7. The Song and the Snare #2
Amused despite herself, Allora's lips curved at Surian's girlish giggle.
Before they could take another step, a swath of silk and glittering jewels cut into their path.
A single, perfectly manicured foot slid into place, clad in strappy Awyan sandals that gleamed with opal.
Allora and Surian halted, their gazes rising to the rigid figure before them.
Lady Kirelle.
Her copper hair was twisted into a severe bun, speared through with jeweled pins that glinted under the chandeliers. Her face was a mask of fury, her stance ramrod straight, and she was flanked by at least five other Awyan women in gowns of the same cut and shade, a wall of jeweled vultures.
"No pets allowed," Kirelle retorted, her voice pointed enough to slice glass.
Unconsciously, Surian edged back, slipping half a step behind Allora.
Allora didn't move. She shifted her weight onto one hip, arms folded across her chest, that universal stance every Black woman learns young: try me, bitch.
Exhaling in one long, exaggerated sigh, as though she were a tired horse finally released from harness, she spoke. "Seriously? Don't you have anything better to do than stalk me? Like… what's the payoff here? Why are you so obsessed with me?"
Two of Kirelle's girls let out involuntary snickers before smothering them behind napkins.
Kirelle's gaze snapped to them, then back to Allora. "This is an Awyan event. Not even the servants are Canariae. How dare the Commander drag you here, he should know better."
Rolling her eyes, Allora replied, "Then take it up with your king. He's the one who summoned me by name. I didn't even want to come."
A sudden inhale of shock rippled through the little entourage.
"Liar!" Kirelle spat. "The king hates your kind. He would never?—"
Already twirling one of her curls lazily around her finger, Allora's smirk spread. "Maybe he's got a crush on me. Ever think of that?" And then she laughed. A loud, manic cackle that cut through the hall and made Kirelle's face go red.
"Allora!" Surian hissed, elbowing her in the ribs.
"Ow!" Yelping, Allora clutched her side. Weird, she thought, wincing. Why the hell did that hurt so much?
One of Kirelle's ladies leaned forward, sweet as poison. "If that's true, then you shouldn't have any problem thanking the king yourself." She tipped her chin toward the end of the hall. "Since he's standing right there."
They all turned. King Surion stood at the far end, basking in the glow of praise, lapping up bows and flattery like it was his birthright.
Groaning out loud, Allora spoke. "Oh, for fuck's sake. I don't wanna talk to him. He makes my ass itch."
Surian groaned too, covering her face with her hand.
Trying to fix it, Allora straightened, cleared her throat, and said, "Sorry. What I meant was… he makes my ass itch formally."
Gasps erupted as hands flew to jeweled throats.
Kirelle's face burned scarlet. Allora just grinned wider, unbothered.
A cruel little smile curved Kirelle's mouth.
She knew the King hated Canariae. Everyone knew.
He would never let one of their kind waltz through his ballroom like a guest. Tonight, she would prove Allora was nothing but a liar.
Lifting her jeweled hand high, she waved to catch the King's attention.
Surion noticed immediately, turning toward their little cluster.
His smile was smooth, indulgent, as he raised a hand in acknowledgment.
Heat flooded Kirelle's face at being seen, convinced she had just won.
She didn't realize his eyes weren't on her at all.
His gaze was fixed on the dark figure standing just behind her.
The king walked toward them, flanked by a towering blond Awyan in a slate-grey coat.
He was striking, almost unsettling. Long hair like spun gold fell down his back, gleaming under the chandeliers.
His eyes were electric blue, so bright they almost glowed.
He smiled politely at the gathering of noblewomen, but his stare slid right through them, as if the real conversation was happening elsewhere.
Kirelle and her entourage surged forward and dropped into bows, skirts spilling over the hand-painted tiles.
"Your Majesty," Kirelle cooed as she lifted her face. "We were just wondering if it is… appropriate for a Canariae to be allowed at your Imperial ball." Her voice dripped false innocence as she turned her head toward Allora. "Surely she belongs with the servants, not among Awyan nobility."
The stranger's electric eyes flicked again, this time catching Allora, who was still twirling one of her curls around her finger with a lazy expression. Instead of bowing or curtsying, she tilted her chin up and gave the King the world's laziest nod. A nod that screamed: sup, bitch. I'm here.
The blond stranger coughed suddenly, trying and failing to disguise his laugh.
Sighing, Surion's smile didn't falter. He swept his hand as if brushing aside Kirelle's complaint. "Lady Kirelle, and your sea of beautiful companions—I hope you are all having a splendid time at my little gathering?"
The women giggled, victorious. He hadn't acknowledged Allora yet. They thought they had her cornered. When Surion took Kirelle's hand and kissed it, her face glowed with triumph. "My King," she purred, eyes darting to Allora, "the Canariae seems to think she is Awyan now."
Surion's smile stiffened. He brushed past Kirelle, stepping up to Allora. "Of course she is allowed here," he said finally, his voice pitched to carry. "I invited her personally."
The gasp from Kirelle's entourage was sharp, scandalized.
Kirelle's smile faltered. "But… why, Your Majesty? You despise Canariae. Everyone knows it."
Surion's gaze slid to Allora, assessing her with the cold calculation of a merchant appraising goods. "I do," he said smoothly. "But this one... she is different. She is entertaining."
Stepping forward with visible alarm, Surian spoke quickly. "Your Majesty, please forgive her earlier comments. She is still learning proper court etiquette?—"
Waving her off, Surion's smile widened. "Nonsense, cousin, I prefer her this way. Fiery and unpolished." His eyes glittered with amusement as he looked back at Allora. "It is far more captivating than the usual simpering."
Behind him, Kael's posture shifted. The easy smile on his face remained, but his shoulders squared almost imperceptibly.
His electric blue eyes tracked Surion's expression, then jumped to Allora, reading the scene with uncomfortable clarity.
He knew what this was. A performance. Surion was baiting her into showing off, into charming the room full of foreign dignitaries and politicians who watched from the shadows. Making her desirable and valuable.
Making her desirable to the elite, so when the time came, she could be traded for influence and wealth.
Kael's fingers curled slightly at his sides, but his voice remained light when he spoke. "Your Majesty," he said, the words halting, careful, "per’aps... we should not keep... ze lady from her evening. She has... many admirers to meet?"
Surion glanced at him, one brow lifting. "Are you suggesting I dismiss her already, Kael?"
"I am suggesting," Kael replied, his accent thickening as he chose each word with deliberate slowness, "zat... she deserves to enjoy... ze banquet. Not be... on display... like a painting."
Surion's smile didn't waver, but a cold expression flared in his eyes. "How thoughtful of you."
Allora looked between them, sensing the tension but unable to place it. Kael's gaze met hers for just a heartbeat before he looked away, his expression carefully neutral.
A hint of irritation curled Surion's lips. "Besides, Allora is special. A wild card, a very entertaining one." His gaze flicked toward her, assessing, uneasy. "She makes the hearts of all near her beat faster."
Rolling her eyes so hard it hurt, Allora barely noticed Kael's grin widening behind the King, as though he found the entire exchange delightful.
Kirelle's mouth opened and closed, scrambling for ground. "Wh-what ever do you mean, Your Highness?"
Without giving her the satisfaction of explaining, Surion took Allora's hand abruptly, lifting it between them. "You'll understand when you hear her sing."
Allora froze, her eyes flying wide. "Whoa, hold up—sing? I do not remember agreeing to that."
Smiling tightly, Surion already nodded as if her protests were consent. "Yes, yes. Do as I ask." He bobbed his head rapidly, urging her.
The heat that rolled off Allora's skin was almost visible. Her voice rose. "Why are you making me do this? I don't want to sing for all your rich friends."
"It is a gift," Surion murmured, pressing a hand to the small of her back. "For me. For inviting you."
"I didn't even want to come," she shot back, her voice precise. "I can just leave."
Gasping as if she'd been slapped, Kirelle's eyes gleamed with cruelty as she turned toward Allora. "How dare you speak to our King that way! You must do as commanded—" She smiled then, grotesque in her satisfaction, as though already imagining Allora whipped for her disobedience.
Kael stepped smoothly between Surion and Allora, long golden hair spilling down his back. His voice was low, elegant, and foreign, vowels stretched, consonants softened, each phrase falling with a rolling rhythm that did not belong to this court.
"My... frahnd..." he began slowly, blue gaze sliding over Surion, his accent thickening with hidden irritation. "Eef she do not weesh... to sing, nai?... before so many eyes..." He let the words hang, his mouth curving faintly. "Per'aps... eet would be wiser... to let 'er be."
Crossing her arms, Allora tilted her head toward Surion, her voice pitched just loud enough for Kirelle and her flock to hear. "Kael is right, you know. He's a King. Kinda knows what he's talking about."
Casual and dismissive, the words dropped like stones into the void.
Five heads snapped toward the blond stranger at once.
"You are... a king?" Kirelle asked, her voice shrill with disbelief.