He’s tall and well-built with shockingly white hair, which might normally draw my attention.
If not for the horns.
Black as onyx and wickedly sharp, they emerge from his hair to curve up and back, much like the illustrations of dragons I’ve seen deep within my meanderings through the royal library. I swallow, certain that the sound is loud enough to reach his ears.
Selena suddenly gasps out, “They’re so pretty!”
“Hush,” my mother says from between her teeth.
“What? They are.”
Pretty isn’t the word I would have chosen. Alarming, perhaps? Frightening?
Intimidating?
“This is not what we agreed on,” my mother says in my ear. “Serah, say the word and I will have the captain cast off.”
The king doesn’t take his eyes off me, nor I him. He does not smile; there is no warm expression of welcome, and yet his gaze fixes on me with an intensity that incites a warmth in my own chest.
“No,” I say slowly, “we have promised our people relief.”
“Our people are strong, and they love you. They will understand this.”
“I know.”
Finally, I break off my gaze with the king, and picking up my skirts, set a foot on the gangplank. From behind me comes a sound like a squawk, and suddenly Minister Abely is there, sweating and apologizing.
“Please, princess, he will come for you here. Look.”
I glance over. The king is indeed making his way toward me, the crowd parting before him. Strangely, I mark only two attendants following in his wake. The king of neighboring Ilanthren travels with a veritable flock of people, and Tirenth is arguably the most powerful country on the continent. Odd.
At the foot of the gangplank, his attendants stop while the king strides on. A breath later and he’s standing in front of my mother. Selena and I drop into curtsies, as is proper. My mother, who should incline her head to a fellow ruler, doesn’t move.
“Queen Lirtha.” The king sweeps a low bow. “Thank you for bringing my bride.”
His voice, pitched low, is deep yet emotionless. My mother glares down at him, her face red with rage.
“What is this?” she demands.
I suck in a breath at her address. The king straightens, the angle of the gangplank placing him at direct eye-level with her. He tucks his hands behind his back.
“You may need to elaborate, Your Majesty.”
“This,” Mother says, waving a hand at his horns. “My daughter came to marry a man, not a beast.”
“Mother!”
“Quiet, Serah,” she snaps. Turning back to the king, she raises a finger as if to scold him. “I will not allow this.”
His face remains completely placid. “You will not allow my horns?”
Selena slaps her hands over her mouth as a snort of laughter bursts out.
“I will not allow my daughter to marry one such as you,” Mother says. “You aimed to deceive us, and I will not stand for it.”
The king’s head tilts incrementally, and for a moment, I’m reminded of some fanged predator examining a particularly feisty bit of prey. A chill creeps down my spine.
“You’re saying,” the king drawls, “that you were unaware the ruler of Tirenth is, in fact, a dragon?”
Mother leans forward till they’re nearly nose to nose. “I’m saying I don’t care what fortune you hold,” she hisses. “You won’t have my daughter.”
This, finally, evokes a reaction. His eyes flash; his face darkens. He seems to loom taller, larger. His lips peel back in a grin to reveal pointed cuspids I’d be remiss not to call fangs.
“Is that so?” The dark eyes slide to me. “And what say you, Princess Serah?”