124. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
V aleris
“Shit,” I say the barest moment before the cameras start rolling on Mathene as he buoyantly announces there’s been a winner of the Zaypien Day Quest for the first time in over four centuries.
As he so clearly and repeatedly told me since the day of my coronation, four days after my father’s death, I need to step up and do what’s expected of me. He not so kindly informed me that my twenty-four annums of privilege just came to an end. Now I would have a life filled with not only power, but duty.
I never begrudged having a duty to the people of Ton’arr, but I never wanted that to extend into my private life. Being told who to mate? I shouldn’t owe that to chance just to follow some antique mandate from a time filled with magical beliefs.
Look at her. The cameras at Zaypien Station 12 pan in, showing my future mate. I don’t even know her name. I pull up my pad and see Station 12 is in the heart of rural country. My intended mate is probably the daughter of a farmer.
Her dress, the hem sopping from the Alagan waters, drags the hand-me-down dress low on her body, especially on her bodice, as if she were trying to entice a suitor. Trust me, little miss country, there is nothing enticing about you.
I’ve dated some of the most eligible females of the kingdom since I came of age. I’ve grown to expect not only a certain amount of deference, but a table companion capable of erudite conversation, expressing opinions, and offering cogent arguments in fascinating debates. This female looks as if she just strolled to the riverbanks after a walk in the nearby forest.
“So how does it feel to win the Zaypien Day Quest?” The on-scene newscaster asks as the camera dollies closer. “You must feel as though you won the lottery.”
The frightened little thing doesn’t answer as I would expect, doesn’t gush about her fabulous luck and tell the entire planet she can’t wait to mate a king.
She looks straight into the camera and says, “I’m not sure.”
There’s something about the look on her face that makes me believe she’s telling the truth. By the strong set of her jaw and her blazing green eyes, I think she knows how she feels. She’s no happier about this than I am.
I watch as she’s swept into a hover-limo dispatched, no doubt, by my staff. She’s obviously not ready to board it. She’s trying to tear herself away and reach toward the nearby female who I’m guessing is her mother. My intended mate, whose name I still don’t know, is reaching for her mother while she’s stuffed into the back of the hover.
“She shouldn’t worry about collecting her belongings from home,” the announcer tells the viewing audience with a knowing smirk. “She’ll be showered with the finest clothing and jewels the moment she’s escorted to her room at the palace.”
I never gave the female’s experience much thought before, but it must be disorienting to drive to the Zaypien site with your family and then be ripped from them and hover-limo’d away to the palace as the King’s potential mate only a few hoaras later.
Avania
This plush black hover is three times larger than the one I came to the river in today. I’m alone in the back seat, peeking out the tinted windows that prevent people from looking in.
I can see them, though. They’re jubilant as they surround the car, thinking they were witness to a miracle. They’re shouting and jumping and wishing me well on what they assume is the best day of my life.
I lay down, face the back of the black, butter-soft leather seat, and weep.
They wouldn’t even let me kiss my mother goodbye. I have nothing but the dress I’m wearing, having kicked off my shoes at the last moment before I waded into the river.
I picture images I’ve seen of my grandmother and great-grandmother, imagining them and my mom in this cavernous limo with me. They’d be jubilant and proud and supportive, assuming I’d be the happiest person on the planet. I try to catch even a fragment of their happiness about my changed circumstances, but I can’t.
I imagine King Valeris is no happier. They barely showed his face today on the news broadcast. Probably because he was trying to talk his advisors out of this ridiculous, old-fashioned ritual. And who’s he going to blame? Me.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I’m aware of is a respectful male voice calling me.
“My lady? My lady? We’re here at the palace.”
I wonder how long he was calling me. I probably would have woken easier if he’d called my name, but not one person has even asked. Just as I suspected, I’m just an object. A pawn.
I’m whisked inside and hurried through one opulent room after the other. I can’t focus on any one thing. The details are overwhelming. I just know everything is expensive and my dirty bare feet and soggy dress have no place here.
I’m shown to my room and left alone with a young lady, Blanesse, who tells me she’s my lady’s maid. I’m in a daze as I’m taken to a sunken tub bigger than my refresher at home.
“I don’t know what scent you prefer, my lady, so I’ve laid out a variety. The pellum scent is in the red container there.” She points with a knowing smile on her face, assuming that red will be my favorite color and pellum will be my favorite scent until the end of time.
When she leaves me alone, the first thing I do is choose the mellara- scented products and then step into the sunken tub. The water is warmed to the perfect temperature, and despite the horrendous events of the day, I allow myself to relax as my mind catches up with my circumstances.
“My lady?” Blanesse’s respectful voice calls. “I hate to interrupt, but I was told to help you dress for the ceremony.
“Ceremony?” I ask, but I’m afraid I know exactly what she’s talking about. My eyes widen and my tails flicks in irritation under the water.
“Your… mating ceremony.”
My stomach cramps at the mention of it. Really? One moment I’m a carefree eighteen- annum -old female and less than three hoaras later I’m to be mated?
Two warring emotions sweep through me with the force of a hurricane. Fury. White-hot anger at this circumstance. And fear. This is suddenly real.
Blanesse enters and dries me with a fluffy white towel as if it were the most normal thing in the world to help an adult with their bath. I’m too preoccupied to protest.
Nor do I complain when she helps me into a crimson gown that probably cost the equivalent of my mother’s house. I simply look into the mirror as she works tiny braids into my mane, adorning them with crimson beads. I absently wonder if they’re rubies.
“You look beautiful, my lady.”
Our gazes meet in the mirror, then I glance at my own reflection. It’s the same visage I’ve seen in the mirror for as long as I can remember. The same green eyes, flat nose, and full lips. I don’t want to admit it, but the way she’s styled my mane, the beads, the fancy dress with the portrait neckline, do make me look pretty. Good. I’ll need the confidence.
“My mother?” I ask. “If I’m to be mated tonight, my mother needs to be here.”
“I’ll tell my superior of your wishes,” she says earnestly. I interpret that to mean nothing will be done about my request.
Just as I imagined, I’m being swept along, just like the flowers in the raging river. My fate is now out of my control.
Valeris
I’m standing in the Galaxy Hall, the largest room in the palace, intended for events just like this. Although no one expected anyone to pluck the red pellum flower today, the staff was evidently prepared because we’re about to have a ceremony and a state dinner at barely a moment’s notice.
I’ve already had another argument with Mathene that almost came to blows, but he was right when he insisted the millions of my subjects need to know the monarchy abides by its own rules and traditions.
“You need to mate her tonight during the ceremony and breed her in your bed. Put your seed inside her, give yourself an heir, and move on with your life as planned,” he’d said without seeming to care that I haven’t even been in the same room with my intended nor have we exchanged a word or even a glance.
I’m in my formal crimson robe, a nod to the pellum flower, as I stand on the dais next to the high priestess. I’m staring into nothingness, imagining being as out of control as I feel right now for the next seven decades of my life, when the room hushes.
My bride, I’m told her name is Avania, appears at the far end of the room, accompanied by Mathene. I’d thought she looked plain and bedraggled when I saw her on vids, but she looks lovely in her crimson gown with her mane tidied in tiny braids.
Oh, but the look on her face. If there’s one person in the room who wants to be here less than me—it’s her. Her eyes are luminous, not in excitement, but in abject fear, with maybe a hint of anger.
I can’t blame her. She was less prepared for this than I was. Mathene is half escorting, half dragging her the length of this enormous room toward me. Her gaze hasn’t swung to me yet. Is it out of awe at being in the presence of a king?
When she looks at me, her emerald eyes narrow and her dainty nostrils flare. No. I wouldn’t call this awe. She’s pissed.
Well, good for you, Avania. Perhaps you won’t be angry at all when I relegate you to the east wing. Do you have a lover in the back of beyond of your farm community? Were you planning to mate? Don’t worry. In a few short lunars, you can move him into your suite with no argument from me. This might work out yet.
Mathene escorts her up the steps of the dais and deposits her not a fierto from me as we stand facing the priestess who is conducting the ceremony. Finally, the priestess tells us to face each other and hold hands.
My new mate doesn’t reach for me as instructed. I have to span the distance and grab her hands in mine. When her gaze flashes to me, I see the angry fire blaze, then sputter out. Her true emotion bleeds through. Fear.
No. Not merely fear. She’s terrified.
I can’t interrupt the ceremony to speak, to reassure her, so I rumble a soft purr meant only for her ears, although I’m sure the priestess hears it too.
My gentle purr reassures her. When her shoulders relax a fraction and the tight set of her jaw releases, I give her a small nod and an even smaller smile. This allows her to take a deep breath.
I can’t pay attention to the priestess’s words. I’m too absorbed with reassuring little Avania. Now that we’re only a few handspans apart, I’m quickly convinced my little bride is beautiful.