At the end of the marble path is the entrance to the palace’s Great Hall. Men in flashy uniforms and silver-tipped spears safeguard its doors. One of the guards takes her parasol as they enter, and she almost cries in relief.

Despite the parasol’s lightness, it felt like she was carrying a rock over time.

“Not much farther now,” Prince Elliot tells her staggering form sympathetically.

It’s galling; a ten-minute walk in her old body wouldn’t be an issue, but this one can barely keep air in her lungs. She’s going to request a rolling chair—assuming it’s exactly what it sounds like—pride be damned.

“Hold onto me.” The duke offers his arm to her, and she takes it with the assumption he’s going to let her lean on him like a gentleman. He quickly proves her wrong by dragging her forward.

Her headband tightens as she thinks of ways to kill him.

Two doors, giant and grand, await them at the end of the hall. One door is painted white and the other black, matching the Great Hall’s continued theme of black and white. Two guards salute the prince silently.

“I will go announce your arrival personally,” Prince Elliot says. He aims a “Try to hold your tongue,” at the duke before motioning for a guard to open the black door.

“Don’t be nervous,” Duke Wulf whispers to her, lightly patting her hand with his own armored one, “he won’t kill you in front of witnesses.”

She swallows, and the necklace around her throat constricts slightly.

“Enter.” A voice calls through the open door, and the other guard pushes the white door to admit them.

The throne room is divided in half. Like a line drawn down the middle, one side is white and the other black. A handful of people stand on either side in matching clothes. Directly in the center on a pedestal is a golden throne with purple fabric.

Staring down at them from the throne is a very beautiful man. He resembles the prince with his gold, curly hair, but unlike Prince Elliot, whose eyes she can’t remember seeing, this man’s eyes are so blue they practically glow.

She has no doubt this is the king even though he wears no crown, and his alternating suit of black and white appears on the simple side. His presence alone demands all eyes on him. She wonders what his name is.

Prince Elliot stands nearby; his hair is the only reason she spots him from his dark surroundings.

“Asher, Duke of Wulf, greets his majesty.” The duke lets go of her arm and bows.

“Constance, Saintess of Duhella, greets his majesty,” she curtseys.

The king is supposed to say something so they can lift their heads, but as the silence grows, sweat starts dripping down the back of her neck.

“Rise,” the king eventually says. His right hand motions them up, black glove contrasting against the white wall behind him. “Time is short, so I will keep this brief.”

She can see the duke moving out of the corner of her eye; not a sound is made from his armor, and while puzzling, it’s a relief. In the oppressive silence of the wide, open room any sound would be like a gunshot.

“Saintess of Duhella,” those blue eyes lock onto her, “will you join with the Ashen Wolf to destroy the demons?”

It’s not a request.

She clutches her hands together to hide the trembling in her fingers. She wants to say no, to run away, but at this moment, she is the saintess, savior of the world. There’s only one answer she can give.

“It would be my honor,” she lies with a serene smile.

“Excellent. There is a town to the south that needs your strength,” the king says evenly as if reciting from a script. “The last missive from Helmbeck was from a month ago warning of demon movement.”

“We have since lost three scouts, and it would be remiss of me to continue losing them.” The king’s gaze moves to the duke. “I know you are busy holding the defense of your land, Duke Wulf, but against demons, there is no other who can kill them consecutively.”

“Your majesty, if I may be so bold,” Duke Wulf interrupts, and she can feel her heart stop. “Anyone can take on a demon if they are properly trained.”

“You may not be so bold.” The room becomes colder, but the king makes no move to punish the duke for speaking. “Helmbeck is close to our biggest salt mine. I do not need to tell you what will happen if we lose that.”

Personally, she doesn’t have a clue. Surely with magic there isn’t a need to preserve meat, and salt can always be mined somewhere else.

“As my subjects, my concern is your concern.” The king’s left hand, gloved in white, waves them away. “I will await the good news.”

She curtseys and backs up carefully at the sign of dismissal. She only turns around when she sees the duke doing so from her peripheral vision.

“Now exiting, Duke of Wulf and Saintess Constance,” someone near the doors calls out, and the guards from the other side push them back open.

As soon as the doors shut behind them, she lets out a sigh. Then she slaps the duke on the arm. It hurts her more than anything, but it gets the point across.

“What were you thinking?” she hisses. “I know when someone’s trying to pick a fight! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Duke Wulf, to her great frustration, merely looks amused. “You do care about me!” he teases.

No thoughts of murder, she tells herself. She must keep a pure mind. She’s had enough of her clothing squeezing the life out of her for one day.

“Now exiting, Elliot, Prince of Lepeston.” The door the prince went in, is the same that allows him out. He waits until the door fully shuts before addressing them.

“I apologize for the short audience,” Prince Elliot says without much regret. “My father is simply deeply worried about the good people of Helmbeck. No supplies can reach them.”

“He sounded more worried about the salt mine to me,” Duke Wulf remarks, and she privately agrees.

“Saintess, will you bless my sister before heading off?” Prince Elliot asks her, completely ignoring the duke. “Your new carriage is being prepared. There is enough time for tea and biscuits.”

“It would be my honor,” she says, a little more truthfully this time.

“Duke Wulf, who has shown disdain for such things, can wait with the luggage being transferred,” Prince Elliot says, and offers his arm to her with a smirk.

The duke rolls his eyes.