“Come along, Cécile.” My mother caught Julian’s arm before he could walk away, and they started up the steps to the entrance. I followed, my heels clicking against steps worn smooth by years of traffic and weather. Two uniformed guards swung open the doors, which were thick oak banded with pieces of steel. I noticed steel-bracketed holes in the stone, and looking up, I saw the pointed spikes of a portcullis that could be lowered to further protect the entrance.

The inside of the castle seemed as barren and grey as the exterior, the narrow hallway we walked down dark despite the multitude of lamps. There were no windows that I could see, making the place seem tight and close as a coffin. Impenetrable. It should’ve felt safe, but all I felt was cold.

After walking for what seemed like an eternity through a maze of passages, the servant leading us stopped at a closed door, knocked, then stepped inside to announce us. A wall of warmth and light hit me as I stepped into the room, making me blink. A massive fireplace burned against one wall, but the light came from two ornate candelabras hanging from the ceiling. Thick carpets covered the floors, and tapestries concealed the ugly grey walls.

The room had the same narrow windows I’d seen from outside, but these had panes of beautiful stained glass that spilled a rainbow of color across the two dozen women filling the room. Not that any of them needed it – every one of them was dressed in a different hue, their gowns elaborate contraptions of silk, satin, and velvet. My eyes passed over them swiftly, but none had red hair or bore the haughty chiseled features of Anushka.

Though I had never seen her before, I immediately picked out the Regent’s wife, the Lady Marie du Chastelier. Her aubergine gown was no more elaborate than many of the others, but if my time with the trolls had taught me nothing else, it had taught me to recognize the gravitas that so often came with rank. Young or old, every woman in the room was keenly aware of her, all of them waiting for her to recognize us before acting themselves.

Lady Marie rose and came toward us. I kept my face lowered, watching her through my eyelashes. She was somewhat older than my own mother, her brown hair silver at the temples, and while not beautiful, she was attractive in a stately sort of way. She wore a strange necklace made of wood, and a sprig of crimson berries pinned in her hair. They looked real rather than wax, but I couldn’t imagine where they had come from at this time of year.

My mother dropped into a deep curtsey at her approach. “My lady.”

“Genevieve.” There was no inflection in her voice, but I sensed immediately that Lady Marie did not much like my mother as she walked by her without stopping. A flicker of annoyance passed over my mother’s face as she straightened.