7. The Song and the Snare #3
Kael's electric eyes shifted toward her. His smile was faint, polite, as he gave a small incline of his head. His voice rolled slow and thick, accent curling heavy over each word. "Mm... yes. But only... when I am in Kavira."
Confusion knitted Kirelle's brows before her face drained of color. "You…you mean... you're the King of the Western Kingdom?"
Kael’s mouth curved. He inclined his head again, as though acknowledging a truth everyone else had only just noticed.
Staggering back a half-step before quickly recovering, Kirelle dropped into a deep bow. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I... I did not know." She flicked a hand at her friends, and the jeweled skirts around her folded into hurried bows as well.
And that was Allora's moment.
"Oh, and he's single too," Allora said, flashing Kirelle a sly grin. "If you're looking to lock down a royal bloodline."
Kirelle's head snapped up, her face flaming red again at the mere suggestion from a Canariae no less.
"Allora!" Surian hissed, scandal and exasperation ripping through her voice.
Which only made it worse, because King Surion himself broke first. He doubled over with laughter, clutching his side as nobles turned in shock to see their ruler wheezing like a drunk.
Blinking at Allora, Kael gave a slow, bemused smile. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then just shook his head, at a rare loss for words.
Kirelle stood frozen, every nerve in her face burning. She let out a strangled sound and turned offendedly on her heel. The jeweled mass of her entourage whirled with her, skirts flaring as they retreated in a storm of silks.
Watching them go, a quiet smirk played at Kael's lips.
Utterly unbothered, Allora jerked her chin toward the retreating group. "There goes your future bride."
His blue gaze slid back to her, glittering with amusement. "Mm... eef zat... is my fu-ture..." His vowels stretched, consonants soft, every word drawn like silk off the tongue. He let the pause linger, savoring her eyes on him. "Zen... per'aps... I pree-fer... to remain... seengle."
Suddenly, Surion surged forward, his hand snapping around Allora's wrist. She yelped as he tugged her tersely toward the dais.
"Wait—no, no, nope!" Allora dug her heels in, twisting against his grip. "I didn't agree to any—hey! Let me go!"
Ignoring her protests, Surion's pace remained brisk and commanding as he pulled her through the crowd.
Kael's smile vanished.
The amusement in his expression darkened into a harder, tapered edge.
Surion had darted forward too quickly, slipping past him before he could react.
A sly, calculated move from the sneaky bastard.
His fingers curled at his sides as he watched Allora dragged onto the dais, her protests echoing beneath the candlelit arches.
The protective instinct that flared in his chest was unwelcome and dangerous, yet impossible to ignore.
Surion was using her, displaying her like merchandise for political gain, and Kael saw it with perfect clarity.
He took a step forward, then stopped himself. Creating a scene would only make it worse for her. But the frustration coiled tighter in his gut, his breath coming slower as he forced himself to remain still.
Surion didn't allow for interruptions. He seized the moment like a wolf with fresh kill, knowing Malec wasn't in the room to rip the leash from his hands.
He was in a hurry to set his plan in motion, and it was flawless in his mind: Either the Canariae would sing, and the sight of her voice on display for others would gut Malec like a blade.
Or she would refuse, and the shame of defiance would stain Malec before the entire court.
Either way, Surion won.
But what he failed to realize was simple: he wasn't playing with a toy. He was playing with a loaded gun.
Allora's dark eyes burned at him, heat radiating off her skin in waves, but Surion only smiled wider. He raised his hand for silence, and the crowd stilled, attention locking on him.
"Honored guests," he began smoothly, his voice carrying under the chandeliers, "permit me to present to you a rare jewel among us. You have heard whispers, no doubt, of the infamous Canariae. Allow me to confirm them." He turned, one hand gesturing toward Allora with a flourish. "This is Allora."
Murmurs broke across the hall like a tide. Allora stood rigid, her arms heavy at her sides, her gaze sweeping the crowd without flinching.
"And..." Surion continued, lips curving, "you must hear the tale of how I came to discover her voice. A songbird in a cage, whose melody even the walls could not contain. I knew, in that moment, I could not keep her gift to myself. So tonight, I share her with you."
Polite applause rippled, some genuine, most curious.
The weight of a hundred noble eyes settled on her, drinking her in.
Allora’s stomach twisted, not with nerves but with disgust. She had been a major, a commander.
She knew how to stand before thousands of soldiers, how to give orders that meant life or death.
She hated being maneuvered like a chess piece, hated the smugness in Surion's eyes. But if he wanted a game, she'd play. And she never played fair.
Straightening, Allora's posture turned elegant, her voice carrying clear as she addressed the court. "The song I am about to sing," she said, smooth as silk, "is the one King Surion himself requested I share with you."
Her eyes cut to him, sharp enough to draw blood. Surion raised his wine glass, tipping it in a mock salute, his smile smug.
And with that nod, with that glass raised high, Allora cocked the gun and pulled the trigger.
Allora let the first notes spill out soft and sweet, a lulling melody, like a ballad one would sing to a child before bed. Her tone was light, playful, almost mocking in its innocence.
The hall went silent, entranced. Nobles leaned forward, eyes widening at the purity of her voice. It was beautiful, haunting even, each note crystalline and clear.
"Once was a pig in a coat made of gold, fat on the spoils that he'd stolen and sold. He'd strut through the market, snout high in the air, thinking the people all envied him there."
A few brows furrowed. Someone coughed. The first nervous chuckle rippled through the crowd as comprehension began to dawn.
"This pig built a palace, with marble and glass, and filled it with treasures he never could grasp. He'd guzzle down wine till he tumbled asleep, dreaming of riches he never could keep."
Hands flew to mouths as nobles struggled to contain their laughter. Eyes darted nervously toward Surion, whose smile remained plastered across his face, though his knuckles whitened against his glass.
"The pig loved his mirrors, admired his face, thought he was noble, thought he was grace. But all of the people, they laughed when he'd pass, 'A pig in fine clothing is still just an ass.'"
The final note faded into the vaulted ceiling, hanging like smoke in the candlelit air. For a beat, the ballroom was silent.
Then it broke.
Gasps shot through the room. Some nobles pressed jeweled hands to their mouths, scandal flashing across their faces.
Others couldn't help themselves—laughter burst out, sudden and delighted, the sound bouncing off marble and tile.
A few of the bolder men clapped, half in mockery but mostly in genuine enjoyment, while others whispered behind raised fans, eyes darting nervously toward their King.
"Did she just—?" "She called him—!" "A pig!"
The hall fractured into a storm of sound. Scandal and hilarity, outrage and delight.
Surion stood frozen, his wine glass raised, smile pulled so thin it looked like it might split. His jaw ticked, and for the briefest instant his eyes burned.
Dipping into a graceful little curtsy, sweet as honey, Allora spoke. "It's just a nursery song from my world," she said innocently, her voice carrying over the laughter. "About a pig who thought he was a king."
The room howled. Laughter rolled through the crowd in waves, nobles bending to whisper gleefully, emboldened by her audacity. Some hid their mirth behind silk fans, others laughed openly, reveling in the rare spectacle of their King being cut down in front of his own court.
And through it all, Kael watched her.
The golden-haired foreign king stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, expression unreadable at first. But when the laughter swelled, his mouth curved.
Slowly. Almost reverently. His eyes, bright as lightning, never left Allora's face as she stood there, unbothered, owning the room that had been meant to humiliate her.
A thought slid through him, warm and absolute, heavy with want:
Zat is not a female to tame... zat is a female to rule beside. Ahh... yes. A queen, hiding in plain sight.
He watched, lips curving higher into a proud smile as if savoring this moment. Around him, courtiers laughed nervously, unsure whether it was safe to enjoy the joke. Kael did not laugh. He only smiled, eyes fixed on her like an Awyan who had already claimed her.
Surion's brittle laugh finally joined the room, forced and sour, as if he could laugh along and pretend he hadn't just been gutted.
But it was too late. The court had heard the song. And they would not forget it.
Surion's laugh still clung to his lips when Allora stepped down from the dais. He slid an arm around her shoulders as though they were the dearest of friends, his smile broad for the court, but his voice dropped low, venom threading through it.
"You will pay for that," he murmured against her ear.
Allora didn't flinch. She leaned into his grip as though they were conspirators and whispered back, her tone like a blade slipping between ribs. "I'm already in hell. So bring it on."
Surion smiled, all brittle edges, glass on the verge of shattering. "Challenge accepted," he said softly, hugging her close as if he were her protector. He tipped his wine glass high, pretending to enjoy the moment—until a voice cracked through the hall like a whip.