Chapter 12 #2
“I am sorry about your mother. If I’d have known …” His gaze turned toward the floor.
“You’d have done what, exactly? The same as you always do?” I said bitterly, past the point of caring. This man was the king . If he didn’t have any power, who did?
The queen, obviously.
What was it about her that commanded such power?
The magick.
That had to be it, wasn’t it? Otherwise there was no reason for the king to kowtow to her like that, even if he was a mud boy like me.
The question begged itself though; why had the queen chosen a mud boy to be her consort? It had to do with whatever was going on with this ‘experiment’ of forcing the king and my mother together. It had to do with these demon creatures.
“There’s a curse, isn’t there?” I asked the king numbly. It was always a curse in my mother’s story books, after all.
The king gave me another one of his sad smiles. “Too smart. Try to stick around. I’d love to see what you become.”
His smile was genuine then, reaching up to crinkle the corners of his eyes. He turned and left without another word, leaving me standing in the corridor.
Alone. Again.
I saw Clover once a week. I wouldn’t say she was an addiction, but she was a very nice distraction, and none of the other servants had the courage to speak against me or tattle on how much time I spent in the herb closet with her.
I was technically a Noble after all, even if they did eye my hair with suspicion.
I tried to forget about the prince and his dragon half, until he found me one night in the archives.
“There you are. They said you would be here.”
I jerked at his voice and stood automatically, my chair scraping harshly against the stone floor and nearly tipping over in my hurry. My head bowed, and I put a hand to my chest in the customary show of respect.
“Prince—er, my prince,” I ended weakly, not confident in what name to be using.
“It is Zariah,” the boy said calmly.
Though he wasn’t exactly a boy anymore, was he?
I lifted my head to study him. It had only been a year, but he’d grown quite taller. He looked more like his father (and me) now that he’d lost the roundness of childhood around his face.
Zariah frowned. “You haven’t been to visit me like you promised.”
Warily, I met his gaze. Silver eyes tinged with green stared back at me, hurt. It reminded me of M. I shook away such unhelpful thoughts. M had been a traitor. He hung around with one-eyed B and his crew now.
A vicious smirk tilted the corner of my lips. B wore an eyepatch and avoided me like the plague.
“I tried to visit you a long time ago,” I protested, but keeping my voice steady. “You tried to eat me.”
The young prince blinked at me, alarmed.
“That must have been Zion, then. Mother says we have to let him out sometimes . I used to hate being the dragon all the time, but it’s nice to live here sometimes. The food is better.”
A snort left me before I could help it.
Zariah’s lips curled in a mischievous grin and a dark chuckle burst from my lips. In short order, both of us were laughing. How ridiculous and uplifting. Eventually, we quieted, and I even wiped a stray tear from my eye. I’d never laughed hard enough to cause tears!
“How old are you now?” I asked, curious and believing the question not to be impertinent.
“Does it matter?” He shot back, one eyebrow arched.
His ‘Zariah’ personality was definitely more confident than ‘Zion.’
“Just on the cusp of manhood, regardless,” I observed.
He stood straighter at that.
“Thank you for … setting the record straight,” I started again carefully. “Er … in the future, is there a way to know I am approaching you or Zion? I would hate to get eaten because of a simple misunderstanding.”
That was a mild way of putting it, but being able to distinguish between his personalities would be beneficial.
Zariah shrugged. “I’m almost always the dragon. Only once in a while is Zion out. How about you do a whistle? If it is me, I will know that is the signal and will come. If it is Zion, he will dismiss the noise.” Zariah’s nose wrinkled. “He doesn’t notice anything.”
Right. The only thing standing between me becoming a roasted dinner was a whistle?
“I appreciate your coming to find me. But get along though. Your mother isn’t my biggest fan.”
Zariah’s face darkened, but his mouth stayed shut, pinched in a sharp line.
The queen was a sore subject for more than me, it seemed.
“Visit me more often, please.” Zariah turned on his heel and marched away.
I didn’t want to attend yet another ball, but my awkward status as a Noble (just barely) made it a requirement. If I wanted to enjoy the benefits of continuing my studies and living in the upper class, then this was something I had to bear and get through.
Though perhaps I was looking at the entire event with the wrong perspective.
The candles flickered here and there, casting deep shadows over the tinkle of glassware and the clink of goblets. Incense mingled with women’s perfume, burning unobtrusively from the corners of the room.
The amount of women dressed up and floating around the room seemed higher than normal.
“What is that scowl for? You will scare them all away. I hear they finally let the new girls attend from the last reaping.”
I frowned as Vession loomed behind me, nearly blending into the shadows with his dark hair and ever-present black cloak.
“That would have been my reaping, yes?” I asked.
Vession nodded. “It is time to pair them up with Noble husbands for your age group. You are charming and intelligent. I am surprised you are not in the thick of things.”
A snort left my nose.
“Vession, when have I ever been in the thick of things?”
He lifted one dark eyebrow at me. “In things of great consequence, you can’t help but stick your nose in.”
I flushed, knowing he referred to the queen. Did he know about Zariah?
“It wouldn’t hurt to stick your nose into a few things that are of lesser consequence,” he continued, chin jutting out to indicate the girls.
Clover’s mouth sucking on my cock filled my mind. If only he knew .
Sighing, I followed his gaze. They were pretty enough, I supposed.
Most of the girls looked uncomfortable and nervous, dressed in fine clothing they weren’t sure how to move in.
It was a sea of blonds, dirty blonds, and a few light-brown heads.
One lone dark head stuck out to me. She wore an ivory dress that made her black hair and eyes shine like she was a statue wrought from black-and-white marble as the silk wrapped around her slim body.
Vession snorted as I unconsciously took a few steps forward. “I knew you’d go after her; the only mud girl to survive her reaping. Good luck with that one. Just as headstrong as you.”
He disappeared into the shadows, and I rolled my eyes. He could be so dramatic.
I was at her side suddenly, with no memory of how I got there.
Alarmed, she turned to me, lips parting in surprise.
“Zephyr,” I said, bowing my head and leaving my hand open towards her, in a polite greeting meant for people who weren’t the queen.
She eyed my hand in confusion, taking a half step back like a frightened cow.
Wonderful. Another broken, frail thing. No matter. I’d woo her and charm her, just as I’d done Clover and all the other kitchen girls. This girl with her dark hair and eyes would hardly be a challenge.
Then her eyes sparked with an inner fire as she straightened her spine and met my eyes, still refusing to offer her hand.
“Shava,” she said.
I assumed that could only be her name.
“Shava?” I asked, testing it out in my mouth. “An old word with several meanings, ranging from a cry for help to simply an expression of joy. Regardless, it is not a flower name. How did you manage that?”
Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then flattened into a bored expression.
Inwardly, I grinned. She would feign disinterest, but she was intrigued by my intelligence and inquiries, instead of confused. A worthy challenge, indeed.
“You are very … learned,” she drawled, eyes lingering too long on my dark hair to be anything other than intentional.
Rather than take offense, it only sharpened my interest and burgeoning desire. This was not a meek, helpless female. This was the first woman I’d met from the mud quarter, and the first one other than the queen who had sparked an intense emotion inside of me—and so far, I liked it. And her.
“I am a scribe in the archives. I know many things,” I purred at her, eyes roving up and down her body suggestively.
Clover was fun, but this woman … She was a challenge. She was not automatically impressed by me, nor cowed by my intelligence. I would have to work to earn her. And I loved nothing more than a challenge.
She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder dismissively.
“You would find a nickname as well if you had my birth name,” she fired back, not meeting my gaze.
I raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently. “What, did Rose or Sunflower not suit you? Have you had enough petals to last you a lifetime?” I goaded.
“Yucca,” she spat out, flushing red. “My name was Yucca.”
I took that in for a moment, running it through my brain. My lips pursed .
“Yucca … the succulent that grows outside the dome in the desert?”
A dark chuckle burst from me. “Your parents named you after a cactus. ”
“My mother, ” she savagely corrected me, “wanted to call out a name in our quarter and have one girl come running, not a dozen. No one else was named … that. ”
Hmm. Were there truly that many girls in the mud quarter? I couldn’t imagine. Belatedly, I was reminded how little knowledge I had about the other quarters that made up this kingdom. Safely sequestered in my archives, there were areas of my knowledge that were sorely lacking.
Perhaps my dear Yucca— Shava—could help.
“Who is that?” she asked.
I followed Shava’s gaze over my shoulder as it settled on Vession with a look of absolute hatred.
“Has he offended you in some way?” I asked, puzzled.
Her hands clenched into fists at her side.