3. Hevva grabs her brother’s arm.
three
Hevva grabs her brother’s arm.
“ C an’t we stay a while longer?” Kas whined as Hevva all but dragged him across the crowded public room. “Not even for dinner?”
“Ten minutes. We’ll eat at the inn,” she bit out, sounding a lot more like her mother than intended. “Sorry.”
He met her eyes straight on. They were the same height, until his next growth spurt, at least. At the tender age of fourteen, Kas likely had another foot to go. “It’s fine, that didn’t go exactly how we’d expected. I’m not sure he meant the offense, though.”
“Perhaps.” Hevva’s heart still pounded as they retreated from the imposing presence of King Hethtar the Fourth. He didn’t look much like his father who’d been thin, with a weaselly build...and personality. In contrast, the younger Hethtar was broad in the shoulders and trim in the waist, with a surprisingly muscular body for someone whose job it was to sign parchments all day. Perhaps the dead king was beefier in his youth, but not when she’d met him in Serkath. The fourth King Hethtar was easier on the eyes than Hethtar the Third, with his wide chiseled jaw, strong aquiline nose, and those deep green eyes that reminded her of the rolling hills surrounding her home at Stormhill. She could gaze upon that view for hours and never tire of it— the hills, obviously.
He was tall too, taller than her, which was saying something since she was encroaching on six feet in heeled slippers. Part of why she despised them. The former king had most certainly been smaller in stature and width than his elder son. Hevva shivered at the memory of Hethtar the Third hugging her far too familiarly and for far too long during her presentation at court when she’d turned eighteen. This Hethtar though, she suspected his large, muscled arms would feel decidedly different wrapped around her frame.
Shaking her head, Hevva attempted to clear the image. Of which king? She wouldn’t admit. Either way, she shouldn’t have refused the man’s invitation to dine. Her father would be disappointed. Her mother would outright kill her if she found out. “Uncouth behavior, Hevva,” she would say. With a groan, she made Kas promise not to mention it. If it got back to them some other way, so be it. She’d face the consequences.
With ten more minutes to wile away, Hevva allowed her brother to circle the room and greet a few of his favorite academics and authors, while she sought refuge beside an enormous potted plant.
“Thank you,” she said to a member of the staff, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Ideally, the effervescent bubbles would wash away the lingering discomfort of her first real meeting with the king. She hoped it would also be her last, until she was forced to see him at some such ball or house party.
The introduction had been a disaster, filled with awkward exchanges and fumbled words. He’d bordered on giving them the cut direct with that eye roll and scoff— Gods, how embarrassing. Hevva groaned into her glass.
The king still stood across the room, his bulky presence hard to miss as he greeted patron after patron, attendees of the symposium who wanted their moment with the shiny new monarch. She rolled her eyes as he lifted the dainty hand of a petite, curvy young woman who blushed beneath his stoic gaze. He might look better than the dead King Hethtar, but that didn’t mean this one was better.
And his brother! Ew. She didn’t miss the way he again trailed his fire magic— not hot enough to burn, she assumed—along the low-cut bosom of yet another lovely young lady.
Between the academics, laymen, those with titles, and those with wealth, the king was inundated with a never-ending queue of admirers. Those who felt slighted by his lack of interest, mainly the people with pronounced bosoms and tightly cinched waists, moved on to the prince, who was much more receptive to their overt advances.
She gagged as Nekash flicked a flame against a young lady’s lips and then brought it up to his own mouth in some sort of magical blowing of kisses. Never mind the beautiful brunette who’d stepped up to the king and somehow managed to earn a smile from the arse.
This was why she wanted to find love with a nice common boy. Was it too much to ask for someone who wouldn’t come with his own airs and demand far too much pomp and circumstance...? That’s all she wanted, a simple young man without a title who would step up beside her, support her, support her land, and help her support her people.
Kas’s knobby joints stood out amongst the room filled with mature elbows and knees. She snatched her brother by his gangly arm when he rambled past and pulled him over. He’d been in conversation with some man who’d been honored during the king’s speech earlier. Horton? Hothar?
“Hey!”
“So sorry,” Hevva offered an apology primarily to the older gentleman, secondarily to her brother as she dragged him away from the crowd. “It’s getting late. Time to head back to the inn.”
“Fine,” Kas grumbled as they made their way from the upscale public building.