Chapter 5 - THE Serpents OF THE COURT
Three days later, Vera was paraded into the Grand Feast Hall of the Black Keep, dressed in a crimson silk gown decorated with silver thread. Though the dress was regal, it was deliberately tailored with high lace sleeves to hide the dark, cursed marks on her wrists.
The court was a ocean of whispers. Dukes, barons, and high priests stared at her with open hostility and masked terror. A street-rat prisoner, elevated to the throne by the wild whim of a tyrant king? It was an insult to every noble house in Veldaris.
Valdrich sat at the head of the dark marble table, his hand resting casually over Vera’s as she took her seat beside him. The simple touch sent a strange, electric warmth through her skin, quieting the dull throbbing of the curse in her blood.
"Your Majesty," spoke a smooth, sickly-sweet voice.
Grand Master Vane, the head of the King’s High Council, stepped forward, bowing low. He was an ancient man with sunken eyes, draped in robes of silver and sapphire. "The court rejoices that the great Synindrath is restored. But surely... surely you do not mean to honor this absurd proclamation of marriage? This girl is a peasant. A nobody."
"She accomplished what you and your twenty master alchemists failed to do in three months, Vane," Valdrich replied, his tone dripping with lethal boredom. "Unless you wish to challenge my decision in the pit?"
Vane’s jaw tightened, his pale eyes flickering toward Vera with a dark, hidden venom. "Of course not, Sire. We only worry for your safety. Magic of this nature is... unpredictable."
As Vane spoke, Vera felt a sudden, sharp prickling sensation at the back of her neck.
Her Painbearer instincts flared. She looked at Vane, opening her senses just a fraction. A faint, oily smell of sulfur and decayed nightshade hovered around the Grand Master's robes—the exact same foul resonance she had pulled out of Synindrath’s flesh.
It was him.
Vera gasped quietly, clutching Valdrich’s sleeve. Valdrich felt her grip tighten and subtly glanced down at her, his sharp eyes catching the subtle nod she gave toward the Grand Master.
Before Valdrich could speak, a deafening crash echoed through the high windows.
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The sky outside turned blood-red. A dark horn sounded from the northern towers—a signal that had not been blown in fifty years.
"SIRE!" a captain of the guard burst into the hall, blood streaming down his face. "The northern perimeter is broken! Lord Malakor has returned with an army of dark shadow-beasts!"
