After my outburst, I found myself being dragged to the bathroom. Urn had me by the collar of my shirt and practically tossed me beside the tub. The door opened before I could think, and the tub was already steaming with soapy water. Neatly laid out on the counter were clothes I hadn't seen before. It was impossible not to realize—this was Urn's doing. The thought sent a shiver crawling down my spine.
Sighing, I undressed. The water was scalding, clinging to my skin as if it sought to strip me bare of my thoughts. I bathed quickly, unplugged the stopper, dried off, and donned the simple underwear, black trousers, and white shirt that fit snugly, almost like it had been made for me.
Urn waited by the door, massive and silent, eyes molten gold in the dim light. Floating just above the carpet beside him was a ring—a simple silver band etched with curving lines of green, red, and violet that pulsed faintly, alive. I swallowed. My instincts screamed at me to ignore it, to move, to act—but Urn's gaze pinned me in place.
Hesitantly, I reached out and slid the ring onto my right pointer finger. It pinched sharply. Instantly, the air thickened. My chest constricted. The room seemed to shudder. My teeth chattered. A tremor ran through my body, up my arm, into my chest. Urn's ears flattened, a low growl vibrating in his throat.
Sliding the ring to my left hand, the ring finger, the trembling stopped. A shiver ran from my finger to my heart, warm and cold at the same time, leaving me gasping. My head spun. For a moment, I wasn't sure if I had touched magic—or if magic had touched me.
"Urn… shoes?" I whispered, voice cracking.
His tail flicked once, sharply. That was my answer.
We moved down the carpeted hall. Each step I took, I felt the weight of his gaze like a predator walking beside prey. The corridor seemed endless, the smell of waxed wood and faint earth lingering in the air. A few turns later, the hall opened into the dining room.
Twelve people occupied the space—barefoot, powerful, utterly self-possessed. Eleven of them, anyway. I was the twelfth.
My gaze immediately found her.
Hannah. Even seated, calm and precise, she radiated authority. Every line of her posture, the stillness of her hands, the slight tilt of her head—it drew me inescapably. She didn't look at me, yet I felt her awareness pressing in, a tether I couldn't escape.
I was seated between her and a boy no older than ten. Golden hair, wide eyes, innocence radiating—but beneath it, an assured control that belied his youth.
"I'm Arthur," he whispered, leaning toward me. "Don't panic. Just… follow my lead."
I swallowed. "Thank… thank you, Arthur."
Across the room, Urn moved, he approached the older man at the head of the table, near the Empress. He lowered his enormous head in acknowledgment of her and brushed his muzzle against the man's hand. Intimate. Deliberate. He lingered for a heartbeat, eyes blazing, before returning to his own space, still fixed on me.
Arthur leaned slightly, whispering: "That's the Empress's father. Few dare approach him like that save for Urn."
He continued softly:
"The man with gnarled fingers and glasses is my youngest uncle. The woman pouring wine with red hair is my aunt. The man at the far end, arms crossed like a statue? My favorite uncle."
Even with Arthur's guidance, the currents of power were dizzying. Every gesture, glance, and pause carried weight I didn't fully comprehend.
The Empress spoke. Calm, precise, and heavy with authority:
"Report on the progress of your endeavors. Are you fulfilling the duties assigned to your station?"
The room stiffened. Answers came measured and deliberate:
-The red-haired aunt referenced trade negotiations.
-The gnarled man described archival reforms and intelligence gathering improvements.
-The crossed-arm uncle spoke of military training and deployment readiness.
Even minor chatter paused under her scrutiny.
Hannah and Arthur remained silent, recently returned from ambassadorial duties.
Dinner wound down. Plates cleared, conversation eased. Then the grandfather, seated near the Empress, cleared his throat.
"Adam," he said, calm, deliberate, authority in every syllable. "Join me in the library after dinner."
The room froze. Heads turned. Even the Empress' brows rose. Hannah's eyes widened for a fraction of a second before regaining composure.
I blinked. "I… of course," I stammered.
Arthur was silent after that.
Urn's gaze remained locked on me. The weight of his attention, combined with the subtle threat woven into the room, pressed down like a living thing. I had entered their orbit, and the library—whatever lay behind it—was only the beginning.