I blink at the man—the dragon?—the king who will be my husband. How can he say no when I haven’t even finished my sentence?
“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” I say, rolling my lips together, weighing my words like stones for those that will make the smallest ripples, “but I did not complete my request.”
The king crosses his arms over his broad chest, the leather of his armored coat creaking at the folds. “There was no need, Princess. You already have my answer.”
My lips part at this. Behind me, water from the broken vase plinks onto the floor.
Plink, plink.
“Is there anything else?” he asks.
I shake myself. Of course there is.
“Yes,” I say. I lace my hands in front of me in the very picture of calm. “Though you have clearly considered the matter, I would be most grateful, Your Majesty, if I could make my request fully known.”
This prompts a slight narrowing of his eyes, not out of anger, but confusion.
“If you must,” he says, as if pondering some complex riddle. I take a deep, steadying breath.
“I am requesting to tour the palace,” I say. Better to start small. “If there are concerns regarding my safety, surely a guard can accompany me.”
The king says nothing.
Perhaps he’s worried I’ll make a run for it, a ridiculous notion, but all the same I add, “I will not leave the grounds. You have my word.”
He offers no reaction. My cheeks warm as I wait.
Plink, plink.
“Is that all?” he says after several seconds of silence.
“Yes. I simply wish to see the palace. Perhaps meet some of the staff. I would particularly like to thank the cooks for the…elaborate breakfast.”
His eye twitches.
“No,” he says.
“No to thanking the cooks?”
“To all of it.”
This time, my mouth falls open; I can’t help it. Never in my life have I been told I can’t go somewhere if I please. There were engagements to be kept, of course. Expectations to be met. Crops to be planted and prayed over in hopes the next typhoon wouldn’t wash them away. But my free time was my own. I wandered, I roamed, I chased the sun in my little canoe.
He cannot keep me in this room. Already, I feel a cold sweat creeping over me.
“I am a princess of Vasna,” I say, alarm making my voice climb.
“Indeed you are—”
Plink, plink.
“—and I am your king,” he says. “Here, my word stands.”
Plink, plink, plink. I close my eyes and try to shut out the sound. One should never draw water when angry.
“I will go mad,” I say.
“From staying in your room?” He sounds thoroughly unimpressed.
“From being kept here like a prisoner.”
“You are not a prisoner.”
My eyes spring open. “Then when might I exit my chambers, Your Majesty?”
Instead of answering, his gaze wanders over the room and its absurd contents. “Did none of this please you? You need only name what else you would like sent.”
“What I would like,” I say, enunciating each word with precision, “is a bit of fresh air, sire.”
“There is the balcony.”
“That is watched by half a dozen archers!”
A slight crease appears between his brows. Again, I’m scrutinized like a riddle without answer. “And should a treasure not be guarded?”
I flinch despite myself. Yes, water drawing has always been a rare gift of exceptional value that guarantees a host of suitors and marriage offers for any holder.
Any holder but me.
I don’t wish to think back on how my older sisters giggled over who might offer first before no one did, or how Selena scowled over the thought of me leaving until it seemed I might not at all. Or how Luca lifted his eyes so shyly to mine when we first met again at my presentation ball. I wasn’t silly enough to think my regard for him was love, not when we’d seen each other so rarely through the years, but he was kind, creative, humble. Perhaps, given time, the two of us would have…
It doesn’t matter now, and yet my heart yearns to return to that night of the ball, of stars racing overhead, of salt on my skin and the ocean’s hum in my ears. My heart yearns to return home, really, and the sudden throb of homesickness is enough to make my eyes sting.
“Where are my things?” I murmur.
In all the hubbub, I’d still not seen my trunks. I push a bit of broken glass away with my foot. I don’t want gifts. I want my books and my telescope, familiar things.
The king’s answer is so long in coming that I’m forced to look at him. He isn’t looking at me.
“Your things,” he says, eyes fixed somewhere above my head, “are being inspected. They will be returned once that is complete.”
“Inspected? For what?”
“Anything that might be a threat, of course.”
I thought all my anger was gone, but it seems I held some in reserve. “What threat? Everything in my trunks came directly from my home, from my room no less.”
His eyes cut to mine. “You never know where a threat may lurk.”
I have half a mind to reach out and shake him. “Unless you consider gowns and books dangerous, there is nothing to warrant concern.”
He frowns. “What type of books?”
I actually groan.
“You said I need only name what I want sent,” I say, leveling my voice out with great effort. “Well, I want my telescope, and it is in my trunks.”
“I have a better telescope,” he says.
“I don’t care. I want mine, and I want to leave this room.” I point at the floor for emphasis. His gaze follows my gesture and lingers there for such an irritatingly long time that I look, too.
We’re standing in a swirling pool of water. In my anger, I’ve drawn all the water from the flower vases here. I’ve likely drawn it from all the flowers, too, leaving nothing but shriveled up husks behind me. My mouth purses.
I hadn’t meant to show him any magic until Vasna’s debt was formally paid following the ceremony. As the king is facing the room, he must have watched it the whole time.
“As you can see,” I say before he can speak and manage to enrage me further, “I am not accustomed to being kept indoors. I ask again, when might I leave my chambers?”
The king takes a single step nearer, making my lips purse even more.
“You may leave,” he says, “when you are with me.”
Water churns against my ankles now. I’m trembling with outrage. “You cannot keep me locked in here. You cannot keep me like some—some jewel in a box.”
I gasp as he slips a finger beneath my chin. The seething water stills. The room falls silent. Some irrationally logical part of my brain notes once more that his skin is rougher than I would expect from a king.
He smiles then, and though there are no scales or flames, the smile that curls his lips—the hunger there, the possessiveness—is somehow more dragon than anything I’ve seen. I freeze in his grasp.
“That is exactly what I intend to do,” he whispers.
And before I can sputter out a response, he releases me and walks out.