The parlor’s newly-acquired collection of diversions rattle as the king closes in. A terrifying thought strikes me then.
Is he coming as an actual dragon?
The approaching footfalls certainly aren’t those of a man. Will I turn and find myself looking into the eyes of a beast? Eyes framed by the scale I saw him take on earlier? I clutch onto the faint hope that if a camel can’t mount the stairs, a dragon can’t either.
A camel. What was I thinking? Why did I aggravate him so?
I ball my fists at my sides. I don’t know, but I must face the consequences, me and me alone. I glance over the servants’ pale faces.
“Please,” I say, conjuring a smile, “if you’ll exit through the servants’ entrance, we can continue this later.”
“There’s no need.”
I nearly leap from my skin at the sound of the king’s voice. My head turns slowly toward the horned man who somehow appeared at my side without a sound. He regards the room with an even stare.
“Carry on,” he says.
I’ve never seen such a sharp turnaround; all fear evaporates from the servants’ faces as they fall back to their work. In seconds, the room takes on its previous volume.
“Good afternoon, Princess Serah,” the king says in a voice pitched only for my ears.
I gulp down a swell of nerves. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
A taut silence falls between us despite the clamor of the room. I’m gathering the courage to break it when the king says in the driest tone ever heard, “A camel?”
A hysterical giggle burbles up, and I have to clamp my lips together to contain it. What is the matter with me?
“I thought to divert myself,” I say, not sounding very convincing, “as you suggested.”
I remind myself that this man, this king, did tell me he was going to keep me locked up like a stone in a box, which seems as equally unreasonable as asking that a camel to be brought to one’s chambers. Still, as I watch a huddle of servants wrestle the second pianoforte through the bedroom, my conviction wanes further, even if they do look cheerful while doing it.
The king observes the spectacle without expression. “The staff’s spirits seem high for those fulfilling such a daunting string of—” He pauses to watch a peacock strut by. “—requests.”
I color. “I may have offered anyone who assisted me a day of repose. And cake.” Lots of cake. “Everyone appeared pleased.”
“Did they now?” the king asks.
Is he upset at the staff for helping me? That would be far worse than whatever ire he aims at me. All the anger I previously thought righteous suddenly seems childish, and my cheeks redden with shame. I peer up at the king through my lashes. “If you’re going to be angry with anyone, please let it be me. They only did as I asked.”
The bustle around me fades away as his eyes fall on mine, pinning me with the force of their stare.
“For someone untrained in our ways,” he says, “you seem to ascertain our weaknesses with little difficulty.”
My mouth goes dry. I offered the reward on a whim, or a hunch, really, based on the chocolate-laden breakfast and the king mentioning a desserts-only feast when I arrived. Everyone likes cake, but I wondered if dragons had a particular penchant for sweets. The staff’s eager eyes had been answer enough.
“It was only a guess, Your Majesty,” I whisper.
A clang rings out as someone drops a metal dish in the other room and it clatters across the floor. The king’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Dragons are universally fond of cake,” he says in something nearing a rumble. “Some might say they would do anything for it.”
I don’t know what possesses me to speak then. “And you, Your Majesty?”
His eyes graze my neck and the jewel there before returning to my face. “Oh, I absolutely would, Princess.”
A gulp travels down my throat as this statement hangs between us. I have the distinct impression we’re no longer speaking of cake, and a mortifying heat creeps over my face for provoking him.
Mercifully, he turns his attention from me to the room at large.
“Attention,” he says.
The word is no louder than a normal speaking tone, yet everyone comes to a stop, their heads popping out from behind furniture and armloads of books. The king surveys the crowd with a cool air.
“Princess Serah and I,” he says, “thank you for making her feel at home. Please, enjoy your repose and cake.”
The servants share a single, gleeful look with one another before hurrying from the room, their chatter following them as they go. When the room is empty—of other people, at least. I fear it will take some time to empty it of all my ridiculous requests—the king and I are left to stare out over the mess I made.
The king tucks his hands behind his back. “It was certainly a creative solution, Princess.”
My mouth tightens. “It was childish, and I apologize.”
“No more childish than the dictate that prompted it.”
I glance at him. He does look sincere, though I remind myself this is the same man who said mere hours ago I wasn’t allowed to leave my room. He holds an arm out to me.
“Perhaps,” he says, “you would allow me to accompany me on your tour of the palace by way of apology?”
I consider him. Of course I want out of this room. I could hardly find a place to sit even if I wanted to stay. But I’ve seen so many sides of this king in the brief time I’ve been here that I can’t help hesitating. Is this the true him? A gentleman willing to apologize? Or did I see his true self when he threatened to bite Abely’s head off? I suppose it’s a bit ridiculous to think one might see another’s true self in so short of time, but a baseline would be nice.
Especially when one is marrying a dragon.
Still, he seems to have forgiven me, and I ought to do the same. Holding grudges won’t make marriage any easier, and we are to be man and wife soon. Dragon and wife.
This is for my people, I remind myself.
“That would be lovely,” I say and take his arm.