Page 37 of Once Upon a Woven Wish
She gaped at him.“Oh, no, your grace.I couldn’t—”
“I insist.Your cloak is not thick enough for the winds on the mountain,” he said.
Her jaw clenched.Hesitation clawed through her as she looked from him to the cloak.The fur looked so soft, so warm.It was hard to resist.She reached out and took it from him.
“Thank you, your grace.”
The footman opened the carriage door and stood aside.First the Grand Duke exited, then, in another surprising move, he held his hand out to her.With her heart in her throat, she clutched his cloak to her chest and took his hand, stepping out into the late afternoon.
The cold wind immediately bit through her.The duke was correct—the winds were stronger here than in her village.She quickly wrapped the cloak around her, pulling it tight around her shoulders.
“Shall we?”He motioned toward the palace.
She turned to look at it and lost her breath.
The palace was enormous, stretching as far as her eyes could see from one side to the other.Its walls loomed high above her, white stone shimmering with frost, the sheer scale making her feel no bigger than a speck of snow drifting at its feet.The spires pierced the gray sky, vanishing into cloud, and along the ramparts the lion banners of Ebonvale snapped and cracked in the wind, their golden thread flashing like fire against plum silk.
The air was heavy with the mingled scents of wood smoke and horse, and somewhere deeper inside the walls, she thought she caught the faint drift of incense.Guards in gleaming armor lined the gate, their halberds crossed in rigid precision, eyes cold as flint as they watched her.The black iron doors were bound with silver, tall as a forest of trees, and when they groaned open on massive hinges, the sound echoed like thunder in her bones.
Serena clutched the duke’s cloak tighter, every instinct telling her to shrink back, but her feet were rooted to the icy cobbles.The palace radiated wealth, command, and judgment, and standing beneath its shadow, she felt as though the walls themselves were deciding whether to let her in…or to crush her where she stood.
“This way, Mistress Serena,” the Grand Duke said.
She followed him inside.The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth enveloped her, taking the bite of winter with it.
The hammer-beam ceiling, cut from the finest timber in the realm, in the entry hall soared upward.Brightly lit candelabras were scattered about the room.The marble floor beneath her feet was polished to a high shine.Rich tapestries draped the walls, woven in gold and plum, each depicting the lion of Ebonvale mid-roar.Statues of kings and queens stood in alcoves, their stone eyes watching her as though they expected her to bow.And everywhere—on pillars, on archways, on the steps leading deeper into the palace—there were flourishes of wealth.Gilded carvings, veins of silver set into stone, rugs dyed with colors so deep they looked alive.
Her fingers clenched into the folds of her cloak.She had never imagined such grandeur existed outside of the pages of her father’s books.It was beautiful.And terrifying.
Because beauty like this was a reminder—power this great demanded payment.And she had already given too much.
“Mistress Serena, I bid thee welcome to Ebonvale Palace.”The booming voice startled her.
She’d been so taken with her surroundings, she never saw the man with the pinched expression approach.
He bowed low in greeting to the Grand Duke.“Your grace.”
“What news, Jameson?”
“The physician is with his highness now.”Then to her he said, “His majesty requests you attend him at once.”
The Grand Duke took her by the elbow.“Then we shall go at once.”
She had no idea who Jameson was and didn’t think it prudent to ask questions as she was hustled up the grand staircase and through echoing corridors flanked by guards with swords at their sides.She tried her best to keep her gaze forward and not gape at her surroundings—she wasn’t here for that, after all.
They halted at a massive chamber door where the man, Jameson, knocked once quickly and then opened the door.
The room smelled of sickness and death.It accosted her.She made a choking sound in the back of her throat and then regretted it when all eyes turned on her.Two guards were on either side of the door and peered at her with bored curiosity.Several attendants were scattered about, on edge and ready to take orders.The king stood to one side, his arms crossed over his thick belly.Next to him, the queen with her pinched expression that said she would rather be anywhere but there.
“Ah, the miracle girl has arrived at last.”The king surged forward, holding out a hand to her.
She was suffocating in the duke’s thick fur-lined cloak.But propriety and politeness kept her from throwing it off even as sweat trickled down the middle of her back.She had no choice but to take the king’s hand.He tugged her toward the bed where a man stood next to it wearing dark robes and a sour face.Dark circles smudged under his eyes.This must be the physician.
In the bed, a young man.Not much older than her.His face was pale and drenched in sweat.His lips were dry and cracked.His skin was yellow.His dark hair was damp and stuck to his head.He wore a white tunic that clung to his thin frame.
He looked like death.
“Who is this?”the man next to the bed said.
