My mother’s words on the ship come rushing back to me as I stare at the proffered flower.
“He will offer you a yellow desert rose to make himself known…”
Relief washes through me. So this is my mother’s contact, the one I’m meant to seek out if I’m in danger.
The man rises, revealing a strong chin and laughing eyes. He wears his long hair pulled back in a low tail much like many of the men of Vasna do, and he’s younger than I imagined. As I gingerly take up the flower, Ty lifts an elbow in the man’s direction and smacks it with the palm of his other hand.
“Now don’t be like that,” the man says, flashing a smile. “Just because I startled you doesn’t mean you can be vulgar in front of a lady.”
He winks at me.
Ty holds his hard look another second or two before grinning and clapping the man on the back.
“I don’t know how you couldn’t smell him, Ty,” Rally says, folding his arms over his chest, “what with all those perfumes he wears.”
The man throws his head back in a laugh. “Now you’re just attacking me. Please introduce me to the princess before she thinks me as vulgar as your brother.”
Ty makes another rude gesture.
“Princess Serah,” Rally says, “this is Lord Lyken, the overseer of the western province. Whether or not he’s vulgar I’ll leave up to you.”
Suppressing a smile, I incline my head to the man. “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Lyken.”
Lord Lyken’s face grows serious. “The pleasure is all mine, princess.” Bowing again, he reaches for my hand, and when I give it, he holds it with both his, touching not his lips but his forehead to my knuckles, a greeting of deep respect in Vasna.
When he lifts his eyes to mine, a look of understanding passes between us.
“Now,” he says, his jovial tone returning as he straightens, “why in all the stars’ names would you two show our fair princess the eastern garden first when it is undeniably the best? Why not start with the southern?”
The brothers exchange a glance. Ty shrugs his shoulders.
“It’s on the way to her chambers,” Rally says with a glance behind him. “Soren wants her out of sight.”
Out of sight seems far more vulgar than anything else that’s been said, but I keep quiet.
Pointing at the sky, Ty holds his arms up and curls his fingers into claws while simultaneously pulling a long face that can’t be anything other than Lord Tallin’s sneer.
Lord Lyken’s eyebrows shoot up. “The wyverns were here?”
“Just left,” Rally says.
“Then I agree with the king.” Pivoting to me, he holds an elbow out. “Might I join your party, princess?”
I glance at Rally, but he and Ty seem to be awaiting my approval.
“Of course,” I say, glad for any brightness in a rather bleak day.
Our pace quickens, and we keep to the shadows of the walkways as we go. Despite Rally’s teasing, all I smell is a faint scent of mint from Lord Lyken.
“I’m sure this has been an eventful day for you,” he says quietly.
The corner of my mouth turns up. “An understatement.”
“Tirenth is far different from your own homeland, I expect.” His eyes slide to mine. “But I hope you’ll give our humble desert a chance to charm you.”
He holds my gaze for several seconds before turning forward again. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. Is he…flirting with me? I redden. Of course he isn’t. I’ve simply misunderstood him just as I did the king. I am here because the king wants me to draw water to his kingdom, nothing more.
“Your desert holds a unique beauty,” I say, thinking back to the great, shining dunes I saw from the ship. “I look forward to seeing more of it.”
“Perhaps the king will give you a tour tomorrow.”
Rally snorts. “From the way he looked earlier? Doubtful.”
My heart drops. Am I to be held like a prisoner in my room until the king sees fit to let me out? Normally, I can tuck my feelings away like folded gowns, but some of my distress must pass over my face because Lord Lyken’s leans near.
“Give the king a few days,” he whispers. “He will calm.”
I nod, not as reassured as I would like. My movements have never been restricted at home. I go where I please, sometimes wandering or canoeing for half a day or more.
We come to a courtyard with a single building at the other side, a building adorned with balconies, roofed in gleaming tiles, and flanked with several guards. I sense the time for us to part drawing near.
“Please pardon me for any impoliteness,” I say, “but might I ask a quick question?”
“Of course,” Lord Lyken says.
“The wyverns, they are…different from dragons?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Oh yes, they are different.”
“In what ways?”
“Venom, for one,” Rally rumbles.
Ty springs forward a step and waves his arm behind him in a menacing manner.
“In the tail,” Rally clarifies.
“I see,” I say.
“And,” Lord Lyken adds, “in their barbaric forms, they have two legs, not four.”
In their barbaric forms…is that what they call their original bodies? It seems a sad way to refer to oneself, wyvern or no.
At the arched doors leading inside, Lord Lyken stops and bows once more.
“Until we meet again, Princess Serah,” he says, and with a final wink, he’s gone.
Inside is cool, and though I would like to stop and marvel at the fine marble and mosaic walls, Rally and Ty rush me up the winding stairs like a jaguar is snapping at our heels. Down a hallway and through a doorway I’m taken, until I find myself standing in a room with a balcony, a canopied bed, and a great many rugs.
“Your maid will be with you shortly, Princess,” Rally says, and with that, the door shuts.
For several moments, I just stand there and breathe.
The bedchamber in front of me is larger than any I’ve stayed in, with several doorways leading off in different directions. The room is far larger than any my mother has stayed in even, and she’s a queen.
As I am to be.
The thought causes my stomach to clench, so I distract myself by going to the balcony. To my surprise, it looks out on a small, private garden teeming with blooms and butterflies. A large fountain in the center burbles pleasantly, and I feel my tension trickle away as I listen. Whenever my things are delivered, this will be an excellent place for my telescope.
On the far side of the room, a door—one for servants, I assume—swings open, and a young woman walks in humming to herself. She’s also bearing an armful of towels, which is why she doesn’t see me until she’s leaving the bathing chamber on her way out.
“Your Highness,” she gasps. She drops into a curtsy so deep, I worry she might fall. “Forgive me. I did not know you were here yet. That is, I knew that you’d arrived, but I didn’t know you were here, and I worried you might not have enough towels, you see…”
I give her my warmest smile as she rises. She looks to be several years my junior. “It’s quite all right. Thank you for tending me so well.”
The girl stares at me, eyes large in her pale face.
“Are you to be my maid?” I ask. As I’ve never had a dedicated maid in my life, the question feels supremely awkward, but all my married sisters have ladies’ maids now; I’d steeled myself for it.
The girl points at herself. “Me? Oh, no, I’m not a maid. I mean, I am. Just not a ladies’ maid, Your Highness.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I apologize.”
She looks mortified. “There’s no need for you to apologize, ma’am. Not to me.” Her gaze darts toward the door she came from as if she’d like to make her escape, but something catches her eye. She points a hesitant finger at the bed. “D—did you know you had a visitor?”
I glance that way in alarm but don’t see anyone. Moving closer, I find a scruffy, orange tabby with notched ears spread across the end of my bed. He cracks one eye open to peer back at me.
The girl clasps her hands together. “It’s so nice to be picked, and on your first day here, too.”
“Picked?” I ask.
“By a cat,” she says, gesturing at the tabby. “I remember the first one who picked me. Fireball. He was an orange one, too.”
Cats aren’t terribly common at home, as my mother isn’t fond of them. Do cats generally just turn up on people’s beds? “Perhaps he’s only napping here?”
The girl looks doubtful. “I don’t think so.” She hesitates. “Maybe try petting him?”
I reach out a timid hand to stroke his head with two fingers. He leans into my touch.
“Now I’ll try,” she says, and when she does, the cat draws back to look at her in obvious distaste. She grins. “Well, that settles it. They’re like us, you know? Once they pick someone, that’s it.”
A second is needed to remember that by “us,” she means dragons and that she is a dragon. I sneak a glance at her. She looks as human as I do, of course. Everyone does, really, everyone but the wyverns.
And the king.
“Would you like me to have a bit of food and water brought for him?” she asks.
The cat rolls onto his back and stretches all four legs into the air before dropping off to sleep again.
“I suppose we better,” I say, staring down at him. I could certainly do with a friend. “Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Your Highness.” Curtsying again, she starts for the door.
“Oh,” I call after her, “What is your name?”
She turns and smiles, revealing a gap between her two front teeth, a distinct sign of blessing in Vasna. “Cora. It’s Cora, ma’am.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Cor—”
Like an ornery bull, a sturdy woman about my mother’s age comes barging through the servant’s door with a string of girls at her heels.
“You,” she says, leveling a finger at Cora. “What are you doing here? Shoo!” She flaps her hands at the girl. “Shoo, shoo!”
Cora scurries out, leaving me with this formidable creature and her troops. The woman introduces herself with, “I am Hiln,” and before I can say much of anything, I’m being stripped, scrubbed, and perfumed under Hiln’s command. Strangely, she orders I be fed bites of fruit and cheese throughout all this as if there isn’t time for a proper dinner.
This woman I can certainly believe to be a dragon.
Night has come and the lamps lit by the time they’re done. The girls giggle amongst themselves as a long, silk gown lined in velvet ribbon is slipped over my head. I glance down, and my cheeks warm. The thing is nearly transparent.
“What is this?” I ask.
“Is nightgown,” Hiln snaps, and with another flapping of hands, she sends the girls out, driving them before her like a flock of chickens.
When they’re all gone, I sit on the bed and stare at the far wall.
My skin is raw, my hair perfumed with a scent that’s making my eyes sting, and I may as well be naked with how much this so-called nightgown covers.
I will not cry. I will not cry…
I clutch the bed’s edge as my resolve wavers.
All my life, I’ve prepared to potentially leave my home. For a brief period, I thought Luca, who I’ve known most my life, would offer for me, and Mother would deem a Sileshian nobleman a good enough match for a fourth daughter. But the offer never came, and the Dragon King’s did.
Do not cry, I command myself. If you start…
It will be impossible to stop.
I look about the room for something to latch onto. At some point during all the scrubbing and scouring, someone brought and left two bowls, but when I look, the cat is nowhere to be found. I bite my lip as tears threaten to spill over.
Ultimately, it’s the rug that does it. When I rub my toes against the rug beside my bed, it’s silky smooth like the nightgown, not rough and worn like the jute one braided by my grandmother. A wave of homesickness crashes over me, and before I can stop myself, a sob breaks loose.
Curling onto my side, I cry. I cry over my foolishness, and my naïveté, and my cat friend who left. I cry because I’m still hungry, and I refuse to call anyone and have them see me like this. Most of all, I cry because I don’t want to marry the Dragon King, but I don’t want my people to starve.
I startle as something warm and wet scrapes across my hand. Lifting my head, I find a pair of glowing eyes staring back at me.
“Cat,” I blub, reaching out to him. “You came back.”
The wonderful creature presses himself to my side and stays there, purring, as I cry some more.
I may be the quiet one, but I am also the practical one. As I sniffle into my friend’s fur, I decide I will cry this all out, and in the morning be ready to face my future again. I will hold my head high and—
I freeze at the sound of a door unlocking.
The sound came not from the direction of the servant’s door, but from the opposite side of the room. Launching myself upright, I stare as a mosaic panel opens to admit a narrow strip of candlelight.
As well as the king.
My breath stills in my lungs at the sight of him. Gone is the armored coat, and the shirt that does remain is open at his chest. His boots are missing, and he appears to be working at removing his belt as he steps into the room.
“You performed admirably today,” he says.
The door closes behind him with a snick.
“And I wish to thank you.”