Page 32 of A House of Gold
He pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter.
I hesitate. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I’ve already eaten. Besides, I have actual work to do. Unlike some people, I don’t get to spend my first day wandering around lost.” He starts to walk away, then pauses. “Oh, and Raven? When you’re done eating and inevitably get lost again trying to find your way back to your room? Just want it. The House will take you there.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
He smiles, and it’s almost a feral thing. “Then I guess you’ll die of starvation in a golden hallway. Tragic, really.”
He disappears around a corner before I can respond.
Asshole.
I push open the door and step into the dining hall.
It’s not what I expected. I was bracing for more overwhelming grandeur, more oppressive wealth. Instead, the space is... almost comfortable. Large, yes, maybe sixty feet long, thirty wide, but not cavernous. The ceiling is lower here, only about twelve feet high, and the walls are a warm cream color with gold accents rather than solid gold.
There are tables scattered throughout, round ones, square ones, a few long rectangular ones, and most of them are empty. A handful of people sit at various tables, eating in silence. They’re dressed in the same kind of servant uniform I saw onthe woman who guided me to Croesus yesterday. Dark clothes, practical, unremarkable.
They don’t look up when I enter, don’t acknowledge me at all.
Along one wall is a buffet, covered dishes, steam rising from chafing dishes, the smell of food making my stomach clench with hunger. Real food. Not gold or magic or whatever I was half-expecting. Just...breakfast.
I grab a plate and load it up with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon that smells like heaven, fresh fruit. Then I snag some coffee, black, strong. Everything a growing girl needs.
I find an empty table in the corner and sit, eating mechanically, my mind elsewhere. Processing. Trying to make sense of this place, these rules, this new reality I’m stuck in.
The house responds to desire. To want. Can the same be said about its master?
That’s what Auric said. And if he’s right, if this place really operates on some kind of emotional logic rather than physical navigation, then...
Then what?
Then I’m more trapped than I thought. Because if the House can sense what I want, what I need, what I desire... then it knows things about me I don’t want anyone knowing. Least of all an angel of greed who’s already shown he can read me better than I’d like.
I finish eating, drain the last of my coffee, and sit there for a moment staring at my empty plate.
I need to explore and understand the boundaries of my cage, even if it’s dressed up as freedom. Need to find the restricted sections Croesus mentioned, map out where I’m allowed and where I’m not.
Mostly, I need to figure out how to survive this.
I stand, leaving my dishes on the table. A servant materializes from nowhere to collect them, still not looking at me, still silent, and heads back into the hallway.
This time, I don’t try to memorize the path. Don’t try to apply logic or reason.
I just want.
I want to explore. Want to see what’s hidden. Want to find the boundaries.
And the house...responds.
The hallways shift subtly. Not physically, the walls don’t move; the doors don’t rearrange themselves. But something changes. A feeling. A pull. Like the house is guiding me, showing me where to go.
I follow it.
Left. Right. Straight. Down a hallway that gets progressively narrower, darker. The gold fades to tarnished bronze, then to iron. The warm light dims. The air chills.
And then I hit a wall.
