Ayla frowned, displeased that their private moment had been interrupted.
Looking back, she spotted a knight in the Imperial Guard uniform hurrying through the rear garden. It was Rowen, who had been assigned to escort her father in place of Varkas, the expedition's supreme commander.
The knight bowed before them, paying Ayla a brief courtesy before turning urgently to his commander.
“His Majesty commands that you attend him at once.”
Ayla knew intuitively that Senevier was behind the summons. One look at Rowen’s grim face was enough to tell her that something foul was brewing.
She bit her lip. This pilgrimage had been officially sanctioned by the Council. Moreover, her betrothal to Varkas was an alliance the conservative nobility—staunch supporters of the Crown Prince—had labored long and hard to forge. Whatever schemes that woman concocted now, she could not overturn it.
Even so, an ominous foreboding gnawed at Ayla. Had not that woman employed every device for years to drive a wedge between Gareth and Varkas?
She had even overridden the fierce objections of the Grand Duke of Shearkan, binding Varkas to Talia’s side for seven long years the moment he completed his investiture. Without doubt, she was manipulating the Emperor once more to disrupt them.
Knowing full well it breached decorum, Ayla stepped between the two men.
“I shall accompany you.”
“Your Highness, His Majesty has only…”
“I am an Imperial Princess of this realm. I possess the right to seek an audience with His Majesty the Emperor whenever I desire. And I intend to see my father now, alongside my betrothed.”
Confronted by her resolve, the knight hesitated, casting an uncertain glance at Varkas for direction.
A prick of irritation flared within Ayla at the notion that Varkas’s word carried more weight than her own, though she took care not to let it show. She was well aware that the knights practically revered him.
At length, Varkas gave a nod.
“Accompany Her Highness.”
With his consent granted, the knight stepped to her left, falling into escort formation.
Holding her posture rigid, Ayla departed the garden and made for the Main Palace.
Passing through the portal of the Great Hall, she was met by an interior bathed in glaring summer sunlight. She traversed the gleaming white marble floor and mounted the maroon-carpeted grand staircase.
Upon the immense double doors of the audience chamber were carved the likenesses of Dorian, founding Emperor of the Roem Empire, and the knights who had pledged him their swords.
Casting a disinterested glance over the heroic statues she had passed a thousand times, she entered the hall. Ahead stretched a vast floor laid with intricate carpets, terminating at the golden throne.
Ayla drew herself upright, looking toward the man who held absolute dominion over the realm, and the woman beside him. Her father wore his customary gravity, while Senevier…
Her thoughts snapped. The moment she laid eyes on the Empress, crowned in that shimmering golden radiance, a helplessness bordering on despair seized her.
With every passing year, Senevier seemed only to grow more breathtaking. It bordered on the grotesque.
‘The golden devil…’
Whenever she looked upon the woman, Ayla was reminded of a fable from her childhood.
Once, in a quiet village, lived two brothers who loved each other above all else. But a devil, despising every good and pure thing in the world, sought to sever their bond. He cast a massive ingot of gold upon their path. Blinded by its dazzling luster, the brothers turned upon one another, fighting until both lay dead.
The first time she beheld Senevier, Ayla had thought that very gold had taken human form to destroy them.
Her brilliance had blinded the sight and heart of an honorable monarch, steeped another woman’s life in endless grief, and condemned Ayla and her brother to endure bitter sorrow and humiliation.
As if that were not enough, the devil had at last borne the Emperor a son, threatening even Gareth’s claim.
Ayla’s eyes drifted toward the young boy standing beside the Empress. The Second Prince, Asros Roem Guirta, watched her and Varkas with bright, inquisitive green eyes.
Every time she encountered that boy and his perceptive gaze, a sharp dread constricted her chest. It was utterly baffling why Gareth chose to vent his venom on Talia—a mere lightning rod for scandal—rather than the younger brother who stood next in line for the throne.
The memory of the indignities her mother had suffered on Talia’s account made Ayla’s blood boil as well. Yet Talia remained a trivial creature, entirely incapable of threatening them.
Since arriving at court, all that girl had ever managed was tormenting defenseless servants and creating spectacle after spectacle that set tongues clicking. How could such a witless brat pose any danger?
To Ayla, Talia was simply repulsive and somewhat pitiable. An ugly remnant of the past to be endured, nothing more. For that reason, she could magnanimously overlook the girl’s spiteful antics whenever they brushed against her.
Asros, however, was a different matter. She knew how many in the palace were drawn to the child’s innocent countenance. And she knew that those troubled by Gareth’s volatile temper were quietly placing their hopes upon the young prince…
“Have you forgotten how to pay your respects?”
The resonant voice broke Ayla’s reverie. The Emperor was regarding her with an inquiring gaze.
Stepping alongside her betrothed, Ayla dipped into a polite bow.
“I followed Lord Shearkan here, eager to see your face, Father. I beg you to forgive my sudden intrusion.”
“Raise your head. You are welcome before me at any time.”
The measured voice of Virus Roem Guirta, Emperor of Roem, echoed from above. Borne perhaps of the guilt he felt each time he looked upon her, reminded of the wife he had discarded, he had always treated her with exceptional indulgence.
Suppressing a cold scoff, Ayla bowed her head once more.
“I thank you for your grace, Sire.”
“It is just as well. The First Princess would have learned of it soon enough, so we may as well inform everyone together.”
Senevier, lightly stroking her son’s reddish-brown curls, leaned in and murmured to the Emperor.
Asros peered up at them, wide-eyed, clearly fascinated by the hushed exchange between the adults. Watching her half-brother with guarded eyes, Ayla turned a sharp look upon the Empress.
“What is it you intend to explain?”
“His Majesty will impart the particulars.”
Senevier answered in an airy whisper, gently patting the back of the Emperor’s hand. Ayla took great care to ignore the gesture.
After a heavy silence that seemed to stretch without end, her father, who had been weighing his words, finally spoke.
“I have called you here today to deliver a change regarding this pilgrimage.”
“Command me, Sire. I am listening.”
Varkas showed not the slightest ripple of surprise at the sudden notice. The Emperor appeared momentarily unsettled by his commander’s impassive demeanor, but soon spoke in plain terms.
“Talia shall also join this pilgrimage. Assign additional guards to her, and prepare the necessary provisions.”
Ayla stood frozen at the decree.
END