CHAPTER TWELVE #4
I suppressed my natural response to reassure her.
But I couldn't dismiss the Hermit’s warning, nor could I afford to take any more chances with her, certainly not this early on.
I did want to keep talking to her. It had been a welcome distraction, and I hated that I might have made her feel less than.
But it was better than her feeling suspicious.
So I looked out the window, pretending to be bored at having to get dressed, rather than meeting her gaze in the mirror’s reflection as I had done before.
When I was finally dressed, her eyes widened, taking in the full effect.
And I had to admit, this was the most beautiful I had ever looked in my entire life.
Olivay’s beauty had been stunning in the cave, even while dirty and scared.
Now, she was—I was—breathtaking. Fully dressed as a future princess of Eskalon, the effect was beyond words.
“Almost there. You just need to be blindfolded,” the Hermit said. “Then you’ll be a perfect Orsete for the traditional first meeting of your Kavrir.”
“Orsete?” I asked, shaking my head. There was no such meeting of the God and Goddess recognized in our stories. And certainly no time when Orsete, the leader, the queen and prophet was meant to be … “Blindfolded?” My pulse spiked
“Oh, they didn’t tell you?” Abigail asked. “Your Highness,” she added quickly.
“No,” I said slowly. “Enlighten me,” I commanded her, while I shot daggers with my eyes at the Hermit.
His brows narrowed, and again Abigail looked doubtful of me.
Fuck.
But this seemed reasonable enough of a request as my mind whirled, and I quickly recalled a few things about the religion in Spartva.
“We are not so devout in Spartva as you are in Eskalon, but I do look forward to learning your stories and taking part in my husband’s customs. Back home,” I said, “the God and Goddess are known as Kavrar and Orsha.”
“Oh,” Abigail said. “I see.”
I nodded, trying to encourage her to keep talking.
“Well,” Abigail said, “Kavrir is our patron God in Eskalon, and in the story, he marries Orsete and makes her his wife. But she can be wild and easily led astray by the horned-God Batrir. He’s evil.” She shuddered. “A demonos.” Abigail paused on the word, her eyes flickering to me.
I stilled.
But she continued, “So to keep Orsete from temptation and confusion, she must be blindfolded until she is led to her future husband. And only then, when she is safe with him, may she be unblindfolded to the world, because he can guide her through it.”
Safe from temptation and confusion? Blindfolded until her husband can guide her? By the fucking Gods.
I barely hid my scowl and disgust. I knew that Eskalon had a very different version of events than we did, but that sounded ridiculous.
“I see,” I said carefully. “And am I to be blindfolded until my wedding night?”
“Gods no,” Abigail said. “Your Highness.” She lowered her chin. “Just tonight, and only until you reach the prince.”
“What a comfort,” I said.
“You know, Princess Olivay,” Lord Brandon said, his voice dripping with honey, “I’ve also heard in the tales from Eskalon that Orsete has wings of fire when she’s being wild, and they burn off her back, nothing but ash when Kavrir tames her.
Be thankful they haven’t strapped a contraction of wings to your back. ”
Abigail nodded. “Oh, that is part of the story. I love that part. But I think wings would be too complicated for you to wear and remove.”
I barely hid my grimace, and the Hermit, now revealing his true face as Abigail turned away, barely concealed his laughter. Bastard.
I took one final look in the mirror, at Olivay’s face, taking in my hair, dark and braided with jasmines.
I wore an elegant white gown with sleeves that fell off my shoulders and dropped down to my fingers.
A belt embroidered with gold thread was looped around my waist. The dress moved with a grace that felt dreamlike, and every skirt panel seemed to fly out with the barest of movements on my part.
It gleamed in the room’s torchlight, our main source of light as the sun had already begun its evening descent.
Abigail then held up a white lace scarf to tie around my eyes.
“This is not thick enough to block your vision,” she said, “it’s decorative. But we shall add the second layer of lace before you approach the prince.” She bit her lip. “It will make it easier to move through the castle and find your way outside.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. The last thing I needed was to be tripping over myself in my debut. I was already uncomfortable enough as it was with my vision hindered.
But the lace ribbon was little more than an annoying addition to my outfit. As Abigail tied the ends behind my head, she smoothed out an escaped lock of hair, her hand running down the skin of my back as she did so.
I gasped at the jolt of emotion tumbling into me, my stomach twisting with butterflies with so much force, I was nearly sick.
She was suspicious. The Hermit had been right. My eyes met his as I tried to convey as much. His mouth tightened, a flash of indigo in his eyes as he quickly rushed to the door.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that your entourage has arrived.” He swung the door open and then pushed himself between Abigail and me, breaking the connection between us as he placed my hand on his arm.
“Abigail,” he said, his voice now tense, “I’ll bring her out to see her family. You may remain behind until we need you.”
She paled, but curtsied. “Congratulations, Your Highness,” she said.
I started to open my mouth to thank her for her help, to find a way to smooth the situation over, but already I’d fucked up, had made her question my identity. Had made sure she remembered that an Azete was in Eskalon.
Stepping out into the hall, I was assaulted by a rush of sudden emotion as we were greeted by a man and woman with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
A Spartvan purple dress, covered in pearls, adorned Queen Noemay’s curves.
And beside her, King Dairen wore the color in a rich velvet tunic, a silver unicorn across his chest.
The Queen closed the distance between us within seconds, pulling me away from the Hermit, into her embrace.
I stilled, my heart thundering so loud I was sure that everyone in the castle would hear it.
Tears burned behind my eyes. Tears I could not allow to fall.
Olivay’s mother was hugging me—no. Not me. She was hugging her. She was hugging her daughter. Just like my mother used to hug me, freely offering the comfort and affection I’d needed for the past seven years. The motherly hug I’d craved, and I’d cried for with such force, my heart ached.
The Azete stirred. I tried to pull away.
To break free of the contact and save her, to not take any more than I should.
What kind of monster was I to be standing here in her arms, embraced in her warmth and love when her true daughter was being held prisoner in a cave, alone, scared, and cold?
But there was a warning in the Hermit’s eyes, and I remained limp, feeling more of her love pour into me.
“Look at you,” she said, pulling back just enough to see my face.
She delicately touched one of the jasmine petals in my hair, her fingers running along the lace ribbon across my eyes.
“You look so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Doesn’t she?
” Queen Noemay asked, her face turned toward the king. To Olivay’s father.
“You are absolutely stunning, my child,” King Dairen said, his voice shaking with emotion.
My stomach twisted painfully. The Azete was already feeding from the Queen and greedily sucked down the emotions of King Dairen. The poor man was simply imagining Olivay as a little girl sitting on his lap. And I was going to take months of his life for it, going to steal a year from her mother.
The Hermit bowed. “Your Majesties, your daughter looks more beautiful than ever. The prince is a very lucky man.”
“He is. All of Eskalon is,” Olivay’s mother said wistfully. She took a deep breath, wiping at her own eyes, her hand rubbing up and down my back.
I took a sharp step back, desperate to break contact, to stop the Azete from taking too much.
But it was becoming impossible to stop, not when her love was being given so freely, so purely.
I was devouring all of it, and with even more fervor than the energy I took from Olivay when starving.
The Queen’s love was powerful, so much more powerful than the lust I’d satiated myself with at the tavern.
A mother’s love for her daughter. The love I’d never know again.
I took another step back, praying to the Gods to break the connection.
It worked. She frowned, her brow creased with worry. “Olivay, my love?”
My chest tightened to the point I didn’t think I could breathe. My mother had called me that, too.
“Samara, my love, my daughter. Princess Shamhira,” she whispered, her eyes shining with tears. “I promise. You are strong. You will survive this. And you will lead.” She shook her head. “Now fight. For me. Fight.”
The Hermit coughed. “She’ll be fine, Your Majesties. Just nerves. Right, Princess Olivay?”
I nodded meekly.
Olivay’s mother shook her head. “I know it’s a lot more people than you’re used to at home.” She fixed one of my curls, pushing it behind my shoulder. “You’re a little shy. But that’s all right. The prince is a kind man.”
“He is,” I said.
“Your Majesties,” said a noblewoman. She stepped forward wearing a dress similar in style to the queen’s but with the sort of lessened opulence that announced her station. “Your crowns.”
“Ah, yes.” They turned away from me as two more servants emerged, each carrying a crown on a velvet pillow. Then the Queen leaned against her husband. And collapsed to the ground.