3. THREE
THREE
Darius
I’ve seen active battlefields with fewer people.
An arrow through the leg was less taxing than the onslaught of potential wives vying for my attention.
They’ve taken it upon themselves to act as demure and foolish as possible.
While I’m sure some men find that attractive, it only irritates me more as the night goes on.
I need a docile wife, not an oblivious one.
We opened up the majority of the palace and surrounding gardens.
With the finest linens, a kitchen full of famous chefs, and a quartet for each room, I doubt a greater ball has been executed in the history of the old kingdoms. A foolish use of imperial coffers, but a necessary one according to my council.
The glamor and opulence are mirrored by hundreds of women draped in their finest dresses and jewels, prancing around in hopes of catching my eye.
Others wait in line near the throne for an introduction.
Names and faces blur together as each member of my council introduces his pick for queen.
Each one the same alleged rare beauty with the perfect manners.
It’s as if they all practiced the same pitch, but they would’ve had better luck selling me on their merits rather than looks.
After nearly two hours of meeting the precious daughters of important men, pain pulses behind my eyelids. My headache compounds further from the high-pitched giggle of the woman in front of me.
My suit jacket tightens around my throat. I glance around the cavernous Great Hall, the stone walls crawling closer with each breath. My skin itches for fresh air and open skies.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” I say, cutting off the former Duke of Charlestux mid-sentence.
His cheeks turn deep red as I spin on my heel, making my way through the crowd.
Every person I pass bows, while others are bold enough to try an introduction as I walk by.
They’re easy enough to bypass with a curt nod of acknowledgment.
I exit into the east garden where more families mill about the manicured lawn but blessedly keep their distance for now.
I inhale the crisp night air, letting the breeze ease the pressure in my head. The full moon lights the garden better than the torches set up every few feet. As I march through the swarm of people, their attention makes my skin prickle, but at least it’s less crowded out here.
My guards give me space, close enough to react but far enough to not scare off a potential bride. This night can end as soon as I find a suitable candidate. I focus on the women before me.
Think of this as a new kind of battlefield.
As I move farther into the gardens, dresses and jewels become less ostentatious and the forwardness of the guests less intrusive. Many of them refuse to look at me, opting for a deep bow as I pass, assessing me when they think my attention is elsewhere.
A good place to start.
“Good evening,” I greet a group of ladies near the hydrangea bushes. Their greetings are a cacophony of nervous laughter. The two in the middle are the boldest, stepping forward from the pack to introduce themselves.
“Your Majesty. Juli and Imani of Masslenson. Thank you for extending us an invitation,” Imani says, not so subtly elbowing her sister.
“Are you enjoying the evening’s festivities so far?” Juli adds, directing her question at my shoes. She fiddles with the edge of her fan, more nervous than a field mouse.
“Quite. I hope the night—” Shouts from deeper in the garden interrupt my response.
The women glance over their shoulders with pinched brows, trying to find the source of the commotion.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure everything is alright.” I nod toward Juli, and she startles, blushing at the attention.
I make my way toward the noise, equal parts curious and irritated. An older woman has her hand plastered across a man’s eyes.
“How dare you dress so indecently in the emperor’s palace! He’s trying to find a queen, not a concubine,” she shrieks, her voice rising with disgust on the last word. Without waiting for the receiver of her wrath to respond, she drags the poor man through the crowd, only to run into my chest.
The garden falls silent, save for a soft symphony floating through the air and a gentle breeze that rustles the branches. Eyes dart between the woman and me. Her face pales and she drops to a curtsy.
“Long live Emperor Darius Lucian Gilchrist.”
The crowd repeats her words. I convinced most of my soldiers and staff to drop the mouthful of a title, but citizens are too afraid to not use it. I wave for her to rise, and she straightens shakily.
“What seems to be the issue?” I ask.
“I—well. That woman,” she stammers. “Her attire is far too inappropriate for such a dignified event. She’s wearing a glorified tablecloth. Silk is not for clothing.”
I scan the crowd. Full skirts and puffy sleeves of every color come into view, revealing at most a forearm and ample cleavage. Nothing warranting such an outburst. Not until the sea of onlookers eagerly parts to avoid my scrutiny, revealing the alleged harlot.
A smooth jade-green dress wraps around toned, tawny-brown curves, leaving her back and arms completely bare. Floral tattoos curve down the length of her spine, peeking through long black hair.
Her style is certainly unique, but no less graceful than the other outfits.
My gaze traces higher as she turns to face us.
A pair of sharp green eyes appraise me with interest. Years of training keep my expression neutral, but inside my pulse rockets.
A new kind of heat burns through me and settles low in my abdomen.
She smiles and I work to even my breaths to appear unaffected. The woman takes measured steps forward before nodding in greeting. Not even the royals I beheaded were so brazen.
The fire in my stomach flickers like the moment before a silent battlefield breaks into chaos.
“Do you care to defend your choices?” I arch a brow toward her attire, curious to see how she’ll handle the accusations.
She cocks her head to the side, eyes alight with amusement. None of the fear or nervousness I’ve grown accustomed to the past several years.
“There’s nothing to defend. Silk is a luxury where I'm from, and quite suited to formal, warm-weather fashion. I’m surprised Veloria hasn’t caught on to that yet.
” She speaks our language perfectly with a hint of an accent hanging on each word.
“Don’t worry. I shall overlook this misunderstanding and blatant disrespect toward her future queen. ”
Shocked whispers break out and tension falls over the garden like dense fog as people wait for my reaction. They expect the sword on my hip to slice through the air, but instead, I can’t stop the smirk that breaks free. A small part of me enjoys the way she’s challenging them.
“Future queen? And what do you have to offer that lends such confidence?”
Everything about this woman screams royalty already. The way she speaks, the relaxed set to her shoulders, all while the crowd’s tension could temper steel.
But all the former royals are accounted for or dead, and she’s not someone I’d easily forget. Hers is the kind of beauty that haunts a man’s dreams.
“A nation,” she says.
Forced laughter trickles around us, but there is no humor in her eyes. They reflect a cold seriousness I haven’t seen since the battlefield. The woman in front of me is no commoner, but a tactician whose tempered fury calls to my own.
“There are no kingdoms left that I haven’t already united.”
Her rosy lips curve into a small smile, as if my answer were that of a child. Anger, lust, and curiosity battle in me for dominance. The crowd grows as silent and still as a rabbit in front of two foxes. I take a step forward, forcing her to look up at me. “Your name,” I command more than ask.
“Mina Nasrin Ardeshir, Crown Princess of Kalisham.”
I school the shock from my face. I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve met with green eyes. Three were spies from the very nation she claims to represent. The ones Alexi reported disappeared last week.
I’ve survived this long because I don’t believe in coincidence.
I hold out my hand, ignoring the sparks that ignite as she places hers in mine. Her palm is smooth but firm in a way that hints at more labor than a spoiled royal would be used to.
“If your claim is true, my council and I would have a word.”
The sea of guests parts as we make our way back to the main hall, their whispers drowning out the music. The princess seems unbothered by the attention as her gaze wanders over the exits for each room we pass through. Observant or ignorance?
I make our path longer just in case, leading her through the crowd, down a few extra halls and stairs before we arrive at my personal office. A set of guards join us and station themselves at the door.
“Send for Staefan. Only he has my permission to enter.”
They salute as I shut the door, leaving the two of us alone. She wanders to my bookshelves, skimming a finger across the spines.
“You seem far too at ease, given the situation. Such a bold claim could earn your death if false.”
She turns slowly, and the moonlight casts a soft halo around her raven hair. Beautiful. “I’m not in the habit of making false claims. I am who I say I am.”
She smiles, leaning against the corner of my desk like it’s hers. A smooth leg peeks out of a small slit in her dress, and it takes all my willpower to keep my attention higher. “I doubt anyone down there can match my offer,” she adds.
“The Kingdom of Kalisham as a bride price. Tempting, but you’re just a princess. Did your king agree to this?”
A shadow crosses her face as she straightens to her full height. “Kalisham has never known a king. Our people are happily ruled by the women of my family.”
“A female monarch?” I add a hint of doubt to my voice, even though she’s right about the queendom. She passes the first test, but my main contact taught me a great deal more about Kalisham.
“What? You think a man should rule? For thousands of years, men have tried and failed to invade a land ruled by women. History favors my people, Emperor Gilchrist. Not yours.” The venom in her voice is distilled, but clearly, I struck a nerve.
My great-grandfather failed his expedition to claim Kalisham.
So did every king from every country who attempted the feat for the past thousand or so years.
My contacts were an invaluable piece to my impending success, selling a great deal of their secrets and promising unlimited access to their obsidian mines, blacksmiths, and ports.
Not to mention the skill level of their warriors.
Veloria is the largest empire in the world now. Eventually, someone will come to challenge that strength, and I want to be ready. With Kalisham as an ally, no one will be able to question the changes I intend to usher in or the ones I’ve already implemented.
As tempting as the offer is, her barter makes little sense. “Why marry me at all, then? If you’re really the crown princess, then the throne is yours without a man.”
Prideful, confident, outspoken. She’s the complete opposite of what I need for a bride, yet I can’t seem to take my eyes off her. The room grows warm as she steps closer, washing me in her floral scent. I grip my sword to keep from pulling her against me and inhaling her maddening perfume.
The princess radiates rage despite her composure. She closes the distance until we are mere inches apart, tension highlighting the tone of her muscles—such a contrast to my previous delicate partners.
Fuck, she’s tempting, even more so if what she offered is true.
I mentally scold my reaction to her. Princess or lying commoner, I refuse to be controlled by my baser desires and touch what’s not mine. I’m not my father.
She leans in, poison dripping from her voice. “Because I need your army to help avenge my family. Help me take revenge on the man who stole everything from me, and Kalisham is yours.”
“There’s been a coup?”
The puzzle pieces click into place. That bastard. The entire time our “friend” was feeding us information on Kalisham, he was plotting his own coup. It has to be him; I doubt anyone else has the resources to succeed. He never hinted that he worked under another.
Our original deal was that Kalisham would join Veloria, while he remained on as a figurehead. No wonder we haven’t heard from him in nearly a month. He stole my prize for himself and ruined my plans to solidify my reign.
The room boils with our combined rage. Her jade eyes shine with a murderous glint, and I know she’ll accomplish her goal with or without my help.
Mina Ardeshir could be a queen to appease my council and a new accomplice in accessing the untouched queendom.
The perfect solution to both my current problems.
Staefan bursts through the door, hand on his sword. I’m surprised it took him this long to get here, but based on his rumpled collar, I owe Tayla an apology for interrupting. “Your Majesty, I heard you have an interesting guest.”
“Yes.” I take the princess’s hand and bring it to my mouth. Despite her impenetrable demeanor, a small shudder passes over her. “Staefan, allow me to introduce my future wife.”