My encounter with the king leaves me reeling. Reeling and outraged.
After he left, I retreated to my bedchamber and stormed about in a manner I haven’t since, well, ever, because I had no need to storm about before meeting a certain king.
How dare he make me lose control like that. And to simply watch as I siphoned those flowers dry instead of saying anything!
“Water drawing is a gift,” Mother would say, “but an undisciplined drawer is dangerous.”
I have trained hard not to be dangerous. If the king knew what such a gift is capable of…
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. I all but yelled the peril at him.
That’s the greater source of my anger—that I revealed too much, that the control lost was my own doing, not his.
That, and the ridiculous way heat soars to my cheeks when I think of him lifting my chin. I’ve not even been here a full day. Doesn’t he know it’s improper for him to touch me as if I’m already his?
“Wholly unacceptable,” I mutter.
My pacing has slowed, and I move fast to correct that. Better to be angry than dwell on impropriety.
Smoothing back my hair, I return my thoughts to the original offense. Does the king think because I am lesser royalty he can keep me in these rooms? I was prepared to sacrifice for my people, to marry a man donning horns and few feelings.
I was not prepared to be held hostage in my own rooms.
I throw myself onto the bed and lie there staring at the wall. A servant must have removed the king’s breakfast tray. The idea of people I don’t know coming and going unseen unsettles me a bit, though I know the practice is normal in large palaces. My sisters have said as much.
A long sigh of resignation slips out of me. I suppose I better call for a midday meal. Perhaps I should ask for something specific so I’m not brought another platter of chocolate. I hate to trouble the staff, though the king did say I need only ask for what I would like.
My mouth quirks. Perhaps I should ask that a banquet be brought just to make him regret his words. No, that won’t do. The parlor is stuffed with all the nonsense he sent earlier. The room can hardly fit another—
An idea springs forth and latches on with all the tenacity of a fishhook. It’s ridiculous, potentially petty, and has me grinning like a lunatic.
I’ve never been one to cause trouble, but that was before I met a certain dragon.
***
“Oh, yes. That pianoforte will go quite well next to the other in the bathing chamber. Thank you.”
The four men wheeling the instrument through the parlor door smile.
“Yes, Your Highness. Right away.”
I step back to allow them more space, and though nearly a dozen other servants are working furiously to widen the path to the bathing chamber, it’s going to be a tight squeeze. This piano is larger than the last. Still, no one seems miffed. On the contrary, a fresh trio of giggling maids bearing stacks of Tirenthian history sweeps into the room and beams at me.
“Where would you like these, Princess Serah?” one of them asks.
I wave a hand to encompass the chaos, ducking once as a parrot passes overhead. “Anywhere you please.”
Smiling, they move on. While I do wish to make a statement, I don’t want my attempt at doing so to sour my relationship with the palace staff, but everyone seems satisfied with the reward I offered in exchange for their help.
I pause to reflect on the progress. The second piano should fill the bathing chamber to capacity. My bedchamber is coming along nicely as well. At this rate, we’ll all be squeezed out in the next half hour. I press my lips together to keep from smiling.
It’s difficult to stay in a room you cannot fit inside of.
Every now and then, Ty pokes his head in but makes no comment with his hands. Rally appears to be elsewhere at the moment. I wonder how long it will be until the king hears of this. A touch of nervousness steals through me at the thought.
“Princess Serah!”
My name is snapped out with all the ire of someone whose orderly life has been upended. When I lean past the doorframe, I find a red-faced majordomo marching my way.
“Oiken,” I say, moving aside for a man cradling a potted cactus, “how lovely to see you again.”
Oiken cuts a curt bow, his breath gusting out of him. He is a thin man, but I suspect he finds running uncouth and rarely partakes in it.
“I’m told you’ve asked for a camel,” he says, the final word forced from clenched teeth.
“Indeed, with the stipulation that only an animal who might enjoy an excursion to my chambers be brought. I don’t wish to frighten the poor thing.”
“May I remind you,” Oiken says, “there are stairs.”
“Ah,” I say, as if the thought never occurred to me. “You’re very right. More peacocks should do then.” With effort, I withhold the laugh that bubbles up.
Truly, I don’t know what’s come over me.
Oiken’s mouth flattens to the point of disappearance. “More peacocks?”
“Yes, the first flock is enjoying a feast of goji berries on the balcony. Would you like to see them? I’m told they’re having a fine time.”
“This is unseemly,” he hisses.
I think of replying that so is keeping a woman locked in her room, but at that very moment, all conversation ceases.
Because the floor is shaking.
The tremor travels up the soles of my feet, reverberates through my bones, then stops. As one, the servants freeze in place and glance at one another with wide eyes. One maid sinks beneath a table.
My throat tightens.
The tremor returns, nearer this time. Then again, nearer once more, like the footsteps of some enormous beast. When I gather my courage and peer out into the hallway, I see no one but Ty, who winces.
“Good day, Princess,” Oiken says, and when I look to him, he spins around and strides off.
I suppose I deserve that.
The trembling continues, and though my knees are quaking, I stand my ground and await the dragon’s arrival.