe and rest before dressing. We have guests for dinner tonight, though only a small gathering of the locals. We’ll save the true celebrations for later in the week, and after the nuptials, of course.”

“Of course,” Breckon said, offering me his arm and striding after the king so quickly, I was forced to trot to keep up. The queen swept along in her husband’s wake, her eyes trailing to the tapestries on the wall, or the bronze bust in the alcove of the grand entrance hall, or the crown molding in the hallway. The woman rarely seemed to keep a thought in her head beyond fashions, or pretties, as she called the fine décor and art of the castle, which she was constantly rearranging, or replacing, piece by piece.

I nodded and made inane listening noises as the king and Breckon rambled about hunting and horseflesh while we walked. Once, I thought the queen might speak to me. But her voice never reached me, and she was soon staring at the lovely, velvet curtains that had been erected in the alcoves of this wing since I left. The colors had shifted from a rich burgundy, to a deep navy instead.

A coterie of servants followed in our wake—those we’d brought with us from Breckon’s estates, along with many from the castle. They carried our trunks and whispered among themselves, preparing to serve once we were assigned our quarters.

It wasn’t until the footmen hurried ahead to open the doors of a large chamber in the residential floor of the Royal wing that I realized we were being housed like family. Literally, on the same floor as the royals themselves.

I blinked, trying not to let the shock show in my expression as Breckon led me through the double-doors that were only two halls away from the royals’ personal suites.

I’d always been comfortable in the castle, always placed in a suite of prestige offered only to personal visitors of the king. But this?

I glanced at Breckon as we entered a huge suite, the ceiling even higher than the rooms I’d been given for the Festival of Lights a few months earlier. Two fireplaces in the sitting room. An adjoining bathing room, and servant’s closet. And then, another set of double-doors were pushed wide by a footman’s flourish, and a huge bedchamber revealed behind them, large enough for a desk, a small table, and two chairs.

It was a chamber suitable for a high ranking married couple.

I swallowed quickly, but didn’t speak as we were ushered in.

“These will be your rooms—in which I’ll join you following the ceremony,” Breckon said, patting my hand on his arm, which made me want to it my hand back. But I made myself smile. “Perfect—and an honor. Thank you, Your Majesties.”

The fact that the royals had accompanied us to see the suites was, in itself, of note.

Why were we being treated like family?

The discussion of the rooms and the queen’s pleasure with the decorations went straight over my head. I prayed my nodding and smiling was appropriately placed, because I couldn’t take anything in.