Chapter 3 #3
grabbed a piece of flatbread and a ripe pear in the kitchens and
made her way to the stables, slinking past Zolotoy’s stall, which
was empty.
“‘E’s out workin’ ‘is gold stallion,” Ratter
said from where he stood grooming Lasair. “As should you be.”
“I overslept,” she said, stating the
obvious.
Ratter stopped combing Lasair’s mane and his
gaze darted to Sahar. Unlike most young women of royal households,
she did not normally sleep in late. She liked to be up and outside
with the sun and the horses. “‘Is kiss that good, eh?”
“What? Who? Why would you say that?”
Ratter grinned and touched the side of his
nose. “I be roomin’ wit Lasair these days an’ nights,” he said. “I
was right next door. I ‘eard the whole thing. Includin’ the
slap.”
Sahar said nothing, though the flush of her
traitorous cheeks told Ratter all he thought he needed to know.
Unfortunately, what Ratter knew, he seldom kept to himself.
“Then you heard me walk away from the
arrogant ass right after I slapped him.”
“I did, an’ I ‘eard im chucklin’ to hisself
after as well.”
Sahar refused to say more. What would she
have said anyway? Yes, his kiss was that good. Yes, he had reason
to be pleased with himself because she had fallen into his arms and
responded to his kiss despite herself. That the low, husky whisper
of his voice calling her his tigress still sent shivers down her
spine. She shook herself and adjusted her head scarf. “Is Lasair
ready?”
Ratter handed her the mare’s reins.
Her thoughts scattered between the race,
Lasair’s training, Aleksandr’s kiss, and Ratter’s gossipy
tendencies. Sahar led Lasair from the cool dimness of the stables
into the blinding sunlight streaming in through the main door, and
walked right into the one man she did not wish to see, not yet, not
today. Not ever.
“Ooof.” Aleksandr rubbed his nose where
Sahar’s forehead had banged into it. “By the gods, woman, first you
put a blade to my stones, then you slap my cheek, now you try to
break my nose.” He raked a hand through his hair and that cursed
shank of golden brown fell right back over his forehead. He
grinned. “Are you so concerned that Zolotoy and I will beat you
that you must resort to injuring me?”
Sahar tore her gaze from his smiling brown
eyes and gathered her wits. “For a man who claims he can be
scorched to bare earth and still rise again, you complain overmuch
of such trifling inconveniences,” she said in her haughtiest voice.
She waved him away. “Now, if you would be so mannerly as to move
out of my way, Lasair and I have some training to do. After all,”
she threw over her shoulder as he stepped aside and she sauntered
by, “I do not wish to make it look too easily done when we beat you
and every other man and their steeds.”
He laughed. “There goes my tigress,” he said.
“Fur ruffled and chin up.”
Sahar whirled around. “I am not your
tigress,” she growled. “I am not your, or any other man’s
anything.”
He cocked his head. “No?” he said. “You are
not your father’s daughter, your brother’s sister?”
She leveled him with her glare. “You know
what I mean.”
“I do?”
“I am my own woman. I do not need, nor do I
want, a husband.”
“Who said anything about a husband?”
“You did, the first time you proposed.”
“The first time? Does this mean you expect me
to propose again?” He stepped up to her and reached for a tendril
of hair that had escaped her head scarf. “And again?” His voice was
low and teasing. “And again?”
“No,” she said, flustered. “Of course
not.”
“Your words say one thing, but your eyes,
your lips, they say another.” He smiled, slow and cocksure. “It’s
the kiss.”
She reared her head back. “Do not be so
arrogant as to think that kiss—”
“Kept you awake half the night, as it did
me.”
His confession startled her.
“Was it your first kiss?” he asked.
“No.” But it was the first kiss she had felt
all the way to her toes. The first kiss she had dreamed about. The
first that made her entire body flush while thinking about it.
Still, it wouldn’t do to have the arrogant ass knowing this. “I am
twenty and one years of age,” she told him. “I have had marriage
proposed to me by at least thirty men since the spring I turned ten
and four, and I have been kissed at least that many times.”
Aleksandr frowned and the muscle on the side
of his clamped jaw ticked.
“What?” she asked, indignant now. True, she’d
only kissed three men, including him, not the thirty she had
claimed. That wasn’t the issue. “You can kiss thirty women but I
can’t kiss thirty men?”
“It is unseemly,” he said.
“It is none of your concern.”
After checking on Pyotr and Serge and their
string of horses, of which two mares had already been sold at their
asking price, Aleksandr slept a good deal of the afternoon away on
the cot with Kiska tucked close to his chest, figuring the extra
rest would likely do both him and Z some good after the long
journey here. He gave the stallion an extra bucket of oats and
asked Ratter to watch over Kiska while he supped at the palace,
where he arrived as the first course of meat and vegetables were
being served. He took the seat held for him by Feroz, glad to see
that Yago sat at another table with a hawk-nosed prince called
Taweel the Tall, and a few others, gladder still to see that Sahar
sat at her family’s royal table. He did not like the idea of her
sitting beside the Wolf any more than he did of her kissing thirty
other men, or even one.
The meal passed uneventfully, and no one said
a word when he wrapped up choice bits of meat and rice and cheese
in his linen square and tucked it into his pocket. Once the
sumptuous meal was finished, he rose and approached the king’s
table.
“My compliments and thanks for your generous
hospitality, King Asad,” he said with a dip of his head.
“You are most welcome, Aleksandr.” The king’s
uncanny gaze held Aleksi’s for a long moment, and Aleksi was
beginning to wonder how much the king knew of his and Sahar’s short
history together when the king continued. “I hear from my stable
master that your golden stallion is the horse to watch these races.
I look forward to seeing him run.”
Aleksi stood tall and proud, unsure of why it
mattered that the king approved of him, but it did. “Thank you,
sire. I do believe we will be the horse and rider to beat.” He
glanced at Sahar, who glared daggers at him. “Though your daughter
assures me otherwise.”
The king chuckled and smiled fondly at her.
“Do not take her assurances too lightly, Aleksandr,” he said.
“Lasair has both the speed and endurance of her dam and sire, as
does our daughter.”
“I can assure you, your majesty, I do not
take anything about the princess lightly, which is why I have
intruded on your family table.” Aleksi dipped his head to Sahar. He
could display manners as princely as Yago when he wished to. “Will
this evening do to meet with your head cook? Ratter is minding
Zolotoy and Kiska, so our conversation will not be rushed, if you
do not already have other plans.”
He had her, he knew it, and so did she. She
smiled and stood. Honey could have dripped from her lips, or venom.
“Follow me,” she said, sweeping past him.
With a quick dip of his head to her father
and mother, Aleksi walked behind Sahar, admiring the twitch of her
skirts as she led him out of the salon, a hundred pair of eyes
boring into the back of his head.
The kitchen was easily twice as large as the
kitchens in his father’s palace, with not one, but four long work
tables. One for fruits and vegetables, one for grains, one for eggs
and cheeses, and another for meat that was closest to the door to