Last night made me feel as if the king and I may someday come to understand one another Perhaps we may even be friends.
Looking at him now, scowling and going on about debts first thing in the morning, makes me think that was some fantastical dream I had.
“As I recall,” I say with a sniff of distaste, “you and I entered into a mutually beneficial arrangement wherein you receive a wife who can draw water, and I—”
The king buries his face in his pillow and lets out an incoherent string of grumbling.
I lift a brow. “What?”
His head lolls my way. “I said, too many words, Princess. It’s morning.”
My mouth drops open. “You started this with all your talk of debts.”
“Debt. Singular.” He smacks his lips together. “You owe me breakfast.”
For several seconds, we merely look at one another.
“Breakfast?” I say.
“Yes. You agreed to have breakfast with me yesterday, but—” He opens his mouth in a colossal yawn, giving me the impression of a forbidding cave. “We were interrupted.”
I roll my lips together. Interrupted, is a tame way to describe yesterday morning. First, his sister, who I worried was a mistress, burst into the room, followed by Minister Abely, who very nearly lost his head.
“Indeed we were,” I say diplomatically.
“I will, of course, uphold my end of the bargain as well,” he says.
Tired of standing and shivering from the morning chill, I sit and gather some of the blankets to cover myself. The king keeps clinging to my wrist like a sticker burr. “I did not realize breakfast was a contractual agreement, Your Majesty.”
He looks flabbergasted. “It’s breakfast, Princess.”
With effort, I maintain a straight face. “Of course. Might you remind me of your part in the bargain?”
At that, his fingers uncurl from my wrist. “That you’ll not have to see hair or hide of me for the rest of the day.”
Ah, I do remember now, and at the time, that seemed like a gift. Before I can think how to respond now, the king reaches out and tugs the bell-pull.
“Wake me when they come,” he says, and cocoons himself in the blankets again.
I look at his huddled form another moment before rising and padding to the bathing chamber to relieve myself. When I finish, I stand at one of the massive mirrors within, shivering and hugging myself.
Mother told me not to get attached, for that way lies a heart never at rest. Cassandra essentially said the same, and though we rarely hear from my sister Ambril, she would likely agree, too.
Then why do I dislike the idea of not seeing him all day? I barely know him. I give myself a stern look in the glass. We spent a nice day together, and I’m craving familiarity; that’s all.
Isn’t it?
I run my hands down my face then continue staring into the mirror as if the answer lies there in the rumpled lines of the king’s borrowed shirt.
One hand comes up to touch the sapphire at my throat. Somehow, I forgot I was wearing it. I’ve worn it since the king placed it there, not even thinking to remove it for my bath. How odd.
At last, I turn from the mirror and march back into the bedchamber. Mother also taught me to take calculated risks. A king with at least some attachment to me would surely make a better ally, wouldn’t he?
“I’m not interested in your end of the bargain,” I declare to the heap of blankets in front of me.
Once spoken, the words sound a bit ridiculous, like a child explaining why they shouldn’t have to do their lessons. I’m not used to voicing my opinion uninvited. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe he fell back asleep and didn’t hear me anyway. I shift from foot to foot, the floor freezing beneath my toes.
“Then I ask it as a favor,” the king says, perfectly awake.
I frown. A favor? To not have to spend the day with me? Something pinches in my chest at the request.
“Is my company that distasteful to you, Your Majesty?”
I try to keep my tone lighthearted and aloof, as if I couldn’t care less. I’m not sure how well I succeed.
The king actually laughs, the sound a full-throated, hearty thing, as if I made a stupendous joke.
“No, Princess.” He rolls over to face me, and his brow immediately furrows at my trembling. “What is the matter?”
“I’m cold,” I say.
When he lifts the blankets for me, I join him without argument. The warmth within is divine, and for a second, I forget what we were even talking about.
I don’t forget how close our half-clothed bodies are.
“Tonight is the feast celebrating your arrival,” he says, and when I lift my eyes to his, he finishes with, “I must go see the wyverns.”
“What? Why?”
I can see little other than his eyes and horns, and even so, I can tell he’s debating with himself on how much to say.
“The peace between dragons and wyverns is tenuous at best,” he says. “They claim territory in the mountains north of the desert, but right now a large party of them is gathered in a temporary camp outside of the city.”
“Why so close?”
“For the same reason so many dignitaries have arrived early for the wedding. Tirenth is not usually open to guests. They have come to see the kingdom.” He props himself up on one elbow. “And you.”
My eyes fall. “I think you are overestimating their interest in me, sir.”
“I think not.”
I’m tempted to tell him that if such were the case, I would not be the only water drawer in my family’s history to receive a single offer of marriage. Each of my sisters received no less than three. My grandmother, the last water drawer before me, received nineteen.
I don’t tell him any of this because a knock at the servant’s door signals breakfast, and the conversation is dropped. I smile and blush as the maids bustle about, first arranging our trays and then picking up our discarded clothing, which is bound to spur more gossip on.
“Princess,” the king says as he finishes off his third pastry, “I wonder if you might do me a favor today.”
Another favor? The maids continue tidying, though I know every word we say will be passed along downstairs.
“What might that be, Your Majesty?”
He picks up a chocolate-covered raspberry. “The Lady Tilanthia has requested your company today. Might you entertain her while I attend to some other matters?”
Well, this is low. His asking me while servants are about gives me little choice. If I say no to visiting with his sister, the word will spread through the palace within the hour.
“I’d love to, Your Majesty.” I grace him with a vapid smile. “Will there be anything else I can do for you?”
“Yes, I wonder if you might choose my attire for this evening. I want to wear something that pleases you.”
I stab at a poached egg with my fork. “Do you have a preferred color?”
“No, though perhaps something that’s easily removed would suit best.”
A maid audibly gasps, and I nearly choke on my egg.
“Of course,” I say when I find my voice.
I don’t dare say anything else, and when he dresses and returns to the bedside, I can barely meet his eyes. Taking up my hand, he bends low over it.
“Until tonight,” he says.
I still as he presses his lips to my knuckles.
When he leaves, all I can think is that a king really ought to play fair.
***
Lady Tilanthia arrives in a flurry of skirts, perfume, and irresistible warmth.
“Oh, Serah,” she says, embracing me as if we’re old friends. “Soren told me we’re to spend the afternoon together. What should we do first?”
She offers a myriad of suggestions before we settle on cards. I despise cards but can’t bear to tell that to someone who looks so cheery.
“I’ll teach you quandary,” she says. “It’s all the rage in Ilanthren.”
She drags me into an adjacent room that I expect to be a misplaced parlor, but which turns out to be a small, snug library. I gaze up at the stuffed shelves stretching all the way to the ceiling. There are nearly as many books here as there are in my mother’s library.
Lady Tilanthia and I settle in at a stout table and begin to play. The game is simple enough and after two rounds, I beat her at another three.
“To tell the truth, I’m terrible at this game,” Lady Tilanthia laughs. “I’m always talking too much to pay attention.”
I smile. “Being a good conversationalist is a far more valuable skill.”
She lays down another pair of ill-fated cards with a frown. “Do you really think so?”
“I do.” All her questions have been thoughtful and kind, and none of them prying.
“I’ve been told I talk a bit too much,” she says, studying her hand with downcast eyes.
Mother told me not to get attached to my spouse. She said nothing of future siblings, and I already feel a surge of sisterly indignation for this sweet spirit.
“Perhaps whoever said so could stand to speak a little less themselves,” I say, prompting a small smile from her.
She asks me of Vasna and my sisters, of my people and even my own interests. It’s hard to imagine someone taking issue with her open, friendly way.
“Enough of me,” I say finally. “Tell me of your own interests.”
“Oh, well…” She tucks a lock of fiery hair behind her ear. “I enjoy good company.”
I recognize the signal and respond accordingly with a conspiratorial smile. “Anyone in particular?”
She rolls her lip between her teeth. “Lord Lyken.”
Lord Lyken? The overseer of Tirenth’s western province? He has to be her senior by a decade, at least. To say I’m surprised is an understatement, but I keep my expression neutral.
“I see. He is a bit older than you, isn’t he?” Yesterday, I guessed her age at fifteen or sixteen. I have a feeling the king will not approve.
A strong feeling.
“I know that,” she says, “but he’s funny and kind, and we both love flowers.”
“Is that so?”
She nods eagerly. “That’s where I met him, in the eastern gardens. He was overseeing the planting of an exquisite bed of mourning irises there.”
“Really? Are they rare?”
Her eyes light up, and she launches into a discourse of surprising depth on the characteristics of the mourning iris. I guide her onto other flowers, and the subject of Lord Lyken is safely left behind.
“Is anyone in your family fond of gardening?” she asks after a while.
“My mother,” I say before thinking. “She’s a skilled herbalist.”
“How wonderful! Who taught her?”
“I’m not sure, but do you think we should call for the midday meal?”
The remainder of the afternoon passes quicker than I expect. We eat and talk and laugh with ease. My cat friend emerges to briefly lie in my lap before flopping over in the waning sunlight cast upon the floor.
“I should go,” Lady Tilanthia says. “I’m sure your maids will be here soon to dress you for the feast."
“This early?”
She giggles. “Of course. This is your first public appearance after all.”
With so much else on my mind, I hadn’t thought of that. Lady Tilanthia rises to straighten her copious skirts.
“Before I leave…” She grimaces. “Was everything all right with Minister Abely yesterday?”
I occupy myself with my own gown. “Well, the king allowed him to keep his head, so I suppose so.”
“Soren threatened to take his head off?”
I glance up at her stunned tone. I thought another dragon wouldn’t be surprised by his reaction, but her gaping mouth says otherwise. Maybe I was too loose with my words. “Um, perhaps? But he did not make good on his threat.”
She stares at me. Then she grins.
“What?” I ask.
“You must be driving him mad for him to act that way.”
My cheeks ignite. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. Soren never loses control.”
Now I’m the one staring. I’m just about to ask her if we’re talking about the same king when there’s a curt knock at the door and Hiln bursts in, her troop of maids at the ready.
“You,” she says, jabbing a finger my way, “Enough talk. Time to get ready.”