Chapter 17 #2
They passed dozens of tables of food and drink, though they only dared to have a few sips from glasses clearly marked as wine or juice.
More bonfires, more musicians. Hundreds and thousands of people.
Many of them were dancing—sensual dances, partnered dances, some just moving their bodies to the music ecstatically on their own.
Alethea caught sight of groups of partygoers lounged in small circles of cushions and rugs, chatting and passing around smoking pipes and colorful drinks.
They also passed an array of large canvas merchant tents, their flaps open wide, revealing a dazzling array of items. These makeshift shops were tended by enthusiastic attendants showcasing their wares of silks, spices, and trinkets.
Other tents offered a sense of cozy simplicity.
Within them, plush furs and rugs covered the ground, pillows of every size and hue scattered.
These tents seemed like sanctuaries, peaceful retreats from the chaos outside, where revelers could rest but still indulge in the festivities.
Alethea blushed thinking about how some might make use of that kind of tent, but most were currently unoccupied.
Some of the people acknowledged them, many greeting the group as if there were no such thing as strangers.
Some of them Nakir even knew, though how, Alethea didn’t bother to ask.
What surprised her the most was how people approached her.
Dozens curtsied and bowed before she had a chance to stop them, several of them marveling over her dress and her hair.
The attention was overwhelming, and eventually, she found herself hiding behind her friends.
She’d never been so adored before, and the attention terrified her.
While the others found themselves caught up in chatting with a small group lounging and smoking something pungent from a long pipe, Alethea’s curiosity got the better of her.
She didn’t intend to wander very far, but between the pulsing music and the haze of the bonfires, she hardly realized when the food table she’d set her eyes upon turned out to be much farther away than expected.
She wasn’t worried, though, as she carefully picked through the generous spread for something appetizing.
She wasn’t sure how to tell if any of the foods were more than they appeared, and she was determined to abstain with the rest of the group.
Alethea loaded a plate with several options that seemed quite safe for consumption: grapes, pear slices, some figs, as well as an assortment of meats and cheeses.
She happily indulged on her own, enjoying her solitude as well as the peaceful melody from an orchestra nearby.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as an unsettlingly familiar voice echoed in her ear.
“Never thought I’d see the day Zenobia Onasis let her precious daughter out of sight, let alone attend a Revel.”
Alethea spun around, coming face-to-face with a ghost from her past. “Reingard.”
He hadn’t changed since she saw him last. His golden hair, meticulously coiffed, framed his sharp features, accentuating the intensity of his hazel eyes.
His attire, a navy-blue suit tailored to perfection, spoke of his royal lineage, and his confidence in every step he took was an embodiment of Azmarin’s aristocratic grace.
Reingard appeared to be unaccompanied. His arrogance, an almost tangible aura around him, clashed with the vibrant energy of the Revel.
Yet there was an undercurrent of something more in his hard stare—a hint of calculation that sent a chill down her spine.
His grin was predatory as he stalked closer still.
“Shocked, I see. I can say that I know how you feel, Princess. Is your mother here too then? There’s no way in Aeshma’s Hell she would allow you to attend a Revel unaccompanied.
” He stepped forward, invading her personal space as if he had ownership of it.
She tried to shrink away from him, memories of the last time they were alone together flooding her thoughts.
“Unless... she doesn’t know you’re here.”
Alethea took a step back, discarding her plate on the table next to her, but he matched her every step.
“She doesn’t know, does she?”
She swallowed, unsure of how to answer his question without lying. She simply raised her chin defiantly, determined not to let him rattle her, but very aware of her exposed neck.
“What an interesting development. When Olympia dragged me to this festival, I never expected I’d leave with such a prize.”
Fear had gripped her heart in its icy claws. Did he know about the bounty on her head; that whoever returned her to the queen earned her hand in marriage? She doubted Reingard would be interested in such an arrangement—he’d made his feelings about her very clear.
“I’m not leaving with you,” Alethea replied, pretending she was half as brave as any one of her companions or the soldiers following them. “Leave me alone, Reingard.”
“What’s wrong?” he inquired, his tone deceptively casual. He crossed his arms, and she tried to take another step but bumped into the food table. His wolfish smirk made her stomach knot as he leaned down toward her. “I just want to catch up with an old friend.”
Alethea recoiled. “We’re not friends,” she retorted, her voice laced with defiance.
“No, I don’t suppose we are,” he said dismissively.
Alethea’s fear grew at the menacing look in his eye as he stared down his nose at her.
“Who did you tell?”
“Who did I tell about what?” she spat.
In a surge of rage, Reingard swiftly closed the distance between them, his fingers latching onto her arms, ensnaring her in his viselike grip. “Don’t play coy with me, you stupid girl. You know what I’m talking about. Who did you tell!”
Alethea tried to yank herself away from him, but she wasn’t nearly strong enough to escape his punishing grip. She tried to think of anything she could do to get away, but she knew any attempt to hit or kick him would not only prove futile, but it would also likely escalate the situation.
“Reingard Delaney. You have until I finish speaking to release your hold on her, or I will break every bone in your body.”
She’d never been more relieved to hear Nakir Hasan’s voice. His eyes were a cold fury, his tone deadly.
For a moment, she feared Reingard’s pride would keep him from complying, but either he cared about his personal safety or he wanted to see who would dare to speak to the Crown Prince of Azmarin this way, because he finally released her, letting go as if touching her had somehow tainted him.
Alethea slinked away from them both, wishing she could disappear entirely.
Reingard regarded Nakir for several seconds, sucking air through his perfect teeth. “So it’s true. The last Hasan. You’re not nearly as terrifying as they say you are.”
The gleam in Nakir’s eyes begged to differ. “That remains to be seen,” he corrected, arms crossed. “You’ve erred egregiously. Alethea deserves an apology for the way you’ve treated her. You’re going to give her one.”
Reingard’s laughter echoed through the air, entirely devoid of warmth. “You may know my name,” he taunted, his tone laced with condescension, “but it doesn’t seem like you understand who I am.”
In the face of his arrogance, Nakir remained composed, his eyes reflecting a steely determination. “I don’t care what you think you’ll be one day, but I do know that you won’t be much of anything any longer if you do not comply.”
The comment was just close enough to a confirmation that Alethea had shared her prophecy about Reingard with Nakir.
The prince’s face reddened as he stared between them.
Everything happened in a blur when Reingard reached for his boot, where he’d hidden a blade.
He brought it in a flash toward Nakir, who reacted with incredible reflexes and deftly stepped out of the way.
He caught Reingard’s wrist and shoulder as the prince’s misaligned attack sent him toward the ground, slamming the man’s elbow the wrong way across his knee.
Alethea gasped at the terrifying snap as Reingard immediately started screaming.
She could hardly look away as he gawked at his now disfigured arm, elbow bent back at a very wrong angle.
Nakir’s voice was eerily calm as he stepped away with a feline grace, sidestepping the prince, who stared at his broken limb in horror. “Now... everyone knows bringing a weapon to a Revel of Nysos invites violence into your future.”
Castle guards swiftly descended upon the scene, efficiently confiscating the blade from Reingard’s trembling hand and gathering the pale prince, their grip firm yet not unkind. Alethea could only stare in horror as Reingard was led away, his arrogant facade shattered worse than his arm.
She slowly became aware of someone speaking to her.
“Are you hurt?” Nakir was asking her, his hand hovering over the small of her back, as if warring between wanting to comfort her and respecting her need for space.
She couldn’t shake the image of Reingard’s arm snapping from her mind.
She shook her head, attempting to dispel the unease that had settled in her chest. She busied her trembling hands by twisting her wild curls over her shoulder nervously before glancing around the Revel.
Everything was suddenly so loud and overwhelming, all at once.
She needed a drink.
Alethea snatched a golden goblet from a passing server, the vessel cool against her palm, promising respite in its depths.
Without a second thought, she brought the rim to her lips and took a hearty sip, the rich taste of the wine flooding her senses.
She didn’t see Nakir’s concerned face until after her long dreg.
“Thea,” he said quietly, clearing his throat. “That was ambrosia.”
Oh.