Chapter 4
four
Nesrina deals with men.
After her tenth lesson with the twins, Nesrina popped down to the library in search of a good book to read in the bath.
She’d developed a comfortable routine over the past two weeks: breakfast in her tower sitting area, three hours of reading, lesson preparation, lunch, lessons, a walk (with Rihan when he was available), a bath, supper, then bed.
Frequent stops to the library punctuated her days, like little spots of sunshine peeking through every few hours, even as they suffered through late spring rains. She hadn’t even visited the sea.
The Duke of Stormhill departed during her third day at Kirce, but still, she found herself anticipating a confrontation with him each time she stepped into the library or rounded the corner near her room. It would have been preferable to Prince Nekash.
The day after the duke disappeared, King Hethtar’s brother turned up in the suite next to hers. She’d had one brief and blissful night as the sole resident of the short hallway before bumping into the newest resident one morning when leaving her room.
He was lecherous, with his wandering fire magic and stinky breath. At least Prince Nekash wasn’t the king for whom she worked. Though he did try to get her to “work” for him on more than one occasion.
As if I’d ever be a mistress. She scoffed, making her way up the spiral stairs, book in hand.
To think, weeks ago she’d been at home in Napivol convincing Mama, over a watery stew of cabbage and potatoes, to let her risk answering the summons, to let her try for the position.
She could always beg the Rashoolis to rehire her if she failed.
Papa would be proud if he were around; annoyed a bit, perhaps, that she’d willingly moved into the royal palace. But he’d always spoken highly of his time as King Hethtar’s tutor. Nes had no doubts his disdain for nobility excluded the job. It was an honorable position, he’d said so himself.
Now, here she was, trying to avoid a creepy prince so she could get back to her room, enjoy a bubbly, oil-infused bath, and read about—she flipped her book over—Earthshaping and Selwassan Construction.
There was an article in it by her favorite author, Talik Thanin, that was the sole reason she’d picked it up.
With a delegation coming from the northern Kingdom of Domos in a few weeks, the palace had grown busy. Nes dodged a swarm of staff as she neared her suite and turned the final corner to find the prince leaving his apartment.
Damn it.
“Miss Kiappa.” With his nasally voice, her name came out sounding sickly.
“Prince, if you’ll excuse me.” She gestured at her closed bedroom door.
Stepping forward, Prince Nekash blocked her, forcing her to stop short lest she barrel into his chest.
Her fist tightened, hopefully hidden in the folds of her skirt. She could so easily weave a knife and jab him in the thigh. But he was a prince, so that wasn’t the best idea. Grinding her teeth, she stepped back, searching for an excuse to walk the other direction.
His clammy hands grasped her, sliding down her arms from shoulder to elbow as he pulled her in. Flames flickered to life beneath his fingertips, not hot enough to burn, but uncomfortable, nonetheless. She imagined the action was meant to be charming, but it made her shudder.
“What a delightful surprise to find you here.” His hot breath tickled the loose hairs framing her face. “You’re looking lovely today. Those beautiful eyes.”
She recoiled.
Prince Nekash loosened his grip, but his flames stayed, swirling and licking up her forearms like a pair of quick-moving slugs.
Who knew fire could feel slimy?
Undeterred, he went on, “A unique scholar like yourself deserves the finer things in life. Wouldn’t you say? My salary is sufficient, should you be in need of any . . . support.”
In incredulous silence, she used her magic to draw what was essentially a cold cloth from thin air to rub down her arms, smothering the prince’s flames. “I have no idea what you’re on about, Prince Nekash. Thank you for your time, but I must be going.”
Someone walked past the end of the hall, and the peripheral motion was enough to capture the prince’s attention. Nesrina slipped behind him and palmed the handle to her room. As she pushed the door open, his repulsive breath tickled against her ear and his flames pranced across her shoulder blades.
“Tell me, Miss Kiappa, would you not consider the joys of a royal friendship? The palace could use someone of your intellect.”
“I am already employed by the palace,” she retorted, pushing her door open further and sticking one foot inside.
“As a tutor, yes. But not as a friend. Our circles could intertwine in the most delightful ways. Consider it.”
“I will not, thank you.”
Nes stepped into her room and locked the door, in case the licentious prince was bold enough to force his way in.
Hours later, she smoothed her blue dress, took a deep breath, and cupped her ear to the door.
Satisfied the hall was Nekash-free, she put on the most casual affect she could muster and strolled off on a mission.
Ideally, Rihan would be finishing his shift and coming out of the parlor ahead, right when . . . she . . . passed.
The doors flew open, and the man of the hour stepped out, standing straight and tall, eyes forward, the embodiment of a member of the King’s Guard. When he turned her way, she snapped her eyes down, studying her skirts.
“Miss Kiappa.” His voice was thick and sweet, like after-dinner wine.
She lifted her gaze, angling for another sip. “Mr. Sarma, what a lovely surprise.”
“Join me for a bite in the kitchens?” He blessed her with a gleaming smile, and she forgot all about her intention to remain coy and flirtatious.
“I’d be delighted.” Her heart fluttered when he extended his palm to escort her downstairs.
When he’d first brought her up that staircase, she’d been ogling his behind, trying to distract herself from how terrified she was to present herself before the king.
Now, two weeks on, her palm rested on his as he took her to dinner.
A tingle ran from where the tips of her fingers lay against his calloused skin, quickening her heartbeat. If only she could get him to kiss her.
A scream pierced the air, and they locked eyes when another shriek followed.
Racing upstairs, they approached the balcony above the ballroom, and the source of the chaos became evident.
The twins and one of their nannies rushed around the dance floor, hands over their heads as they sought cover.
Adella screamed again, and Ataht shouted something that sounded like, “I can’t stop it! ”
What it was, Nesrina wasn’t sure, but there was magic in the air, a concentration of chaos below her, near them. Pushing away from the railing, she raced down the grand staircase and into the ballroom, where a metallic monstrosity zipped through the air.
Good gods.
The magical creation whirled, slicing tapestries.
Mila, the nanny, had a cut on her face and cowered behind a potted palm near the doors, beckoning the children to her.
Tears streamed down Prince Ataht’s cheeks as he raced around the room, ignoring Mila as he tried to catch the thing.
Rihan, who’d followed, grabbed Princess Adella, and put her with her nanny, standing where he could shield the two of them.
“I’ve got the prince,” Nesrina called.
Wedging itself, briefly, in a great wooden picture frame, she noted the monstrosity was essentially four blades, melded together at the hilt. With a shudder, it tugged itself free from the wood and continued whizzing about, slicing another portrait, and coming far too close to Prince Ataht.
First the dragon, now this? Shit.
“I can’t control it! It won’t stop!” the prince shrieked.
Calling on her magic, Nes balled up back-up chaos, just in case.
She squatted behind the prince, braced him by the shoulders, and said, “You have a brilliant imagination.” Tension eased from his small frame as she reminded him his creation was nothing more than an illusion—a dangerous shell of an object, but an imitation, nonetheless.
“Remember this. You might need it on a battlefield, far, far in the future. But ballrooms and battlefields are two very different beasts.”
“I can’t reach it.” His small voice squeezed her stomach.
She gave his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “You don’t have to reach it, Ataht. Breathe. In through your nose . . . out through your mouth.” They exhaled together, repeating the pattern several times until she encouraged him again, “All right, now let it go.”
With a final exhale from the prince, the blades popped out of existence, and Nes tuned in to the magic, watching as tendrils of glimmering golden chaos flowed back out into the world.
She panted from the effort of using her sight, but it was worth it, every time.
She’d always be grateful Papa taught her that little trick.
“It’s all right everyone, it’s over now,” the king’s voice rang out.
Nes’s eyes widened. She hadn’t noticed his arrival, but there he was, standing in one of the massive doorways with the queen by his side.
The prince and princess raced to their mother while Nes released her store of chaos and took in the destruction to the glamorous ballroom.
Oh. She was fucked.
Ancient-looking tapestries were torn, a portion of one even lay upon the floor. At least eight portraits bore slashes. Several sconces were shattered, their gorgeous glass coverings in shards.
“You’re going to have to go.” The king’s stern voice was close as he appeared at her side.
So much damage. Such a stupid mistake. She nodded. She’d failed, utterly, and should never have left the children’s side until they mastered the ability to release their creations at will.
When he laid his massive palm awkwardly on her shoulder, her heart froze. This was it. She deserved what was coming.