Ayla’s eyes widened. “No,” she said, struggling against his grip. But even if she weren’t half starved, she could never match the strength of a leech. “No, let me go, I’ll leave, I just wanted to see the party, I don’t mean any harm—”

“Shut your mouth before I cut out your tongue.”

Mind racing, Ayla let herself be dragged along by the guard. Where was Benjy? Was he watching? Would he know that she’d been captured? The guard pulled her across a second stone bridge, crossing back over the moat, and then to the side of the palace steps, where there were arching doorways reserved for guards and servants. Within moments, Ayla knew she was completely out of sight. All she could do was hope Benjy was safe—and that, if he had seen her with the guard, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try a rescue.

The heavy wooden door swung shut behind them, and it took Ayla’s eyes a few long moments to adjust to the darkness inside. This was a dank, narrow passageway, lit only by torches every twenty paces or so. She blinked hard and tried not to stumble as the guard dragged her forward. His grip was so tight, she worried he’d crush the bones of her wrist.

The passageway ended with another wooden door, which opened up into a wider hallway with a high, vaulted ceiling. Unlike the sovereign’s palace, where all the ceilings were decorated with ornate, gilded paintings and marble carvings, the ceilings here were mosaiced with colored glass in geometric designs. Ayla thought it was strange how much it was sparkling until she realized it wasn’t glass. It was thousands of gemstones. The fear in the pit of her stomach mixed with revulsion. One square foot of that ceiling could feed a family for ten years. Four square feet could feed a village.

The hallways were labyrinthine; Ayla tried to keep track of all the twists and turns, but it quickly became impossible, especially because the guard seemed to be doubling back every so often on purpose. They passed the entryways to open-air courtyards with gardens and fountains, courtyards lined with metallic statues, big banquet halls and drawing rooms, smaller corridors branching off into guest wings and guards’ quarters. Occasionally Ayla glimpsed a servant or courtier, but for the most part the halls were empty. Everyone was outside enjoying the festival.

She had assumed the guard would take her to the dungeons. She kept waiting for him to open a door with a stairway leading down into the deep, dark underbelly of the palace. But instead, he led in her in circles for a while and then turned down the widest, grandest hallway yet, the flagstones carpeted with green velvet. There were guards stationed at the mouth of the hallway, both wearing white masks. As they approached, the guard who’d captured Ayla removed his own mask, and only then did the guards step aside, letting him and Ayla through.

“Where are you taking me,” Ayla gritted out, not expecting an answer. The hallway ended with a single arched door plated with solid gold. There were four guards standing outside, but they weren’t like the others. They were all women, unmasked, dressed not in plain white uniforms but in emerald green. Ayla remembered seeing other guards like this in the queen’s consort when she’d visited the sovereign’s palace a few weeks ago on a diplomacy tour. They were always closest to the queen, her personal bodyguards.