Chapter 30 #2
The evocation is one of the dragon kingdom’s oldest dances, a moderately-paced, graceful dance meant to mimic two bodies in flight. I could trace the steps in my sleep.
Yes, I could definitely do that if the king wasn’t slipping his hand around my waist at this very moment, his touch sending a quiver down my side.
The orchestra strikes up the music—a single, long note held like an ascent—and then we begin to move as the melody dips and climbs.
The king’s movements are flawless. Precise. He leads with confidence, guiding me in a tight circle so that others may join, and now that we’ve begun, they do. The hall is soon filled with whirling couples, though they continue to give us a wide berth.
“Where did you learn this dance?” the king asks. He twirls me away from him and draws me back again, my gown flaring around us. “I’ll assume it wasn’t from our minister.”
“You aren’t still angry with him?”
“I am.”
Best to leave that be, then. “My dance instructor. He insisted I know traditional dances from every kingdom on the continent for my presentation ball.”
The tempo picks up, and we’re silent as we perform the more complex footwork of the dance’s midpoint.
A step forward, a step back, two to the side and a brush step back again—we whirl and embrace, every motion as fluid as if we’ve danced together for years.
I see my own satisfaction reflected in the king’s eyes.
That’s probably to blame for what I say next.
“It’s a shame you couldn’t attend,” I say, glancing up at him. “My ball, that is.”
He doesn’t respond, yet his gaze remains fixed on mine. The song is nearing its end, and I wonder if he’s going to answer at all when he lifts the hand from my waist in signal to the orchestra. The music slows.
“Did you wear this same dress?” he asks, his hand tracing its way around my hip.
We’re barely swaying, and yet I feel as if I can’t breathe. “I did, Your Majesty.”
“You might think it better that I didn’t come then.”
His lips arc into a hungry smile.
“I might have stolen you away on sight.”
Before I can find my voice, he raises his hand again, and the music slows. An arm encircles me, drawing me closer.
“I thought you didn’t care for it,” I breathe as he intertwines his fingers with mine.
“Would you be angry if I said it wasn’t really the gown I was interested in?”
A delighted laugh escapes my lips. “No, Your Majesty.”
We move across the room in a gentle rhythm, the music soft and steady. I try smiling at a couple of the nearby ladies, but their eyes flit away.
“Tell me about this ball of yours,” the king says. “What was it for?”
“It’s Vasnan tradition to hold a ball when a woman is ready to present herself as eligible for marriage. We call them balls, but that’s really due to the continent’s influence. They’re rather informal and held on the beach.”
“All Vasnan women do this when they come of age?”
“Most of them do.”
“And when is marrying age, Princess?”
“Twenty is tradition, though some girls prefer earlier.”
“But not you?”
I glance off past his shoulder. “No. I waited.”
“Was there someone you were waiting for?”
Do I imagine his voice darkening? I peek up at him, but his own eyes are tracking something over my head.
“No, Your Majesty. I simply didn’t wish to leave home.”
“It must be difficult for you then, coming here.”
“I’m hopeful Tirenth will become just as dear to me, Your Majesty.”
“Soren,” he says.
“Pardon?”
My breath catches as his gaze falls on mine, seizing it in a decisive grip.
“Soren,” he repeats. “‘Your Majesty’ is for others. Not for you.”
I wet my lips. “I was told not to call you…”
“And I’m telling you differently.”
He spins me in a slow circle before sweeping me back into his arms. “What will you miss most?”
“Miss?” I’m so flustered I can’t even remember what we were talking about.
He wants me to call him by his given name. Even if he wasn’t a dragon, a human king would hardly offer that.
“About Vasna,” he says.
“Oh.” This I can answer. “My little sister.”
“The one who threatened me?”
I bite back a laugh. “Yes, the one who threatened you.”
“After the ceremony, she’s welcome to visit you any time you like.”
“Thank you. I’m sure she will.”
“Once your mother decides I have no intention of eating you?”
This time I can’t restrain my laughter. “Yes, Your—”
He lifts a brow at me.
“Yes, Soren.”
A flame sparks in his eyes, there and gone again.
The music quickens, and we glide in skipping steps around the perimeter of the dance floor. Afterward, when my cheeks are flushed and my heart is racing, I experience another wild impulse.
“Why didn’t you escort me here this evening?” I blurt out.
The words are barely out of my mouth before I regret them. Have I lost my head? He only just offered me his name, and I’m chiding him?
The music has slowed again to give those dancing a chance to catch their breath, and though the king—Soren—hardly seems winded, he waits a long time before responding.
“I went to see the wyverns,” he says.
“Oh, of course.” I smile, eager to put my foolishness behind us. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize—”
“I went to see the wyverns in my first form. And I was not fit to see you for some time.”
His first form. Even as he says it, his body tenses. I lift my eyes in search of his, but his gaze has turned distant. Steely.
Does he think I fear his other self?
Perhaps I should. Perhaps it’s rational to fear a dragon, but I’m struggling to find any rationality just now.
“I’m not afraid to see you as you are,” I say.
His foot tangles in my gown, nearly tripping us both. He rights us, but his eyes are round and unbelieving at his clumsiness.
I believe it may be the first time in his life he’s stumbled.
“I apologize, Princess.”
“It’s quite all right.”
His silence continues through another circuit around the room.
We’re halfway through the next when he says, “I don’t fear you seeing me as I am.
” He unfurls me in a long, measured rotation before drawing our bodies back together and holding us there.
“I am king. I must walk the line between man and beast, and my first form is not so easily controlled.”
The world falls away as he catches my chin between thumb and forefinger.
“Especially when it comes to my mate.”
I catch a glimpse then of that other self. His gaze is a storm of emotion, a tempest drawing me in.
“You barely know me,” I hear myself say.
The storm’s call only intensifies.
The reasonable lady I’m meant to be would plant her heels and resist that draw, but if dragons are fools, I suppose I am, too.
Because I lean in.
I let him pull me near. I relish his grasp on me as desire rages in his eyes. When he bends lower, I tilt my face to him, my own eyes fluttering shut to welcome the torrent.
“Serah!”
Did someone call me?
“Serah, Serah!”
My eyes spring open, and the king’s hand on me withdraws. A beaming Lady Tilanthia swings into my line of vision to clutch my arm.
“Serah, I must speak with you.” She turns a pleading glance on her brother. “You don’t mind, do you?”
It’s then that I realize just how many attendees are watching us. As soon as they see I’ve noticed, however, they spin away.
Embarrassment may just swallow me whole.
I forget all that, though, as the king says, “You may borrow her, Tilly, as long as the lady is willing to continue our discussion afterward.”
My face is aflame, but the reply thrills me to my toes.
Mumbling something incoherent, I allow Lady Tilanthia to drag me aside.
“He’s here,” she squeals through her fingers.
“Who?” I barely know where I am.
“Who?” she repeats in astonishment. “Lord Lyken.”
Oh dear. A quick glance behind her shows me the king now engaged in conversation with several nobles. Was I what was keeping them away?
“Where is he?” I ask. Maybe she’ll be satisfied with a few furtive looks at him, and I can be on my way. I’m eager to get back to the king.
Soren. I’m eager to get back to Soren.
“Just outside, in the gardens.” She sinks her teeth into her lip. “Will you come with me to talk to him?”
I almost let out a groan, and I think I would if she didn’t look so desperate.
“All right,” I say, “but what excuse will I use?”
“Oh, thank you, Serah.” She seizes me in a crushing hug. “Just tell him I told you about the mourning irises. Say you want to see them.”
It’s a believable enough ruse, so I let her drag me onward toward the open doors. I throw a final glance behind me.
His eyes snap to mine like he was only waiting for me to look back.
The gardens are cool, and while I’m sure they’re beautiful, I drift through them without seeing a thing.
Lady Tilanthia rattles off flower names and neighboring varieties with the same enthusiasm I often hear from Selena, who has a near identical fondness for insects.
I nod and smile and wonder if my mouth will know what to do if the king comes for me again.
“Oh, Lord Lyken!”
Lady Tilanthia’s greeting jolts me back to the present. Honestly, I have to admire her tact. She walked us straight to him in the most natural, guileless way possible. Even her greeting sounded genuine.
His back is toward us. He appeared to be in the midst of studying the foliage in front of him when we “stumbled” upon him, and while he smiles first at the sight of Lady Tilanthia, he startles at my presence.
“Your Highness.” He bends in a deep bow, snapping an object in his palm closed as he does. A compact mirror, by the looks of it. His grin is sheepish when he rises. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a moment of vanity. I worried a bit of jute was caught in my teeth.”
I’m in good humor, and I laugh like it. “A worry we’ve all shared.”
I look to Lady Tilanthia, but she seems to have frozen. The poor thing, I wonder if this is her first infatuation.
Am I having my first as well?
I clear my throat. “Lady Tilanthia and I needed a bit of air, so she was showing me the gardens. She has a remarkable knowledge of flora. Might you show me the mourning irises she mentioned? That’s the right type, isn’t it, Lady Tilanthia?”
I give her an encouraging smile.
The girl dares one look at Lord Lyken. Her mouth even opens as if she’s about to speak.
Then she bolts.
“I apologize, Lord Lyken,” I say as she disappears around a bend. “I don’t think she’s feeling well.”
“She is…very young.”
He glances at me, and the easy understanding we experienced at our first meeting recurs. I sigh.
“I will try to speak with her.”
Lord Lyken bows even lower. “I would be most grateful, for I would hate to lose my head on account of breaking the heart of the king’s sister.”
I can’t help chuckling. “I’ll speak with the king as well. I’m sure we can keep your head.”
He straightens, his eyes dancing. “That’s very generous, Your Highness. How can I thank you? Oh!” He holds out an elbow. “It’s a paltry offering for one’s head, but allow me to show you the mythical mourning iris. At the very least, it’s ironic, given my good fortune.”
“I thank you, but I really must get back to check on Lady Tilanthia.”
He inclines his head. “Of course.” His head lifts, and his smile falls.
Without warning, he strides toward me, raises his hand in a backhanded motion, and aims for my shoulder.
His eyes grow round as my wrist comes up to block him.
Shocked as I was, I reacted without a thought. Even now, I can’t help thinking Mother would be proud.
“What are you doing?” I hiss. He’s supposed to be my contact here, not a combatant.
He blinks at me. A finger of his outstretched hand curls against his thumb, and with obvious caution, he reaches around my raised wrist to flick something from my shoulder.
“Scorpion,” he says.
My arm falls to my side. “Oh.”
“They’re common here.”
“I see.”
We stare at one another.
“Well,” I say, “good evening, Lord Lyken.”
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
I turn to flee in the most dignified manner possible.
No, embarrassing as that was, I should thank him. I spin back around.
“Lord Ly—”
A sliver of light flashes behind him. At first, I think he’s brought his mirror out again, that it’s catching the moonlight.
That is until I see the figure on the balcony and the telltale curve of a drawn bow. As the arrow flies, all I can think is that I really am a fool.