Chapter 5 #3
said, her voice as frosty as her glare, “I would remember whose
hospitality you are here enjoying, and learn to use those royal
manners I am sure your mother, the queen, has taught you.”
Anastasia’s jaw dropped open, and then she
snapped it shut. She stood and stared down her nose at the entire
assemblage before dipping a dainty knee to the queen, and then left
the courtyard with a haughty poise learned at her mother’s breast.
The king stood beside his wife and queen, and taking her hand in
the crook of his arm, announced to the gathering that the feast was
over. He gave his daughter, who remained stiff and silent as a
statue beside Aleksi, a gentle smile of fatherly concern before
leading his wife away. Aleksi turned to Sahar as stools were
scraped back from the tables and muted mumblings filled the night
air.
“Sahar…”
“I did not ask you to defend me,” she hissed,
her green eyes flashing fire. “I do not need you to defend me. I
certainly did not need you announcing to the entire palace that you
kissed me.”
“What truly angers you,” he said with a grin,
“is that I announced that you kissed me back.”
“Mother?” Sahar knocked softly on the door to
her mother’s private chambers.
“Come in, my daughter.”
Sahar followed her mother through the sitting
salon into the queen’s bed chamber and plopped down onto the bed, a
bed used more often by her children when they had been sick or in
need of their mother than by herself. Though few people knew of it,
there was a bedchamber that connected the queen’s and the king’s
private chambers, and it was that bed that the king and queen slept
in together nightly for both safety and intimacy’s sake.
Her mother sat down beside her and waited
patiently for her to collect her thoughts and words, as she had
done Sahar’s entire life.
“You do not care for Yago the Wolf much, do
you?”
“No,” her mother said without hesitation. “I
must admit that I cannot look at him without seeing his
parents.”
“As does Father.”
“You must understand, Sasa, Yago’s parents,
the Ox and the Fox, they are horrible people. They are stupid and
selfish, petty and mean spirited. It is difficult for me and your
father to believe that a child bred and born of them, raised by
them, could be anything different.”
“But what of Father and his father, the
Panther?”
“Your father had his mother, Queen Noor. She
was as good and kind and reasonable as the Panther was bad tempered
and cruel. Your father had his aunties and his brother, Nasim, as
well.”
“Could not Yago have had someone kind in his
life to teach him right from wrong?”
“It is possible,” her mother said, though her
tone and her expression said otherwise. “Does he treat you kindly
and with respect?”
“He has never been unkind to me,” she said.
“As for treating me with respect,” she started to say yes, but he
had not treated her with respect when he had claimed that she only
won the first race because of Aleksandr’s interference, or when he
had suggested that it was not her fault Ommar had died, because she
was, after all, only a girl. He had been the one to make room for
her, the first woman ever to stand in the line of riders, though.
Or had he? Ask someone who saw, Aleksandr had told her, who truly
saw, and her mother saw everything. “The night of the Autumn’s Eve
feast,” she said, “when I went to stand in the line of riders. Did
you see who it was that made a place for me?”
“It was Aleksandr who moved first, shoving
his elbow into his neighbor’s side to make room for you.”
Sahar grimaced.
“As it was Aleksandr who stood up for you
tonight and you him.”
Sahar shrugged.
“As it is Aleksandr who cannot take his eyes
off of you or you him.”
Sahar opened her mouth to deny it, but then
said nothing.
“As it was Aleksandr who kissed you and who
you kissed back, apparently.”
Sahar flushed from head to toes.
“You like him,” her mother said. “Don’t
you?”
Sahar bristled. “He is a strutting stallion
who thinks women are nothing but broodmares. Who flirts with
anything and everything female, from kitchen maids to kittens. He
is so cocksure of himself that he kisses me as offhandedly as he
punches any man he thinks has insulted me. He thinks I need his
protection when I have told him repeatedly that I neither want nor
need it. He proposed marriage to me. He calls me his…”
Her mother quirked a finely arched brow.
“Never mind what he calls me,” Sahar
said.
“I shall,” her mother said. “Same as I will
not ask you more of this kiss. Though I will ask, he proposed
marriage?”
“He did, the first time we met, before he
even knew I was a princess.” Sahar chuffed. “I meant what I said,
what I have been saying for years now. I am fine as I am. I do not
need or want a husband. Even if I did, it would not be the likes of
him. We cannot speak without arguing. We would kill each other
within a moon’s passing.”
Her mother smiled, as if Sahar’s words were
amusing.
“You and Father never fight,” Sahar said.
“You have the perfect marriage. How can you ever understand?”
Her mother laughed. “Oh, my darling
daughter.” She wrapped an arm around Sahar’s shoulder and hugged
her close. “Your father and I fight plenty. But we make sure to
fight fairly, and never in front of others. That is more because we
are king and queen, not Asad and Oona.” She kissed Sahar’s cheek.
“However, you are correct. You have family and wealth enough that
you do not need a husband, so promise me, my daughter, if and when
you do choose one, choose him because you love him and he loves
you, for that is where a marriage like mine and your father’s
begins. What you do with that love is up to you. You can treasure
it and nurture it and help it grow strong and true, or you can
neglect it and watch it grow unkempt and thorny as a weed patch, or
it can die out altogether.”