The princess frowned in puzzlement. “Say it again?”
“Zephyr,” he repeated. “Like the wind.”
“How unusual,” she said, making her disapproval clear, following him to the table where platters of food were laid out. “She’s Tala, is she not?”
“Indeed she is.” He piled food on his plate at random, not really caring what he ate.
“We don’t see many Tala in Jorrit, though there are always tales from over the border. The northern enclaves of Tala always seem to be doing something wild.”
Enclaves of people of all kinds always seemed to be producing trouble of one sort or another—but he refrained from pointing that out and simply declined to comment.
“Does she become…” The princess glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers, and lowered her voice. “An animal?”
Yes, and so do I. Astar refrained from saying that also, Ursula’s cautions echoing in his head. Princess Berendina wouldn’t embrace the bear in him the way Zephyr did. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t likely that any of the mossback women on the list would be expecting to marry a prince who turned into a grizzly bear on occasion. The late, unlamented High King Uorsin had been named for a bear, and Ursula named for him in turn—but not many people realized how literally true that would be of their next high king. “Not all Tala are shapeshifters,” he said, keeping it light, politely ducking the question in a way that someone of Berendina’s training would recognize as the mild reproof it was.
“I meant no insult.” With a graceful gesture, she dismissed that lie as a polite fiction, just between them.
“Are you eating?” he asked, noting that she hadn’t filled a plate.
“I already ate. I’m an early riser.” She beamed, as if expecting praise—and having no way of knowing she only evoked the image of Zephyr in his mind, naked and snuggling sensually in bed, inviting him to return and… “Anyway,” she said as he scanned the busy room for a seat, “I’m fully aware that not all Tala are able to shapeshift. I’ve studied the peoples and cultures of all the Thirteen Kingdoms, its protectorates, and allies.” She delivered that information candidly, as part of her credentials to be his bride. “But your friend…”
“Zephyr,” he supplied wryly, already tiring of this game. Tempted to seat himself between two people so Berendina couldn’t follow, he instead did the gracious thing and chose an unoccupied round table.
“Zephyr, right,” she repeated with a conspiratorial smile, inviting him to join in on the joke. “Like the wind. She must become a bird.”
He shrugged noncommittally, filling his mouth with food to further excuse his lack of reply.
“I met some of your other friends last night. All so charming. Gendra is lovely, and also Tala, I believe. I’ve yet to meet your twin sister, Princess Stella, however—though I understand you two look nothing alike.”
“As dark as I am fair,” he agreed.
“Yes, I understand she has the black hair and blue eyes of the Tala. You both have some Tala blood, don’t you?” she continued in an idle tone, as if making conversation.
Astar didn’t need shapeshifter hearing to detect that his potential bride had reached the goal of her inquisition. Years at the court at Ordnung had attuned him to the seemingly innocuous prattle that led the unwary to blurt out expensive truths. Ursula had agreed that it would be best for him to be honest with his bride about his dual nature, but she’d also left it up to him on when and how to have that conversation. Privately, he’d decided that would happen right before he offered his grandmother Salena’s ruby ring. His potential bride’s reaction to the news would be the final test.
That person would not be Berendina. He’d been trying to reserve judgment, to be open to meeting her, as he’d promised—these weren’t the best of circumstances to discover someone’s true personality—but he didn’t think the princess would improve upon better acquaintance. She possessed many fine qualities, and also plenty of prejudice against the Tala. That was a dealbreaker for him. Unfortunately, he still had to pretend to be considering her, for form’s sake and for good relations with Groningen.
“Stella and I both have Tala blood, on our mother’s side,” he agreed. “As does Her Majesty High Queen Ursula,” he added pointedly.
“Oh, to be sure. It’s just so interesting that Princess Stella has such dark coloring, when your mother is as fair as the dawn, like your handsome self.”
He managed not to snort at that heavy-handed bit of flattery. “I understand I look very much like my father, in truth.”
“Ah, the noble Hugh, Prince of Avonlidgh. His loss was a great one for us all, but particularly so for you. My sympathies.”
“Thank you, but he died before I was born, so I think Stella and I feel his loss less than the people who actually knew him.”
“Still, to grow up without a father is difficult for a young man.”
“Perhaps you’re not aware that my mother remarried,” he offered blandly. “Her husband, Ash, has been my father all my life, and is the best of men.”
She winced, ever so slightly, a reproof for him mentioning the unmentionable. Royals from small and remote principalities tended to be the most conscious of status and bloodlines. An irony there, as they put so much weight on being the biggest fish in their very small ponds. Whereas the truly big fish, royal-status wise, in the biggest ponds—such as the queen of Avonlidgh and High Queen Ursula—had both chosen to marry men of questionable bloodlines. Harlan because he was an exiled Dasnarian prince, and Ash was scandalously an ex-convict, entirely due to his halfblood Tala status, which used to be a criminal offense on its own.
Some, like Princess Berendina’s family, apparently, considered Ash to be an unsavory topic of conversation, preferring to pretend he didn’t exist. Annoyed enough to continue, Astar said, “And my uncles, King Rayfe of Annfwn and Her Majesty’s consort, Prince Harlan, have always been a presence in my life. Truly I’m privileged to have been raised by so many accomplished men of sterling character.” That was very true, he realized. All this time, he’d been worrying about living up to his dead father’s image, when all these living fathers had been right there, showing him the many and varied ways to be a good man, a good husband, and a good ruler.
And they’d all chosen to marry the women they loved, regardless of social consequences. Fuck the rules, Ash’s parting advice echoed in his mind.
“I suppose that could be true,” Berendina said with a frown. “Still, Prince Hugh was known throughout the lands as the most noble and honorable of royals. A trueborn son of the kingdom of Avonlidgh. I mean, Harlan is Dasnarian, not from here at all.”
“Talking about me?” Jak plopped himself on the other side of Berendina, his overfull mug sloshing as he set it down none too gently. A genial grin creased his face, but the look in his sharp dark eyes made it clear he’d heard everything the princess had said.
“Princess Berendina of Jorrit,” Astar said with neutral politeness, “my friend Jakral of the Hákyrling.”
“Call me Jak.” He seized her hand and pumped it, being rather deliberately uncouth. “No honorifics for me. I’m a simple sailor, fighter… and lover.” He added a leer, and Astar winced internally. Jak wouldn’t be this rude unless his friends had compared notes on Berendina—and had decided against her. This would not go well.
“I see.” The princess withdrew her hand pointedly. “I’m not familiar with Hákyrling—where is it?”
“The Hákyrling,” Jak corrected, emphasizing the “the” and still smiling—but with a dangerous glint in his eye. “A sailing ship. I grew up on the high seas. My father is Kral, a former imperial prince of Dasnaria, Harlan’s brother,” he added offhandedly. “Say, Astar, since you and I share an uncle, when you’re high king, does that mean I get some sort of royal sinecure?”
Enjoying himself far more now, Astar played along. Not only because Berendina looked appalled, though that appealed to his annoyance with her. “I don’t see why not,” he mused. “Wh
at do you have in mind?”
“Something that pays well and gives me an unreasonable amount of power, but requires no effort on my part.”
“That should be easy—you just described half the courtiers at Ordnung.”
“Oh, really, that’s not—” Berendina began, but Jak talked over her.
“Excellent news,” he declared, toasting with his mug—and not incidentally splashing more, which smelled strongly of alcohol—then quaffing a healthy swallow.
“Are you drinking your breakfast?” Astar inquired mildly.
“Hair of the dog. I had a very long night,” Jak replied, winking broadly at Berendina.
“Gambling,” Stella said from behind Astar, bending to kiss him on the cheek before she slipped into the chair beside him. “Not womanizing, so don’t let him bend your ear with tales.”
“How could I womanize when you are my own true love, Nilly?” Jak protested, clapping a hand to his heart.
“Nilly?” Berendina asked, turning her shoulder to Jak.
“My twin sister, Stella,” Astar replied, making the introductions.
“It’s an old nickname,” Stella explained. “When we were little, they called us Willy and Nilly, because Astar and I were always getting into things and causing trouble.”
Berendina laughed, gaily, and hugged Astar’s arm. “I love that. I shall call you Willy from now on.”
“If I get a vote,” Stella subvocalized to him, “it’s no.”
“Of course you get a vote—and it counts second only to mine,” he replied. “But that was fast. Foresight or intuition?”
“Neither. I can feel you don’t like her.”
Too true. Gen and Lena arrived right then, accompanied by the young man Gen had been dancing with the night before. Gen set a full plate before Stella. “Here you go, sweets.”
“Thank you,” Stella replied fervently. Catching Astar’s inquiring look, she grimaced ruefully. “I didn’t want to brave the crush around the food table. I’m trying to ration my resources so I can last through to the ball tonight.”
Astar patted her knee under the table. This kind of a crowd was harder on Nilly than anyone. “You don’t have to attend.”
“I want to,” she corrected.
“Are you of fragile constitution?” Berendina asked, looking from Stella to Astar as if attempting to discern a previously invisible weakness.
“Not at all,” Stella replied tightly.
Jak barked out a laugh, startling Berendina so she flinched. “Nilly is the opposite of fragile.” Jak caught Astar’s warning look and said no more on that subject. “Sorry, though, I should’ve thought to grab you a plate.”
“It’s fine,” Stella replied with a gentle smile. “I don’t expect you all to cater to me.” She elbowed Astar. “Introductions.”
“I was getting there,” he retorted, pulling her hair. “I had to wait for an opening with you lot jabbering away. Princess Salena Nakoa KauPo of Nahanau, Princess Berendina of Jorrit. I believe you already met Gendra of Annfwn.”
“And this is Prince Henk of Ernst,” Gen said with a pleased and proud expression, setting a hand on the man seated next to her. “His Highness Crown Prince Astar.”
“Though we call him Willy,” Berendina put in, with her own squeeze of Astar’s arm.
Lena widened her eyes at him, crossing them ever so slightly, and he had to cover his laugh with a cough.
“I’m honored to meet you, Your Highness,” Henk said. “And, may I say, utterly delighted to be invited into your close circle of friends.”
“Of course,” Astar replied blandly—after catching Gen’s pleading expression and hopeful puppy-dog eyes.
“Such a large close circle of friends,” Berendina noted. “But is this everyone?”
“Not quite,” Jak said, pretending to scan the room. “Where is Zeph?” He tapped his chin in faux concern, leaning around Berendina with his elbows on the table. “Astar, have you seen Zeph this morning?”
Lena snorted quietly, while Stella intently focused on her plate. Gen was giggling at something Henk whispered in her ear, paying no attention to them. Astar narrowed his eyes at Jak, who grinned back, eyes dancing with mischief. “I believe Zephyr planned to sleep in a bit, then do some exploring,” Astar said nonchalantly. “She’s still recovering her health after nearly dying while saving my life.”
He wasn’t sure why he’d added that last. Maybe to make it clear to Berendina that he held Zephyr in high regard and that no amount of petty aspersions would change that.
“I’ll bet she’s recovering from something,” Jak said, snickering. “Is that a scratch on your neck, Astar, or—”
“Let me see,” Stella demanded, acting concerned. He turned to face her, using the excuse to remove his arm from Berendina’s leechlike grasp. Stella stroked the scratch with a light finger, healing it instantly and giving him a smile that said everything. “You’re wrong, Jak—it was a smudge, and I’ve wiped it clean.”
“I clearly saw—” Jak continued, undaunted, but Lena cut him off.
“So, Princess Berendina,” she said loudly, “tell us about Jorrit. I understand your weather patterns keep it quite cold for most of the year. Is it true your growing season is only ten weeks long?”
Berendina gamely replied, Lena keeping her going on a detailed conversation of crops, precipitation, and frost cycles—blessedly allowing the rest of them to eat in peace. Astar would have to do Lena a favor in return. As if she heard the thought, Lena met his gaze and smiled warmly—and he realized she appreciated his interference with Rhyian, and that she was paying him back.
Rhy, who could’ve easily returned from Ordnung by now, if he was going to. With disappointment, Astar considered that his cousin might have taken the opportunity to bail on the quest. Likely he was back in Annfwn even now, drowning his sorrows and burying memories of Lena by layering other bodies on top of his own. Though Astar had suggested this option, part of him had hoped Rhy would see his way to trying to be a better man, to return to the group and stick it out, no matter what happened.
Apparently not.
“Zeph is here,” Stella subvocalized.
Astar jerked his head up, and there she was, gliding up to their table with a plate in one hand and a flute of sparkling wine in the other. As if determined to draw a contrast between herself and Berendina—as if she needed to—she had on simple silk shift of the sort the Tala generally wore in Annfwn. In chilly Elderhorst, it looked like what ladies wore under their clothes, not in place of them. The intense sapphire blue of the silk emphasized her startling eyes, and her hair hung loose nearly to the hem, glossy as a tumbling waterfall of ink. She was also barefoot.
She gave him an easy smile, daring him to comment, and Astar was hard-pressed not to laugh at her gambit. “Good morning, all,” she purred. “I see I’m late to the party, but I’m afraid I had a bear of a night.”
Good thing Astar had nothing in his mouth, or he’d have choked on it. Zephyr settled into the chair a sharp-eyed footman brought over—giving the poor young man such a dazzling smile that he tripped over his own feet as he backed away—and she gracefully slipped into the space Jak and Lena made for her.
“Sorry to hear about your rough night,” Jak said, leaning his chin in his hand. “Was it long and hard?”
Lena pressed her napkin to her mouth, face pinking from suppressed laughter, and Astar considered his options. Kill them all? Temporary imprisonment? He didn’t dare look at Berendina.
“You have no idea, Jak,” Zephyr was saying, fluttering a hand as if to cool herself. “It was so hot. And I tried every position imaginable, but I—”
“Perhaps you should request a different room,” Astar interrupted meaningfully, catching her gaze and sliding his own at Berendina beside him. “If you’re so uncomfortable.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose on our hosts. Besides, my room has one salient perk I wouldn’t give up without a fight.” Zephyr fluttered her lashes extravagantly. “Oh,
hello, Dina—I didn’t notice you there.”
“The perils of drinking before breakfast, perhaps,” Berendina replied smoothly.
Zephyr smiled, drained her wine, and raised the empty flute into the air. The blushing young footman instantly brought another. “I just love Castle Elderhorst,” Zephyr cooed, giving the young man a blatant once-over. “So civilized. Besides, what’s a pleasure jaunt through the northern kingdoms without a few indulgences? You should try it, Dina. Let me request a glass for you, too.”
“No, thank you,” Berendina replied loftily, slipping her arm through Astar’s again. “My visit here is not nearly so frivolous. I need to keep a clear head to attend to my duties.”
“Is that what they call it in Jorrit?” Zephyr smiled thinly, eyes glittering, her gríobhth possessiveness rising sharp in her demeanor.
“I thought King Groningen had announcements to make,” Astar cut in loudly, giving Zephyr a look of warning and pleading. Her gaze was fixed on Berendina’s arm hooked through his, a hint of fang behind her parted lips. “I wonder where he could be?” he asked the table in general.
“Difficult to say,” Zephyr returned. “What do you think, Dina? What do you imagine might make a man as virile as your grandfather late to breakfast?”
“Save me,” Astar subvocalized to Stella.
He caught a whiff of humor from her before a set of bugles trumpeted the arrival of Groningen. The room fell silent in expectation. Nothing happened. People began murmuring to one another. Zephyr raised a single eyebrow at him, then transferred her gimlet gaze to Berendina.
“Nice trick, and thank you,” Astar told Stella hastily, “but that won’t last long.”
“Shh. He’s almost here.”
Sure enough, the bugles blasted again—a distinctly different note—and Groningen strode into the room, followed by a train of heirs and advisers. Astar never thought he’d be relieved to see his taskmaster, but he leapt to his feet at Groningen’s nod to join them. Then he hesitated. Leaving Berendina alone with Zephyr in a lethally playful mood was not a good idea.
“Shall I accompany you, Willy?” Berendina said as she stood, not waiting for an answer, and immediately reclaiming his arm. “Let’s leave these happy travelers to their frivolities and pleasures while we devote ourselves to the service of Her Majesty and the people who look to us for succor.”
The Golden Gryphon and the Bear Prince: An Epic Fantasy Romance (Heirs of Magic Book 1) Page 22