The ash-grey silk clung to my skin like a second, cooler layer of sweat. Every rustle of the fabric sounded like a scream in the quiet hallway. I followed Miri while my legs felt like they belonged to a poorly coordinated marionette.
"Deep breaths, Waverly," Pia urged, though she sounded like she was breathing through a paper bag herself. "You look like a queen. A mysterious, slightly soot-colored queen. Just don't trip over your own feet."
"I am a victim, Pia. I am a lamb dressed in silk, walking into a den of lions who think I've already spilled their blood. This isn't a funeral. It's an interrogation with a better dress code." I thought back.
We turned the corner toward the main foyer, and the air suddenly felt heavy, charged with a static that made the hair on my arms stand up.
I couldn't believe who was standing there. It was the Alpha King himself.
