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I left the drawing room without looking back.
In the ballroom, the dancing continued, the frivolous couples twirling and laughing as if they didn’t have a care in the world, as if this city didn’t deal in blood and death.
Leaving the stifling ballroom behind, I went back to the ample foyer. Others were there, meandering the large, white space, holding glasses of wine and admiring the paintings on the walls.
A fire crackled in a massive fireplace at the very back of the room, generating enough heat to make me want to run out into the frosty night. A thousand thoughts tangled in my mind. I wanted to scream and rage at this world. Why did some people have everything they wanted while even the most basic things were stolen from me?
I stopped, my mind torn between what I’d come here to do and what I’d heard. The room seemed to spin.
Two women, a brunette and a blonde, stood to my right, glancing up at a large painting. A girl in a nearly-transparent white dress twirled in the middle of prairie dotted with purple flowers. Her blond braids flew in the wind, unraveling into undulating strands.
“It’s a remarkable painting,” the brunette said. “They have a similar one in the throne room.” The last two words were pronounced with emphasis in a tone meant to cause envy.
Drawn by the conversation, I turned casually and glanced up at the painting. The women hadn’t noticed me, but pretending to admire the canvas, I hoped to appear inconspicuous.
“You’ve been in the throne room?” the blonde asked, equal measures impressed and envious.
The brunette sipped her wine, stretching her moment of satisfaction. “Yes,” she finally said. “Rupertus and I visit with the Queen often. As a matter of fact, he’s with her now.”
“Could you show me?” the blonde asked, inclining her head toward a darkened corridor.
“Holy gambit, no!” the brunette exclaimed. “That would be highly inappropriate.” She whirled on her heel, acting offended. When she noticed me, she blinked in surprise. “Pardon me,” she said, then walked around me and marched toward the ballroom.
The blonde stayed in front of the painting, pretending, as I did, to admire it. From where I stood, I could see her neck was red with shame. She didn’t move until her complexion had gone back to normal.
As she walked away, I thanked her with a small bow. She gave me a rehearsed smile. She had no idea what she’d done. The palace was huge, finding the throne room in one night would have been impossible, unless I just happened to stumble upon it. I didn’t have that kind of luck.
Walking confidently as if I knew exactly where I was going, I headed down the corridor the blonde had indicated. I didn’t glance back to check if anyone had noticed me, but no one had cried out in alarm. I figured that meant I was safe.
The corridor was long and dim, illuminated only by a few gas sconces.
A myriad of other passages extended in different directions with no hint of where they led. Why had I thought this would be easy?
The music from the ballroom receded the deeper I went. Silence grew. My heart hammered in my chest and pounded in my ears. The fear was not for me, but for Timotei. If something happened to me, all hope for his freedom would be lost.
I opened several doors to find empty drawing rooms, libraries, long and airy dining rooms, but no throne room. The entrance would have to be grand for a throne room, wouldn’t it? I hadn’t seen anything luxurious enough yet, at least not in this passage.
Clocks ticked behind some of those closed doors, punctuating every second of my futile search.
At the end of the hall, a set of filigree doors stood closed. They were grand enough for the Queen’s throne room. I tried the handle. It didn’t give. Of course the doors would be locked, especially if the scepter lay somewhere behind them.
I felt for my dagger in my boot. A simple lock wouldn’t stop me.
Red eyes flashed before my mind in a reminder that it wasn’t the locked door I was supposed to worry about. If the Queen’s Bishops were anything like Dragoslav and Balan, they might be lurking behind unexpected corners. With Talyssa’s blood in my veins, I might be able to outrun and perhaps overpower a Knight, but a Bishop? Never.
I angled my dagger between the narrow gap between the doors. Eyes closed and ears tuned, I worked the weapon until I heard a click. Then, I pushed the latch out of the way and pulled the handle. The door opened. A smile spread across my lips.
The sound of laughter came from one of the many rooms I’d passed and ignored down the hall. The door opened. A sliver of light split the hall in two.
Quickly, I slipped behind the filigree door I’d just unlocked and eased it closed. Leaving a gap, I peered out and watched as two people stepped into the hall: two men, a short one in a white uniform, and a tall one in a regular suit. They were holding hands. I squinted in the dim light and was able to make out a Knight insignia in the arm of the shorter man.
He closed the door to the room and turned to leave, but the taller man pressed the shorter one to the wall and began kissing his neck.
The light from a nearby sconce illuminated their faces.
My mouth went dry as I recognized Knight Traian, my Quadrant leader. His slender face and hook nose were unmistakable. And he wasn’t kissing a man.
Traian was kissing White Knight Ferko, the Decapitator herself.