The throne room was quieter than it had any right to be.
Columns rose like ancient sentinels around me, the stone warmed only by shafts of morning light that filtered through stained glass. Dust danced in those beams. The rest of the room—cold, still, breathless.
A statue of Queen Eravine loomed at the far end. Her eyes, forever carved in judgment, watched me as I stood alone before the royal dais. I didn't bow. I didn’t curtsy. I waited.
"She’s not here," came a voice from behind one of the columns. Lord Peregrin. Of course.
I didn’t turn. "Then why summon me?"
He stepped out, robes trailing like a priest about to make a sacrifice. "The Queen wishes it known that you’ve overstepped. Again."
I turned slowly. "Was it the truth that bothered her, or the applause?"
He smirked. "You’ve
