Except that I suddenly felt really unwell.

But passing out in someone else’s body didn’t seem to be a thing, because I recovered in a few seconds, and looked up to see the king pacing in front of a massive stone chair in an obsidian clad throne room. The chair looked like it almost could have fit his giant form and was up a steep set of stairs, also obsidian, which were broad and deep but only carved in front. The rest blended into an eruption of black rock from the floor, with huge jagged boulders spearing the throne upward toward the soaring ceiling.

At least, I assumed it was soaring. But the ceiling was obsidian, too, making it so dark that I couldn’t see the top, just a collection of shadows. It matched the rest of the room, including the floor, which was so highly polished that it could have served as a mirror.

There was no second throne, such as a queen might have used, or much other furniture, except for a few tables scattered around. And some standing candelabras that weren’t in use because they weren’t needed. All the light anyone could have wanted was flooding in through a stretch of large, arched openings along the wall behind the throne, so many and so close that they almost amounted to a missing wall, looking out over the massive mountain range.

I supposed they also explained why the room was so stark.

With that view, it didn’t need anything else.

The king was looking fairly impressive today, too, in silver-gray robes as unadorned as his hunting attire, but made of what looked like silk, with a subtle pattern on the outer one that caught the light whenever he moved. There was a matching circlet on his brow, keeping the long, fair hair contained, and a ring with a huge emerald on his hand. Yet he somehow managed to give the impression that he had just rolled out of bed.

Mircea would have been appalled.

But I didn’t get the impression that Aeslinn needed to impress anyone. The only other person in the room seemed cowed enough already. He was dressed in simple, dark blue robes that puddled around his huddled form, although I thought he might have been taller and even more slender than most fey when standing.

He looked up after a moment, showing me that I’d been right. His face was almost gaunt, which was a shame as it could have really used some more weight. It would have made the overlarge Adam’s apple slightly less prominent and filled out the sunken cheeks. It might have even distracted from the wickedly sharp nose; seriously, he could have cut somebody with that thing.

And then Aeslinn began speaking again, making me jump.

“Answer me, toady! And get off the floor!”