by Gwynn White
They reached a set of double doors. Talk and laughter spilled out into the passage. With obvious relief, their escort gestured to Grigor to step inside.
Grigor’s racing heart burst into a gallop. He looked at Meka for support.
Like a man starving, his twin gnawed the inside of his cheek. He gave Grigor a sick smile. “You want me to go first, as usual?”
Grigor was about to nod when he noticed the doors were wide enough for them to pass through side by side. “Let’s do it together.”
So they did.
Silence descended on the gathering as he and Meka stepped across the threshold.
Grigor tried to make out faces, but all he could see were the tops of heads as people bowed. About twenty or so of them stood in a line down the length of the glittering hall. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, the walls were leafed with gold and crusted with jewels. He glanced at Meka to see his reaction to that insanity.
His own incredulity was mirrored in his brother’s eyes.
He became aware of a voice calling, “All hail His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Grigor Avanov, and his brother, His Highness, Prince Meka.”
The words sounded strange, foreign to Grigor’s ears.
It didn’t help that his mind flashed to a certain bee charmer, a boy just a little younger than Grigor who was like quicksilver. A boy named Nicholas who was the real crown prince. The boy who should have been here tonight receiving all the bows.
Nausea almost had Grigor retching. He was a fraud, being made to perform against his will in a charade against all logic.
The trouble was, Lukan was giving him the one thing he craved most of all: an opportunity to make friends. But how did it serve Lukan?
Grigor wasn’t naïve enough to believe these teens came without a price. Tao had said Lukan wanted to divide him and Meka. Was this the start of it?
He gritted his teeth. No matter what happens, nothing will split me and Meks.
Also, how could he face Lukan tonight, knowing the man had kept him and Meka away from Tao? Tao would have been a good father. Even after that crazy incident with the bees, not in Grigor’s wildest dreams could he imagine Tao treating him and Meka the way Lukan had.
And now Lukan expected him to perform in his charade?
It took all Grigor’s self-control not to start gagging. Only the horror of throwing up in front of all these strangers kept his stomach in check.
Meka stepped in front of Grigor, hiding him from immediate scrutiny. Grigor could have hugged him.
A throat cleared. “Well, Grigor, don’t keep your subjects waiting.” Lukan. Dragon-shaped crown on his head, he stood in the center of the hall with Kestrel on his arm. He didn’t look pleased at Meka’s protectiveness.
Grigor stepped out from his brother’s shadow and bowed. Then he floundered. What was supposed to happen now? And would those people never stop bowing?
“And now?” Meka to the rescue again. “Do we all just stand here like idiots?”
“Allow me to assist.” A gash of a smile split Count Felix’s face. Lukan’s advisor took Grigor and Meka’s elbows and led them to the line of bowing people.
Grigor noticed for the first time that, apart from Lukan, Kestrel, and Felix, everyone in the room was about his age. Where were the adults?
As if anticipating his question, Felix said, “Highness, we have a dinner planned where you will meet their parents.”
One by one, Felix introduced him and Meka to the youth—an even mix of boys and girls all dressed up as fine as Grigor and Meka’s new clothes.
Grigor was halfway down the line when it struck him that he had it wrong; the youth were being introduced to him and Meka, not the other way round. Did that have something to do with being princes?
But even with his limited exposure to people, it wasn’t hard to sense the tension in the air. These youths were as frightened about meeting him as he was about meeting them.
Hardly surprising, given that for sixteen years, talking to him and Meka had been a death sentence.
And then he saw her.
Unlike the other girls who, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, dumped their hair on top on their heads, this girl’s dark curls cascaded down her back. She glanced up at him from under heavy bangs.
Grigor’s breath hitched, and his stomach did a weird swooping thing. He liked the sensation.
Once he gathered his wits, he noticed thick, black lashes framing her gentle brown eyes. His eyes trailed down her body. Slim and petite—she barely reached his shoulder—she reminded him of the forest sprites his nannies used to tell stories about.
“Lady Natalia Pavel,” Felix announced. “Eldest daughter of Count Pytor Pavel, Lord of the Granary, and Countess Rosina Pavel, sister of Count Zarot, Lord of the Conquest.”
The titles meant nothing to Grigor. But that didn’t matter because all he could see was Lady Natalia’s shy smile.
Meka shifted next to him. Grigor glanced over at his twin—and started. His brother gaped at Natalia with soft eyes and a lopsided smile.
An unexpected emotion stabbed Grigor, one he had no reference for, one he could not have explained if his life depended on it. All he knew was he hated the way Meka looked at Natalia almost as much as he detested the way she smiled back at Meka.
And then they were moving on down the line.
Chapter 36
Meka sat in his huge, uncomfortable golden chair at the dining table and stared at the bowl the waiter placed in front of him. He’d never seen such watery food in his life. Why hadn’t it been served in a cup? And, Dragon’s ear hole, which of the dozen knives, forks, and spoons should he use to eat it with?
In his fancy clothes, with his fancy haircut, he already felt like an idiot and didn’t need to embarrass himself further by not knowing how to eat. Not when Natalia surreptitiously watched him, just as he watched her. She seemed to know exactly what to do with all the implements. He glanced over at Grigor, sitting opposite the table from him to the right of Lukan, wondering if he was coping any better with the food.
His brother was also eyeing Natalia. Worse, he hadn’t seen Grigor look so enraptured since . . . Meka frowned.
Forever.
So his brother shared an interest in the most beautiful girl in the room. A girl with gentle eyes and a kind face who appeared to be type of person who would not reject a wild creature like him before taking the opportunity to get to know him.
In the light of Tao’s lesson on the bees, that was disheartening in the extreme. Meka fiddled with his cutlery, wondering what to do about it. By rights, Natalia was his because he’d seen her first, that day in the passageway. He had smiled at her—risked her life even by acknowledging her. Surely that counted for something.
There had to be another girl Grigor could hunt. He swallowed. Hunt probably wasn’t the right word to use in the context of finding a girl. Fish didn’t seem to work either.
Hmm . . . He had some stuff to learn about interacting with people.
But as he glanced around the room at the twenty teenagers interspersed amongst their suspicious-faced parents—it didn’t take a genius to see that they didn’t want to be here with their children—he wondered if it was worth the effort. The only person in the whole room who held any interest for him was Natalia.
That didn’t mean Grigor wouldn’t find some of the other girls appealing. Grigor had always wanted friends. Being alone never bothered Meka. In fact, he preferred it. But Grigs needed people.
Just not Natalia.
Kestrel, sitting next to Lukan at the head of the table, leaned in to touch his hand; she must have seen his concern. “That round spoon is used for soup,” she whispered.
Oh, so the watery stuff was called soup.
Meka dipped his head at her to thank her for the unexpected help. He missed the feel of his hair brushing his eyes as he did so. Stupid haircut.
He had barely finished slurping up the soup—it tasted mighty fine even if it was watery—when a waiter whi
pped his bowl away and slapped down a small roasted bird, perched on a plate with some kind of sauce lapping around it. It smelled delicious.
Meka immediately picked the bird up and broke it apart with his fingers as he considered the Grigor/Natalia problem.
Kestrel touched his hand again. Firm but gentle pressure from her fingers forced his bird back onto the plate.
Meka was about to snarl at her—Grigor had learned years ago not to come between him and his food—but she pointed to another set of cutlery.
Meka sighed, wiped his hand on the tablecloth, and picked up the knife and fork. He was about to saw off a chunk of bird when he sensed someone watching him.
Natalia?
He hoped so. But when he glanced her way, his heart dropped. Her big, brown eyes watched his brother with interest from under her bangs. Grigor smiled at her. The prettiest blush infused Natalia’s face as she smiled back. Clearly, she liked Grigor.
Appetite lost, Meka dropped his knife and fork onto his plate with a clang. What did it matter who had watched him if it wasn’t the one person in the room whose attention he sought?
From that moment, he barely noticed the many courses of food that passed in front of him or the murmured conversations. His mind was back in the forest at his favorite fishing hole where fish “yea big” swam. It was easier to think about fishing than to confront the problem of how to lure Natalia away from his brother.
Lukan and Kestrel rose. So did everyone else except him and Grigor. The diners all bowed low to Lukan.
Lukan glared first at Meka and then at Grigor.
Meka grimaced. He and Grigor had forgotten to bow. They scraped their chairs back across the hardwood floor and joined the rest of the “worshipers.”
Lukan said in a clipped tone, “My lords and ladies, let’s leave the youngsters to get to know each other. Please, join me in the Red Room.”
Meka watched with interest as the parents obeyed. Some stopped to whisper in their children’s ears while shooting troubled glances at him and Grigor.
What did the buggers think he and Grigs were going to do to their offspring? Kill them all?
The idea made him snort a laugh.
Still, Meka was excited to see them go. It would give both him and Grigor an opportunity to talk to Natalia. His brother would probably turn on the charm—Meka certainly intended to. Hopefully, by the end of the evening, they’d know whom Natalia had chosen to spend time with. Meka really hoped she chose him.
Heart beating like a drum, he watched Natalia sit. He was about to join her when a hard-faced girl with her hair piled on top of her head slid into the chair next to her. Two boys sauntered over to join them. One—a slimy-looking thing with slicked-back hair, a sneer, and ferrety eyes—sat next to Natalia. The other, a brute of a boy easily a foot taller than him and Grigor, sat next to Natalia’s friend.
From their seats, Meka and Grigor exchanged what-now looks. Meka was all for leaving. If he couldn’t sit next to Natalia, there seemed little point in staying at all, but Grigor made a move to join another group of teens. Before he could even stand, they pulled their chairs in close, effectively cutting Grigor out of their circle.
Meka’s anger rose, but he hid it behind a lazy smile. No one treated his twin like that. These people didn’t deserve to be with someone as good and decent as Grigor.
It was time to start letting them know whom they were dealing with.
He leaned back in his chair and said loudly to Grigor, “Interested in some night fishing? This time we go prepared for wolves.”
He doubted any of these foppish-looking boys in their brocade waistcoats had ever spent a night in the forest.
Grigor glanced down the table. His eyes settled on Natalia for a second and then flitted to Ferret sitting next to her. A flicker of disappointment, and then it was gone.
“Good idea. Let’s take this freedom out to see how far we get. But I’ll need one of your rods.” Grigor’s voice swelled with bravado, and he stood. Clearly, he had caught on to what Meka was doing.
Meka rose from his chair, but once again, every one of these dolts clambered to their feet to bow.
Meka had never seen anything more absurd. He settled back in his seat and laughed. “Dragon’s ass. Do you all have to do this stupid bowing thing every time we move?”
Surprise hissed through the room, but no one moved or spoke.
Hadn’t they heard people use the Dragon’s name in vain before? Apparently not. Then it was just as well he was leaving because they sure as hell weren’t going to like him.
He couldn’t resist saying to Grigor, “Looks like they’ve swallowed their tongues.”
Grigor smiled, but Meka could see his heart wasn’t in it. Meka cocked an eyebrow at his brother, and his smile vanished. Grigor needed these people. As much as it rankled, he even needed Natalia far more than Meka did.
Before he could react, Grigor spoke to them all. “So, answer my brother. Do you have to bow every time we move?”
The tall brute sitting with Natalia answered. “Strange as it may seem, you are the princes.” A long pause. “Highness.”
No one spoke to Grigor in such a disparaging tone. Meka sprang out of his chair. Eyes flashing, he stood poised, ready to strike if the oaf made any more disrespectful comments.
Grigor laughed. It sounded forced. He bumped Meka’s shoulder. “You’re right. We could have some serious fun with this lot.”
Meka didn’t shift his eyes off Brute. From the oaf’s defiant expression, it was obvious he would never accept Meka and Grigor as equals.
Forget that, as Chenayan princes—his princes.
It didn’t trouble Meka if people didn’t defer to him, but Grigor was different. Until Nicholas took his rightful spot, Grigor was the Crown Prince of Chenaya. He needed to be treated as such.
He made a decision he knew would do nothing to improve his already ragged reputation amongst this crowd, but it was a small price to pay to protect his brother’s honor.
“Or,” he said to Grigor with quiet casualness that belied his fury, “we could solve all the problems before they begin by beating seven colors of crap out of that one.”
Brute snorted, a spluttering sort of sound. He pulled himself up straight, showing everyone that he was taller than both Meka and Grigor. That didn’t worry Meka at all. He didn’t doubt for one second that he could wipe the floor with the boy’s face.
Ferret closed his eyes and groaned, and then he moved to stand next to his friend.
Grigor grimaced and cracked his knuckles. “You take the midget on the right. I’ll sort out the one on the left.”
“Done.” Meka would have preferred it if Grigor had opted for Ferret, but he wasn’t going to argue.
The crowd parted as, shoulder to shoulder, they moved toward their prey.
“Watch the solar plexus,” Meka warned Grigor, just in case Brute got in a lucky punch.
His brother’s face hardened. “Say thanks for those bees.”
Meka smiled to remove the sting from his solar plexus warning. “Noted.”
Ferret looked like he wanted to wet his trousers.
Brute licked his lips. “You—you aren’t really serious, are you?”
“Don’t the words ‘Your Highness’ slot into that sentence somewhere?” Meka asked. He and Grigor were now just a few paces away.
A red flush shadowed Brute’s face. His eyes darted around at the other youth. Seeking support?
Meka wondered if he’d get it from the other youth. It didn’t matter. He would fight the world to protect his brother.
Brute surprised him by bowing. “Your Highness.”
Ferret bowed even lower and started to back away.
Grigor stopped.
This was probably a better outcome than fighting. Meka grinned at his brother. He looked at Natalia with unsuppressed longing as he handed her to Grigor—on a plate.
“Keep an eye on my brother.” He slapped Grigor on the shoulder. “Catch you later.”
And then Meka slipped out to find his fishing rod.
The lesson on the bees had worked. Nothing and no one would ever come between him and his brother again.
Chapter 37
A sound beyond the drip!
Talon gasped, sending a cloud of steam out into the frigid air in his cell. His fingers, clutching at tiny crevices in the wall, stiffened. Uncaring of the fifteen-foot drop if he fell off the wall, he cocked his head to listen.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound was new. Thrilling. Rhythmic.
His first thought was that it was some kind of music. A drum, perhaps.
But that was a forbidden thought. Music didn’t exist anymore. He didn’t even allow tunes in his head. They were too bleak. Too hopeless.
But the new sound had a regular beat. Just like music.
He let go of the wall and landed on his feet, stumbling before finding his balance amongst the stone blocks and cement rubble from his abandoned escape project. That impossible wall had gone on and on and on. It hadn’t mattered how many blocks he’d torn away with his ravaged fingers; there had been no escape.
He pushed his despair aside and focused on the new sound.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A coughing spasm burned through his chest. He flopped to the floor and waited for the racking pain to pass.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
A door or window banging in the wind?
Wind? Did weather other than cold still exist?
It was so bitter in his cell that he had donned his blood-stained tunic. Morass had dropped a thin blanket through the slot. It made no difference to his trembles. His breath clung to the walls and floor in a slick icy layer. He used a cement chip to pick out the ice for climbing handholds. Anything to help pass the time. And to keep moving. Moving kept the worst of his chills at bay.
But this sound was new. It could not be ignored. Not the way he disregarded the ache in his jaw from his chattering teeth.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
It sounded too small to be a door, but then, that depended on how far away the door was.