The Royal Wine Cellar was less of a room and more of a subterranean labyrinth designed by a drunk architect.
It smelled of damp stone, oak, and centuries of spilled vintage. It was dark, cold, and—according to the map Kaia had bribed a scullery maid for—located directly beneath the Empress's private chapel.
"Sacrilege," Kaia muttered, hitching up her skirts as she descended the spiraling stone stairs. "We are going to hell. Express carriage."
She reached the bottom. The only light came from a single lantern sitting on top of a massive barrel of Red Arindale 1705.
Beside the barrel stood Aeron.
He had shed the formal coat again. He was leaning against the wood, swirling a glass of dark red wine in his hand. The flickering light cast shadows across the sharp planes of his face, making him look less like a Prince and more like a demon waiting for a soul to barter.
"You took the long way," he noted, not looking up from his glass.
