The Green-Eyed Prince: A Retelling of The Frog Prince (The Classical Kingdoms Collection Novellas Book 1)

by Brittany Fichter

  His frown deepened. “Not yet. That man has a talent for disappearing.”

  “So the alders have turned all their efforts to Dakarai then.”

  “Understandably, the other alders wish to know more about him.”

  Kartek let out a humorless laugh. “So do I. In fact, I’ve spent the morning trying to learn more about him.” She leaned over the water’s edge and cupped her hands. Dipping them in the pool and lifting them to her face, she let the water roll down her neck and sleeves.

  “And what have you learned?” he asked.

  “You mean aside from the fact that he can whisper angry tribesmen to sleep? It appears he had younger sisters and several brother. He knows a great deal of healing, and he is twenty and one years.” She paused. “He seems quite good with children. Also, though he hasn’t said as much, I gather that at least one older brother was his father’s favorite. And that wherever he was from has seen a good deal of warfare.” The memory of his glistening green eyes suddenly filled her with an unexpected sympathy for the man she was determined to despise.

  “Jahira . . .” Ahmos frowned down at the water, arms behind his back even in his sitting position. “I know this was hardly the ideal union. I understand the need for it, as do most of the other alders. So hopefully that will make tonight’s task less difficult, perhaps.”

  “Task?”

  He fidgeted, looking more uncomfortable than she’d seen him in a long time. “I did not wish to ask this of you myself, but—“

  “But the alders demand it,” another voice called out.

  Kartek looked up to see a woman with white hair and a thin, stern face approaching them. Her stomach clenched a little. “Good afternoon, Bennu.” She stayed seated when the old woman bowed. She probably should have stood as well, but she was hardly in the mood to see this particular alder.

  “Jahira,” Bennu said with a stately nod. “I understand Ahmos was informing you of our plan for tonight’s supper.”

  “Your plan?” Kartek dusted her dress off and stood to face the alder. “And I suppose I have no say in whether or not I am part of this little scheme?”

  Ahmos shook his head. “Of course you have a say—”

  “But the alders will be displeased if you do not,” Bennu finished, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though she were talking to a naughty child. “Your thoughtless actions have brought uncertainty upon our people, and we deserve to know who our emeeri really is.”

  Kartek wanted very much to remind the alder that she, not Bennu, was jahira, but she bit her sharp words back. Her mother wouldn’t have approved of such candor. “I have already tried to talk to him,” she said instead, fixing her eyes on the woman’s rather garish headdress of amber so she wouldn’t have to look directly into Bennu’s cat-like gaze. “He was quite vague. I shall learn more over time, of course, but I do not know how you wish for me to learn his entire story in one night if he is so keen on secrecy.”

  Bennu’s thin lips curved up into a wry smile. “You forget, Jahira. You are young and pretty enough. There are more ways than one to get a man to talk.”

  “Bennu!” Ahmos’s voice was sharp. “That is enough! You are being disrespectful.”

  Kartek struggled to find her voice as the heat rose to her cheeks. “And if I do not wish to use such methods?”

  “Fill the man with drink! Who cares what method you use on him as long as you learn what his purpose is? One does not simply lie in wait for the jahira to be alone and then extort her into marriage for the fun of it!”

  “But remember,” Ahmos said, turning to Kartek as he stepped in front of Bennu, “you are the jahira. It is your choice to do as you see fit.” He glared back at Bennu. “Using whatever methods suit your conscience.”

  Kartek turned and studied the little pool. As little as she liked Bennu, she understood the fear the alders were harboring. She had felt it herself since the moment Dakarai had made his demand. What if she had doomed her kingdom by crowning a vagabond or the son of a hostile warlord? Or even worse, a servant of the enchantress herself?

  And yet, there was something about him that was already making her shy away from such assumptions. Though she was still angry with him for the forced union, nothing in his conduct had been less than chivalrous since they’d said their vows. There was a gentleness about him and a near penitence in his words nearly every time he spoke that had begun to chip away at her cold, hard resentment. And though she had trusted Gahiji because her parents had chosen him for her, she had never witnessed such tenderness in her betrothed in all their years of courtship. The idea of using such underhanded methods to get Dakarai talking made her feel . . . dirty.

  She turned back to Ahmos and Bennu, who were glowering at one another with impressive ferocity. “I will sup with him privately,” she said. “But,” she set her shoulders and turned to Bennu, “I will use my methods alone. And do not even consider sprinkling Mahat root in his cup. I can smell it and will have it sent to you for you to drink immediately if I find it. Are we agreed?”

  For a moment, Bennu’s face turned so red that Kartek thought she might collapse of heart palpitations. But the alder finally swallowed and bowed once before clutching her skirt and walking away, nose in the air.

  “You treat her with too much grace,” Ahmos muttered, folding his arms and looking very much like one of the angry statues in the palace courtyard. “That woman would order the birds around if she thought they would listen.”

  But birds weren’t what Kartek was thinking about at that moment. “You were with Gahiji more than I ever was. What was your impression of my betrothed?”

  Ahmos rubbed his shiny head thoughtfully. “I rarely spoke with him, only watched your parents do so. But from what I saw he was gifted at inspiring others to follow him. He could garner the support of even his most rebellious tribes.” He paused. “Without using that fighting song, or whatever the tribal heads called it.”

  Kartek nodded. That made sense. The times she had met Gahiji before his death, once or twice a year after she had turned twelve, her betrothed had filled her with awe, making her feel uncharacteristically shy. Everything he did had purpose and was done with fervor, from the way he walked to the way he spoke. Gahiji knew what he was doing even when he didn’t. Unlike her.

  “Was he kind?” she asked Ahmos.

  “I could not say, Jahira. I do not wish to speak wrong of the dead, and I was not present at occasions when such behavior might be witnessed.”

  Which was Ahmos’s way of saying no.

  As Kartek made her way back to the healing tents, Ebo invisible behind her as always, Kartek rubbed her head. What was wrong with her? Why was she so confused? A man had just forced her into wedlock. She dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. She couldn’t allow herself to be caught off her guard. She must remain resolved and—

  “Jahira! Alder Ahmos!”

  They turned back to find a young man running toward them. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen years.

  “What is it?” Ahmos asked as the young man stopped before them, gasping for breath.

  Kartek didn’t wait for his answer, however. She took him gently by the arms then pressed the palm of her hand against his upper chest. As her power moved into him, he continued to pant, but she could no longer hear his breath rattle.

  “Thank you, Jahira,” he whispered.

  “Now what have you run all this way for?” Ahmos pressed. “From where did you come?”

  “I was with the contingent at Maisef.”

  Kartek looked at Ahmos to find her own alarm reflected in his eyes. “Didn’t Commander Fadil go to Maisef this mor—”

  “Yes.” Ahmos’s face was hard.

  Kartek turned back to the boy. “Did the enchantress attack?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Commander Fadil never arrived. We waited like he’d said to in his message he sent on the bird. But he never reached us, and the encha
ntress continues to draw closer to the village with each hour.”

  “Maisef is only a two-hour journey from here,” Kartek said to Ahmos as she waved another servant down to escort the young man to the respite of the healing tents. “Commander Fadil had hoped she would retreat after such a fierce battle yesterday.” Kartek reached up and began to rub her jewel. “First the tribes. Now us. Why us? What does she want?”

  “Jahira,” the young man said, pulling away from the servant that was trying to lead him to the tents. “I am afraid that is not all. The tribesmen who fought with us are in disarray, and our men cannot hold her alone. Our captain says he must have more men, or he can only delay their advance. We might be able to protect the village for a few hours, but we will not be able to stop them from coming here, should they decide to do so.”

  After sending him off, Kartek resumed her walk back to the palace with Ahmos, feeling more exhausted than she could remember in her life. “What do we do?”

  He turned to her just outside the palace gate and rested a hand on one of its decorative iron rungs. “I swore to your parents to keep you safe. It is a vow I will die striving to uphold.” Then he looked at the ground and sighed. “The alders sometimes believe they know all because you are young. While I do not agree, as I believe you quite capable of handling yourself, I do believe that their desire to know our young emeeri’s truth might be more urgent than we earlier thought. Perhaps take that into consideration tonight when you’re supping with your new husband.”

  “But what does this have to do with him? We don’t know for sure that he is connected to her.”

  “I do not know how,” he said, “but I cannot believe that his appearance during such a time of upheaval and crisis could be an accident.” His eyes darkened. “And if he does happen to be a servant of the enchantress, which I pray he isn’t, then there might be many, many more who will suffer the same fate as Gahiji.”

  8

  Not So Secret

  Kartek moved the second goblet an inch to the left before scooting it back to where it had been. Nerves warred with anger as she stared at the wine. Bennu hadn’t put Mahat root in Dakarai’s cup after all. She had used Ebit flower instead.

  Kartek was a healer, for sand’s sake. Did Bennu think her ignorant of the Ebit root? Or did she simply want to show Kartek who was really in charge?

  The only reason Kartek hadn’t flung the offending wine out the window just yet was because she didn’t know. She didn’t know how much he would tell her. Wouldn’t it be permissible? Just this one time? she asked the Maker as she stood and went to the window to look out at the setting sun. To protect my people? After all, he wouldn’t remember after the effects had worn off . . .

  The door opened and her heart jumped as Ebo escorted her husband in.

  “You look . . . refreshed,” Dakarai said. His words were polite, but Kartek didn’t miss the way his eyes quickly traveled down her entire person and lingered for a long second before returning to her face.

  Her face flushed, though she couldn’t exactly say why. He was her husband after all, and permitted to look, wasn’t he? Was it really such a bad thing for her husband to think her beautiful?

  “Despite whatever your impression was yesterday,” she said, taking an awkward step toward him, “I do not generally enjoy going about my day covered in blood.”

  He shrugged. “You care for your people. An admirable trait many leaders do not possess. Not enough, at least, to bother dirtying their hands for.”

  Kartek ducked her head at the compliment, but he spoke again before she could think of something to say.

  “What is all this?”

  “As our vows were somewhat . . . rushed, I thought it might be beneficial for us to spend some time getting to know one another.”

  “A pleasant prospect.” But the sudden wariness in his eyes told her he thought such a suggestion sounded anything but pleasant.

  “Perhaps we could walk first. The food is still rather hot.”

  He nodded, and Kartek tried to calm her frantic heart as they began their walk. She wasn’t ready to make the decision about the wine. Not yet.

  They didn’t speak at first, other than for Kartek to point out various features of the palace, such as the gardens and the various courtyards, the scroll room and the kitchens, until they made their way up to a tower that was open on all sides.

  “This is my favorite place in the whole palace,” Kartek said as they gazed out over the valley behind the palace. Hedged in by the distant mountains, visible on every side, the farming fields, fields for chattel, river, and sand dunes filled the valley. Rich reds, browns, oranges, yellows, blues, and even a few shades of green made the scene look much like one of the mosaics in the palace’s entryway. If only her heart could be so peaceful. After a moment of silence, she finally was able to raise her eyes to his.

  To her surprise, his large green eyes were already fixed on her face. But unlike the day before, she no longer found them disconcerting. Only . . . wishful. And though his skinny, pale limbs certainly weren’t the kind that would make women giggle, such as Gahiji’s had been, they no longer seemed quite so repulsive.

  What was wrong with her? She needed to focus!

  “What are those green places over there?” he asked, pointing.

  “There is a river that runs lower in the valley, the one the enchantress was encamped at farther down, actually, and it floods each season, allowing us to grow crops nearby. Flax, wheat, barley, even different kinds of fruits and figs.”

  “You wouldn’t know such things would grow in this desert.” He turned slowly to look at the rest of the valley. “The first time I saw your palace, I’d never seen so much sand in my life.”

  An opportunity. “If you didn’t grow up with this much sand,” she tried to sound nonchalant, “where are you from?”

  “We were in the desert as well, but there was a bit more greenery, as our desert bordered the sea.”

  “Aren’t the Ibhari nomadic?”

  “Yes,” he said, “but they have preferences. All tribes do. It is part of the reason we don’t kill one another each time we cross paths.”

  In her head, Kartek tried to list the number of kingdoms and tribal regions that on the coast, but she had never excelled at geography. But really, did it matter? He had already told them he was part of the Ibhari tribe, and no one in that camp had even known he existed. “So where are you from then?”

  “I told you my father’s tribe was the Ibhari.” He took a deep breath. “But my mother was from the north.”

  So that would explain his pale skin, though it still didn’t answer her question. “But where are you from?” She crossed her arms. “Ahmos said that when asked, no one in the Ibhari tribe had ever even heard of you.”

  “Is it important?”

  She lifted her chin a little. “I think it is.”

  He frowned, his dark brows pulling down over his thin face like thunderclouds. “And why is that?”

  She let out a strangled laugh. “I married you and made you emeeri over my people! And yet you think it strange when I want to get to know you?” She gestured at the nearest window in the direction of the healing tents. “Not to mention that you can apparently put tribesmen to sleep while they’re in the middle of killing someone! So yes, I would like to get to know you better. And knowing you means knowing about you.”

  “No, you’re not trying to get to know me.” He turned and stalked back down the tower steps, taking them two at a time.

  She gathered her purple skirts and ran after him, but it was impossible to run and look dignified at the same time. “What do you mean?” she called over his shoulder. “I’m asking questions, aren’t I?”

  He swerved and glared down at her. “No, you’re asking for facts, details anyone who knew me might give. How much have you truly tried to learn about me?”

  “I haven’t had the time! We’ve been married one day!”

  “But you could at least try to learn with
out assuming you already know the answer! Where I am from does not define me. What order I am in the birth line and the name of my father’s tribe does not make me who I am.”

  She wouldn’t have thought it the day before, but now she could see that in his anger, her new husband was quite capable of looking dangerous.

  He stepped closer. “You are so determined to judge me that you refuse to look any farther than your own preconceived notions and beliefs.”

  She glowered up at him, indignation and guilt warring inside her. “Can you expect me to do otherwise? When the bride hardly has a say in the matter—”

  “Jahira.” Ebo stepped out from the shadows. His hand rested on his sword, and he stared hard at Dakarai. “Are you being troubled?”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Ebo, I am fine.”

  He took a step closer. “You are confident, Jahira?”

  “Yes.” She returned her husband’s glare. “I suggest,” she said icily, “that we continue this conversation in the privacy of my room.”

  “Your room?”

  “Our room! Whatever you wish to call it. But I do not wish to air our dispute here in the public eye!”

  Dakarai eyed her angry bodyguard before whirling around and marching forward, not slowing so that she might keep up or walk beside him.

  She did her best to look dignified as she hurried forward, but inside, Kartek felt like a dust storm had blown her world into chaos. I am only doing what was asked of me! she cried out to the Maker. I am trying to keep my people safe! Still, despite the confidence she knew she ought to have in her answers to these questions, a small annoying voice inside nagged.

  Was he right? Was she judging him unfairly?

  As soon as they were back in the room with the door closed, he pushed himself up against the far wall and rubbed his eyes with his hands. “This is all wrong,” he muttered. “None of this was supposed to happen.”

  “That!” she cried out, flinging her sandals down beside the door. “It’s words like that that make me ask such questions! You obviously planned something in coming here! You didn’t happen upon me by accident at that well!” She put her hands on her hips. “Only a handful of people even know that well exists, let alone that I like to go there.”