“Poppy looks so different,” Ian interrupted, having come up behind us. “Doesn’t she?”
I pulled back, my eyes searching Tawny’s as she nodded. I spared a quick look at Ian and saw that the Handmaiden was eyeing us as she moved slowly behind Casteel and Kieran. Both of them had crept closer. Tawny…she knew the truth about the Queen and the Ascended, and Ian was trying to protect her.
“I know,” I said, meeting Tawny’s gaze. “I do look different without the veil.”
Tawny’s lips trembled, but she forced a smile as she looked between Ian and me. “You look beautiful without the veil.”
I slid my hands to her arms. “I’m so happy to see you. I’ve missed you so much. And I’ve been so worried.”
“As I’ve missed you,” Tawny replied, aware of the guards circling the room. “But there is no reason to worry.” She swallowed as she looked up at where Casteel had come to stand at my side. “Hello.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hawke.”
How she said his name and the look she gave him was so Tawny, I almost started crying.
“Hello, Tawny.” Casteel bowed his head. “I am relieved to see that you are well. Although I wish we were confirming that under different circumstances.”
“As do we all,” Ian murmured under his breath.
The young woman drifted closer, her still gaze seeming to miss nothing. Tawny started to glance back at her, but then the Handmaiden’s gaze flicked to the entrance of the Great Hall.
Awareness pressed against the nape of my neck and my back, erupting in icy shivers. Ian stepped back, using his arm to guide Tawny to do the same. I knew before I turned what I would find, but I still moved as if I were caught in thick, cold slush. I looked past the line of guards with their black mantles.
Crimson and black silk skirts flowed like water across the stone floor. The gown’s deep vee cut between the swells of breasts, reaching the impossibly narrow waist encased in rows of rubies chained together. Red-tipped fingers clasped together. Garnets strung and clasped tightly around slender wrists and a pale neck. Lush, red lips tipped up in a faint smile. A turned-up nose pierced with an onyx stone. High cheekbones flushed artfully with rouge. Black eyes glimmered under the golden chandeliers, outlined and winged in black. Arched, deep brown brows. Hair that shone a dark auburn was swept up and back so the mass spilled over an elegant shoulder in thick, loose curls that brushed the rows of rubies at the waist. Carved from pure, polished ruby and consisting of twelve hoops connected by oval pieces of onyx and topped with diamonds crafted into spires, the Blood Crown was one of the most beautiful and horrendous works of art that had ever been created.
As was the woman who wore it.
Queen Ileana looked just like I remembered—beautiful in a sultry way few could ever achieve and carrying a warmth to her features even fewer Ascended had ever been able to master. Our gazes locked, and I couldn’t look away as memories of her brushing my hair back from the ruined side of my face, of reading to me when I couldn’t sleep, of holding me when I cried for my mother and father, rushed into me, over and over.
And maybe that was why I didn’t see who stood just behind her, to her right. Maybe that was why it took more than a moment for me to register the sudden explosion of icy shock rolling off Casteel, and that he’d jerked back a step. My gaze shifted to the man who stood there. It wasn’t King Jalara.
This man’s hair nearly reached his shoulders and was a light brown that showed hints of blond, but the sharp cheekbones, the straight nose, and the proud line of his jaw were uncannily familiar. And then his full mouth curved upward, as he stared up at us. And a…a dimple appeared in his left cheek. The smile, though, it was all wrong, lacking warmth and any trace of humanity.
“Brother,” the stranger said, and a rolling tide of shivers shot straight down my side at the deep, gritty sound of his voice. “It has been far too long.”
Casteel had stiffened beside me. “Malik.”
Chapter 45
“What a happy reunion,” Queen Ileana announced, her smile tight as she took in the two brothers staring at each other.
I hardly heard her—was barely aware of the Handmaiden drifting in and out from between us like a wraith, coming to stand on the other side of the Queen.
What I was staring at didn’t make sense.
And I wasn’t the only one who appeared frozen in shock as we stared at Prince Malik Da’Neer. How was he even free? Standing beside the Blood Queen, seemingly healthy and whole? He looked nothing like the emaciated, frail man we’d seen in the cage below. His golden bronze skin lacked the haggardness of starvation. His hair gleamed, and the polished shine of his boots, the cut of his breeches, and the tailored shirt and deep grey vest he wore dripped with wealth and privilege.