Chapter 126 Final Decision
The Emperor was going to chain Klaus to the marble block in the center of the Throne Room. It was an open space, highly visible to the entire gallery. The Emperor would likely stand directly in front of Klaus to deliver the final judgment before handing me the obsidian dagger.
I visualized the layout. I imagined the heavy, gold-wire hilt of the blade in my right hand.
If I lunged for the Emperor, Thorne would simply pull the heavy iron chain attached to Klaus's neck, choking him, and the guards would cut me down before I took two steps. The Emperor was immortal, fortified by ancient magic; I couldn't guarantee a single strike with a glass dagger would kill him instantly.
But Commander Thorne was the immediate threat. Thorne held the chain. Thorne controlled Klaus’s mobility.
I did it again. And again. I did it until my muscles memorized the exact angle, until the turn felt as natural as drawing breath. I had to sever Thorne’s vocal cords before he could shout a command, and I had to grab the heavy iron keys from his belt before his body hit the floor.
The glaring yellow sun tracked across the sky, eventually dipping below the horizon. The bruising purple twilight returned, and then the sky over the Sapphire Sea turned pitch black.
It was night.
I stopped my pacing. I stood in the center of the room, my hands falling to my sides, my spine locking into a rigid, perfectly straight line.
The heavy mahogany door swung open.
Four human women walked into the room. They wore the drab, dark grey uniforms of the Citadel's serving staff. They kept their heads bowed entirely, their eyes fixed firmly on the plush white rug. They were terrified. The air around them smelled sharply of fear sweat and nervous exhaustion. They had been sent to prepare the Siren for an execution.
"My lady," the oldest servant whispered, her voice trembling. She held a stack of clean white towels.
The other three carried a basin of warm, soapy water, a silver hairbrush, and the dark canvas garment bag Vespera had left on the bed.
"We are here to dress you for the court," the woman said, risking a quick, fearful glance at my face before looking back at the floor.
I didn't speak. I simply nodded once, a sharp, cold movement.
I let them strip away the ruined, blood-stained grey wool of my mourning dress. It fell to the floor in a heavy, dirty heap. I stood bare in the center of the room. The cold air raised goosebumps on my skin, but I didn't shiver.
Then, they brought the dress.
It was heavy. The midnight-black silk absorbed the dim light of the room, offering no reflection. They slipped it over my head. The fabric was stiff and freezing cold against my bare skin. It felt exactly like a burial shroud.
Two of the women moved behind me, pulling the thick corset laces tight.
I gasped as the structured bodice crushed against my ribs, restricting my lung capacity to shallow, forced breaths. The stiff boning forced my spine into a severe, upright posture. I couldn't slouch even if I wanted to. The long, heavy skirt cascaded down to the floor, sweeping across the white rug. They slid soft, black leather slippers onto my bruised and cut feet, hiding the damage.
The oldest servant stepped in front of me with the silver brush. She pulled it through my dark, tangled hair, smoothing the knots with careful, practiced strokes until it fell in straight, heavy sheets over my bare shoulders.
"You are ready, my lady," she whispered, stepping back and bowing deeply.
I turned and looked at my reflection in the tall, gilded mirror standing near the wardrobe.
I didn't recognize the woman looking back at me.
She looked tall, imposing, and entirely devoid of warmth. The black silk drained the color from my skin, making me look as pale as the vampires who held me captive. My turquoise eyes were flat, hard, and completely dead. I looked exactly like the ruthless, pragmatic queen the Emperor wanted me to be. I looked like a monster who would gladly trade a life for a kingdom.
"Leave," I told the servants. My voice was a cold, scraping rasp.
The women scrambled toward the door, practically tripping over their own skirts in their haste to escape the room. They pulled the door shut behind them, but they didn't throw the deadbolt.
I stood alone in the black silk, staring at my reflection, feeling the heavy, restrictive crush of the bodice against my ribs.
I closed my eyes and reached out to the ice wall in my mind. I didn't crack it this time. I just pressed my mental hands against the solid, freezing surface, anchoring myself to the knowledge that Klaus was still on the other side.
I am coming, I promised him.
The sound of heavy, iron-shod boots echoed from the hallway outside my suite. A synchronized, rhythmic march that stopped directly outside my door.
The door opened wide.
Four elite Imperial guards stood in the corridor. They were fully encased in blackened steel armor, their heavy halberds resting against the stone floor. They looked at me, their red eyes glowing faintly behind the narrow slits of their visors.
"Arch-Duchess," the lead guard said. His voice was muffled and metallic. "The hour approaches. The Emperor commands your presence in the Throne Room."
I didn't hesitate. I didn't look back at the warm fire or the plush bed.
I stepped out of the suite, the heavy black silk of my skirt rustling loudly against the stone floor.
The guards formed a tight square around me, two in front, two behind. We began the long descent.
We walked down the sweeping, curved staircases and through the opulent, vaulted galleries. The Citadel was entirely silent. The usual hum of the servants and the chatter of the lower court were gone. Every vampire in the fortress who held an ounce of political standing was already waiting in the grand hall below.
The cold, stagnant magic in the base of my lungs stirred. It was a heavy, dark pressure, reacting to the violent drumming of my heart. I kept my jaw locked, forcing the magic back down. I couldn't sing. I couldn't use my voice to defend myself, because every note would flood straight into Klaus’s chest. I had to rely entirely on my hands.
We reached the massive antechamber outside the Throne Room.
The towering obsidian doors were already pushed wide open. The jaundiced, yellow light from the bronze chandeliers spilled out into the dim hallway, carrying the suffocating stench of rotting orchids and ancient copper.
A low, buzzing murmur of hundreds of voices drifted out from the hall. The court was waiting.
The lead guard stopped at the threshold. He turned to me, his armored head tilting slightly.
"Walk down the center aisle," he instructed rigidly. "Do not stop until you reach the dais."