The Royal Arrival
Rinka
The kiss lingered on Rinka’s lips and in her mind as she went about the rest of her day.
It was there with her when the tailor—Lydiach, a friend of Alison’s who thankfully did not give away Rinka’s true identity—arrived to measure her for her new dresses and gowns. It was there when Ms. Murray dressed her for dinner in a hideous frock left by a former guest of Weldan House, the only garment they could find suited for the occasion that would fit her broad shoulders. It was there at that very first dinner in the manor when she was seated among the distinguished guests who had already arrived, dukes and viscountesses and lords and ladies whose names she would not be able to recall because there was only room for one name in her mind: Idris.
It stayed with her the next day as she joined him in the tent where he had been seated as the guest of honor for the arrival of the royal family, his family, a table apart from the others in a tent apart from the others.
“How did you sleep?” he asked her. “Were your quarters to your liking?”
Rinka had gone from a room shared with her mother to a tiny closet of a room in the flat she shared with Alison to one of the most opulent guest rooms in Weldan House, a room with an enormous four-post bed, a private dressing room, and a balcony that overlooked the central courtyard. The dressing room alone was larger than Alison and Rinka’s entire flat.
“I barely slept at all,” she said truthfully. It wasn’t because of the unfamiliar surroundings though, and it certainly wasn’t due to a lack of comfort. “There was something occupying my mind that kept me tossing and turning in bed.”
“Oh?” said Idris. He shifted in his seat, his eyes wild with mischief. “Care to share it with me?”
“I think you already know what it was,” she said, casting her eyes downward demurely and then glancing back up at him, a picture of feigned innocence.
He moaned, lowering his voice so that only she could hear it. “Lady Rinka, I do believe you are a tease.”
A duke approached, bowing to Idris and starting a conversation about the pirates that had attacked the ferry. The duke was disappointed to get little from Idris, who seemed rather distracted, until Rinka shared her version of the tale, which fascinated him and brought others around as well. The only thing that caught Idris’s attention was a retired admiral’s mention of an increase in naval spending to secure the waters once more.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if my father hired Burning Ash himself,” said Idris to Rinka once the crowd had dispersed.
“The king would hire pirates?” asked Rinka. It sounded insane.
“He would, and far worse than that as well,” said Idris grimly.
By the time the trumpets sounded the beginning of the procession, they had been served a four-course lunch, and more than a dozen other courtiers had come by to discuss some matter or another. Idris had grown increasingly impatient during their exchanges, although Rinka was having a decent time. They seemed nice enough so far, at least.
Rinka and Idris walked along their elevated platform to a window out of the tent overlooking the drive. Rinka peered out of the window as Idris came up along beside her, gently pressing his thigh against her hip and resting his hand on the small of her back.
“Careful,” said Rinka, holding back a sigh. “How am I ever meant to sleep at night if this is how I spend my days?”
“If I had my way, you wouldn’t be sleeping at all,” he murmured. “Everyone is watching the procession.”
Rinka looked to her left, and indeed the rest of the courtiers were gathered by the open wall of the tent, all of their eyes fixed on the parade beyond.
She dared to lean back into him, feeling him against her.
He groaned softly, brushing his lips on the bare spot between her neck and her shoulder. “You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her and reaching some part low within her that hadn’t awakened in a long time. “If I could fly, I’d take you far away from here right this very moment.”
She turned to face him, keeping her body close. “And then what?” she asked.
“And then—”
The trumpets blared again. “Pixie’s britches,” said Rinka as they parted.
Idris laughed. “Don’t tell me you don’t swear.”
“Give me something to swear about, and you’ll find out,” said Rinka.
Idris let out a low whistle. “Damn,” he swore.
Rinka wasn’t sure exactly what had come over her. Maybe it was the heat, which was considerable inside the tent, maybe it was the freedom she felt whilst pretending to be someone else, but whatever it was, she liked it.
She took the hand Idris offered her as they reluctantly followed the crowd from the tent and onto the lawn.
“Just over here, your highness,” said a man in a military uniform, leading them to a spot at the front of the crowd nearest to the riverbank. “They’ll be arriving from the southwest.”
Rinka peered into the sky. Fluffy white clouds were making their way across the sun, their shadows lazily traveling over the hills and forest as a warm breeze whipped up the sides of the tent behind them. Rinka searched the landscape for winged creatures but noticed only a large bird of prey, possibly an eagle, soaring over the lake to the east.
Then she saw them. There were a dozen or more dragons approaching, their silhouettes tiny as they crossed the sun.
Idris followed the direction of her pointing finger, staring for a long moment before he could see them too.
“That’s Ceri out front. You can barely see her against the clouds.”
Rinka hadn’t noticed the white dragon until Idris pointed her out. The others, in shades of red, black, blue, and green, stood out better against the sky.
The crowd had noticed them now. There were scattered cheers that joined together into a continuous yell as the flying party approached.
The dragons grouped into formation as they began their descent. They formed a great vee in the sky, a large dragon that was such a dark red it was nearly black at the front.
King Derkomai. Idris’s father.
The king led the others down to the manor grounds so suddenly that some of the crowd in the stands moved out of the way to avoid them. The dragons swept low, performing a close pass over the crowd before ascending once more to make one final circle.
One by one, the members of the royal family landed on the open lawn to the north.
“My aunts and uncles. That little one there is my cousin, Nik. He’s only nine,” said Idris. “He’s the last in the line of succession that’s allowed to change form.”
“I don’t understand,” said Rinka. “What do you mean ‘allowed’ to?”
“Descendants from dragons can change form for generations, but the rules of the monarchy prevent anyone further from the throne than the twelfth in line for succession from doing so. It’s an attempt to prevent civil war, although as you might remember from your history lessons, it hasn’t been entirely successful.”
Rinka did vaguely remember learning something along those lines in school, now that he mentioned it. Not that she ever imagined she’d be close enough to the monarchy to need to retain the knowledge of their rules.
“Here comes Ceri, showing off as usual,” said Idris.
The white dragon dove sharply and then did a somersault before rolling down to land. The crowd cheered even louder, with a number of high-pitched screams from the younger ladies present.
Idris rolled his eyes.
The last dragon to land was the king. He circled overhead, closing on a large wooden figure in the shape of a man at the northern end of the lawn.
“What’s that?” asked Rinka.
“I’m not sure,” said Idris.
“It’s called a wicker man. A local tradition to ward off foul spirits and protect the crops for the upcoming harvest,” said a man who had walked up beside them while their attention was distracted. “How do you do, your highness?”
Though Rinka had never seen him before, she recognized him at once: this must be Lord Ainsley, Keir’s father. Their resemblance was uncanny—the same brown eyes, the same strong jaw.
Rinka had heard a lot about this man from Alison in her letters, and none of it was good.
“We are well, Merelor. Did I see you arrive by motor carriage?” asked Idris.
“Yes, your highness. Would you like to see it later? I could take you for a drive.”
“Perhaps another time. I have already promised this evening to Lady Rinka.” Idris looked at her meaningfully, and she had to turn away to conceal her blush.
“How do you do, my lady? I’ve heard that you’re staying with us as well. So great of you to come, and from as far as Paistos.”
Rinka had forgotten to ask Idris for any information about Paistos.
But she was also in a playful mood, and she remembered Idris’s advice: speak confidently and few would dare to question you. Especially in the company of the crown prince.
“It was quite a journey,” she said, “but I’m grateful to stay in such a lovely and quaint estate.”
Lord Ainsley’s eyebrow twitched at the word “quaint.” “Are the estates somewhat grander in Paistos?” he asked, attempting to conceal his doubt.
“Oh yes. My family’s villa is constructed out of the entire mountainside. Still, the smaller homes here in Wilderise have a certain charm.”
Lord Ainsley’s smile remained pleasant, but Rinka could see the hint of a smirk pulling at his left cheek. “Mountainside? I believed Paistos to be on the sea.”
She had truly pushed a button then to have earned such a contentious response, but she pressed on. “The mountains meet the sea in Paistos, yes. Much like the eastern coast of Wilderise.”
“Of course,” said Lord Ainsley. “Forgive me; I was never much for geography. If you’ll both excuse me, I’m needed to greet the royal family. Or—the remaining members of the royal family. Forgive me, your highness.”
“Buffoon,” said Idris once he was out of earshot. “A nice dig you got in there, though. Done with all the passive aggressive animosity of a real courtier.”
“Thank you, your highness,” said Rinka with a smirking half-curtsy.
“Don’t forget what happens when you call me that,” growled Idris, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
The crowd stilled as the king made his final approach. He passed low overhead, cutting a straight line to the wicker man.
Then he roared, fire leaping from his open mouth to the wooden figure, bursting it into flame.
The crowd went wild.
“He does have a flair for the theatric,” said Idris.
Rinka would not admit it to him at this moment, but she did find it pretty entertaining.
With the king finally landed, the royals shifted back into their regular forms with a series of loud cracks that bounced from the walls of the manor like thunder. They were each wearing fine robes in the exact same shades as their scales, Rinka realized.
“The only bit of magic my father has patience for,” said Idris. “As much as he hates it, he could never stand for the royal family changing form in the nude.”
“A pity,” said Rinka. “I’d like to see that.”
“You’d like to see my father naked?”
“I—shoot. That one got away from me a bit there.”
“Don’t worry,” said Idris. “I understood your meaning.”
“Excuse me, your highness. The king has requested your presence,” said a woman in uniform.
“Come, my lady, it’s time to meet the family,” said Idris, offering his arm.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the king only requested that you come. Not the young lady.” The woman in uniform nervously looked at Rinka, hoping this wouldn’t be a problem.
“Well, won’t he be delighted then when he gets the both of us?”
“Rule-breaker,” muttered Rinka as she allowed him to lead her past the courtiers to the field where the royal family was gathered.
No one was rude enough to tell her to leave once she was there already, and so Idris introduced her to his closest relatives, who all greeted him with a surprising amount of kindness and delight at seeing him again after so long.
All except for the king and Princess Ceri, at least.
Princess Ceridwen looked very little like her brother. She was pale where he was tan, short where he was tall, her hair silver where his was black, and her eyes blue where his were brown. And yet the eyes were the same exact shape, an almond shape that must have belonged to their mother because they looked nothing like the king’s.
King Derkomai shared Idris’s imposing figure and his daughter’s coloring, but little else with either of them. Still, he was a handsome man for his age, his full head of silver hair windswept underneath a silver crown studded with deep red jewels to match his royal robes.
His pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief or perhaps cruelty; it was difficult for Rinka to say.
“Prince Idris,” he said. “How good of you to join us.”
The words were sweet, but the tone was acidic. Rinka gulped, trying to remain calm.
“And you’ve brought a pet,” said Princess Ceri, looking at Rinka.
Idris went stiff while the king chuckled malevolently.
“Play nicely, children. People are watching.”
“Sister,” said Idris. “You’re looking as miserable as ever.”
“Better miserable than pathetic,” she bit back.
“Enough!” said the king. He lowered his voice. “I will not turn this occasion into yet another spectacle. Idris, I don’t know what you’re here to achieve, but I’d suggest you do it without another word to your sister.”
He turned to Ceri, his voice far gentler. “Ceri, my sweet. Remember what we’ve talked about.”
“Yes, Father,” she said, pouting her bottom lip.
Idris held up his hands in surrender and backed away.
“Very good,” said the king. He left without another word to them, heading to an elevated stand overlooking the crowd.
“I didn’t get your name,” Ceri said to Rinka once he was out of earshot. “Was it Boots? Fluffy? Miss Kitty?”
“Stop it,” hissed Idris.
“What?” asked Ceri, her face full of mocking innocence. “Surely she’s not courting you, on account of—”
“I said stop!” said Idris loudly enough that his father turned to shoot him a lethal glare. He continued, keeping his voice to a whisper. “You are twenty years old. Stop acting like a child.”
She sighed. “You never were any fun.”
The two of them exchanged barbs throughout their father’s welcome speech, and they hadn’t stopped by the time dinner arrived either. Rinka had been dressed in the first of the evening gowns Lydiach had made her: a pale mauve silk number with a chiffon overlay embroidered with delicate gold filigree.
“You must tell me the name of your seamstress,” said Ceri to Rinka after a particularly cruel exchange with Idris. “That gown is magnificent.”
Rinka suspected she was being mocked, but it was not the only compliment she received that night. She was seated across from Princess Chloe, Idris’s aunt, and not only had she been complimentary of Rinka’s attire, but she also made for delightful company in general, even more so with each glass of Wilderisen whisky.
“And then there was the time he got stuck in a dining chair,” said Princess Chloe. “He must have been five or six, and he loved to sit backwards in chairs. You know, sitting with his skinny little legs wrapped around the back, kicking and making faces through the gaps, just being a little boy. His mother, Queen Yuling—this was before she was forced to return home—told him not to a hundred times, but he always did it as soon as she left the room. Well, she had a new set of chairs brought into the music room from her home, and they had a little slot in the back where his legs would fit. He slid both in there one day and couldn’t get back out! It was the funniest thing. The carpenter was on his way by the time he got control of his magic and freed himself.”
Rinka laughed, but she didn’t quite understand the story. “Couldn’t one of you have freed him?” They all seemed to have mastery over the same magic Idris used, at least in keeping themselves clothed in flight.
“Ah, the king prefers we don’t use magic unless absolutely necessary. He’s a believer in modern technology. I would have done it anyway, but Idris wasn’t in distress. He was laughing just as hard as the rest of us.”
In return for her fine tales, Rinka shared with her the story of their escape from the pirates, which earned her the attention and admiration of most of her end of the table. By the time she was able to speak to Idris again as they watched an elf courtier play the pianoforte late that evening, she had won over much of his family.
“You seem to be quite at home,” he said to her, pulling her to the back of the room for as private as a conversation as they were allowed under the circumstances. “Aunt Chloe has already asked if she can invite you to stay with her in her town home this autumn.”
“They’re different than I expected,” said Rinka. “More…”
“Ordinary?” Idris offered.
Rinka nodded, hoping it wasn’t rude to say.
Idris smiled. “There isn’t as much of a need to put on a show when it’s mostly family around. Of course, all the usual rules still apply, especially since there are other courtiers present, but some of us care more about that than others.”
“I see,” said Rinka.
“For example,” said Idris. “I absolutely should not be thinking the things I’m thinking seeing you in that gown.”
His voice was barely a whisper. Rinka looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but they were all quite focused on the performance.
“And what are you thinking?” she asked him.
“I’m thinking,” he said, leaning closer, “of just how easy it would be to tear this lovely thin fabric from your shoulder, just here.” He traced his fingertips over the chiffon of her right sleeve without turning to look, his eyes fixed on the pianist.
“Not a chance!” whispered Rinka out of the corner of her mouth. “I’ve never had a gown this nice before, and I would sooner tear a painting in half than this work of art.”
She glanced sideways to look at him before she continued, and the heat in his eyes threatened to ignite her. “If you wished to remove it, you’d need to undo the hooks just back here—” She glanced around the room and then took his hand, placing it on her back.
“I see,” he whispered, running his fingers over the gown’s closures. “So many hooks. An exercise in patience, I suppose.”
“Some things are worth the wait,” said Rinka.
“But waiting is hard,” he said.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rinka could see him shifting his weight a little, the minute movement of his hips as he adjusted himself.
She shivered.
The applause began then for the end of the elf’s performance. Idris withdrew his hand to clap, leaving Rinka to feel the echo of his touch.
“You aren’t the only one who won’t be sleeping tonight,” said Idris quietly, his words drowned out by the applause. And then, louder, for everyone else to hear: “Good night, Lady Rinka. I hope you have the sweetest dreams.”