Page 63 of Lord of the Hollow Court
“Show me where the stables are,” Katty said.
Chapter Thirty
Glamourous
The guards allowed Braam no time to clean up before dragging him to the pompously large doors of Clawmark Castle’s audience chamber. The shadowed hall that led to it was wide and endless, framed by arched windows that spilled night from both sides. Walking it—or, rather, being walked down it—had the feel of walking to his doom. By design, Braam was sure.
He glanced behind him, searching for even a glimpse of Madeleif, like a frightened boy seeking his parents’ room with only lightning for illumination. Whatever her plans, she was the closest thing to an ally he had here, and she’d disappeared just after he was yanked from the carriage, barely able to keep hold of his cane in the process. Braam was alone now, in a way he could not have comprehended before this.
A wife he’d been untrue to after less than a day lay behind him. A very angry, vindictive High demi-Fae woman lay before. And somewhere in the more comfortable parts of the castle was a woman who would make a co-conspirator of him. One who was convinced he still loved her, even after all she’d done. Yet as those doors grew nearer, even she began to resemble a friend.
What a heartless place.
As those monolithic doors cracked open, spilling enough warm light onto Braam to make him squint, he was beset by indecision. This wasn’t about him, about his pride or his vanity—two things the Court of Claws knew well. He could go in defiantly, chin raised, back straight and ready to give them hell as any lord defending his court should do. Or he could take the subtler approach. Show them how tired he was, how dispirited. Make it harder for them to wrangle submission from him and look righteous while doing it.
Yet for all his bravado, he had only been inside the Court of Claws once, the last year they hosted a seasonal revel. The autumn equinox brought a flurry of color and movement to an otherwise gray and unpleasant court. It was where he’d met Misman. Where he’d stolen Misman, too.
Braam found himself hoping Esmee de Groot would not be there. Yet with one glance at his location, he understood he was not a lucky a man.
High chin it shall be, Braam decided, and strode in before the guards could drag him. He would show all the dignity he could muster. It’s what a good lord should do.
He wished he’d been a better one.
Even with his keen fae sight, Fenna de Groot was a metallic glint on a distant throne. The size of the Court’s Lady’s audience chamber dwarfed that of the hall, though it was without the benefit of exterior windows. At least it was warmer here.
Despite their efforts to hold him back, Braam walked ahead of the Clawmark guards, his cane tapping steadily beside him. He counted on that rhythm as he walked. A blood red carpet pooled on the floor nearer to the throne, while columns so great he wondered whether the room had been hollowed from living rock surrounded him, making the room stunningly large and close at once. It was no grand fate to appear before a de Groot, and whomever designed the audience chamber wanted to maximize the anxiety and despair its latest scion elicited.
Framing the carpet ahead were hundreds of the Court of Claws’ courtiers and lesser lords and ladies, all of them watching in silence. They wore feathers in flouncy velvet hats, and doublets better suited to the Renaissance. It was almost like stepping back in time. Into the Fae Inquisitions, perhaps.
If he squinted at Fenna de Groot, he could make out a heavily powdered face, inked brows and what may well have been a tiny heart drawn onto her cheek. Her hair towered well above the back of her throne, and was secured with wicked-looking combs.
Like claws.
“Braam,” her loud voice droned as he neared the scarlet carpet, “Lord of the Hollow Court and Protector of all its lands. How come you to be before us in disgrace?”
Braam cast aside his dignity long enough to roll his eyes. Then he straightened, fingers wrapping tightly around the raven head of his cane.This is my only friend here,he reminded himself. Yet his chest swelled at every word of her address, as if he could make himself taller than the High Fae. He very nearly was.
He put every shred of vigor and dignity he had left into the voice that answered her. “Fenna de Groot. Lady of the Court of Claws, I’ve been wondering about that myself. You have no jurisdiction over me and my court until I am called to take the knee.”
With a sigh from the layers of rich fabric she wore in the precise color of champagne, Fenna leaned back, no longer perched on her high throne. She was still a fair distance away, but he spotted the upward tilt of her lips.
“Then take it now,” she answered. “Save us all a bit of time. Then there will be no more talk of your disgusting choice of wife.”
Braam checked his tongue. Years of lessons in courtly language flowed back to him in place of the sharp retort he longed for, offering him another way. “I know of no wife that causes disgust to anyone, only my own wife. She is overseeing our court at present.”
Braam expected murmurs at that—at least a titter. But the courtiers were all as silent as a crypt. It unsettled Braam in a way the castle’s grandiosity hadn’t managed to. His very spirit felt ill at ease now.
What had Fenna done to her court to keep them quiet as the dead?
“I see you aren’t here to be amenable,” Fenna said, scowling. She turned to a lower throne at her side, where her latest mate sat, and murmured something toward him. With the unexpectedness of apparitions, a dozen guards appeared between the pillars, their armor nearly silent. Every plate of it must have been lined with flannel. “I’ll have you know I dread what I must do to you, Lord Braam, simply to ensure your compliance.”
A lie—but a necessarily clever one, as she was too High Fae to escape the vow. She dreadedsomepart of hurting Braam—perhaps dirtying her audience chamber with his blood. Braam’s eyes raked the scarlet carpet, wondering if that was its purpose. Actually, he was quite sure it was. Everything he knew of Fenna pointed to her toying with others’ minds: either the carpet covered a lot of blood, and everyone would be left to imagine just how much, or it was spotless and imaginations would rove nonetheless.
Now,Braam thought.Or never.
“I wonder,” Braam began as if ruminating. “You claim I am not here to be amenable. But am I here at all?”
Fenna’s eyes went raptor sharp, focusing in on him with a gut punch of precision. “What are you talking of?” she snapped.
