I turned astonished eyes over my shoulder to look at both Jazz and Hera.

Jazz was staring at Reginald with her lips parted in surprise.

Hera looked like she was about ready to laugh.

“Righty ho!” Reginald cried with more excitement than was healthy in this dismal place with its thick black walls that veritably wept moisture. “Let us get you about your business so you can get away from here and home. Which do you want first? Her honorable Horatia or the man who once was king.”

The man who once was king?

Well then, didn’t that have a lovely ring to it?

“Horatia,” Cassius told him.

“To the palace we go,” he stated cheerfully, faking a doffing of a hat he did not wear with a maneuver of his hand.

He then moved us into the dank confines beyond, tipping his head jauntily to guards along the way, all of whom bowed to Cassius and me, none of whom looked spiteful, though many looked speculative as they regarded me.

Reginald entered a doorway that was opened by a guard at the tallest tower (apparently, the “palace”) and up we went.

Up, up, up, past eight doors, before he called out on the final flight, “Oy, there! Open up. The Regent is here.”

Thus, at the top, we were able to move right through the door there that was manned by another guard wearing Reginald’s uniform.

“Best room of the lot, coziest,” Reginald declared on a tip of the chin at the guard tending the first door we came to, one I knew would have an unadulterated, and perhaps even stunning view of Sky Bay.

The door was opened to us, and as we entered (only Cass and I, due to the limited space), I was thrown by how tidy and well-appointed it was.

Everything was in blacks, grays and browns (as per usual in this land).

But there was a rather large bed with a fluffy mattress, puffy pillows and thick duvet over it, as well as several woolen throws and even a fur. An armchair with ottoman. A table with four chairs, as if awaiting a small dinner party or a game of chance. Thick rugs overlapping each other on the floors to keep draughts at bay. Lanterns all around to fight the gloom. And a roaring fire in a small fireplace, but one that heated the space relatively thoroughly.

And I was correct.

Upon turning my head from Horatia, who rose from the armchair after setting aside a book (setting it on top of a stack of others), I saw from one of the three albeit narrow windows (so narrow, it would be impossible for but the smallest of children to push through) the view was astounding.

“You are keeping well?” Cassius asked.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she spat.

“No need to answer that, I see you are,” he muttered.

And she was.

She did not look sallow or unwashed.

In fact, her hairstyle was lovely, her clothing clean, and although she did not have the yards of chains at her neck and wrists she normally wore, and no paint on her face (which I thought made her far more attractive), she looked positively robust.