by Wendy Wang
“I thought you might like that one best.” Madame Folger beamed. “And I have the perfect material for it, too. Do you mind waiting here for a moment? I left it upstairs.”
“Not at all.” Neala smiled and Madame Folger slipped away to the back staircase.
Neala never heard him come up behind her. His breath burned against the skin on the back of her neck. Before she could reach for her dagger, he had hold of her right wrist. Her body tightened, and she folded her arm and balled her hand into a fist, ready to fight.
“Ah. Ah. Princess,” Peter said quietly. “Wouldn’t want you to do something you’d regret.” She tried to turn but he stopped her. “Don’t. You’ll draw Gordon’s attention.”
“What are you doing here?” she hissed at him.
“I waited for you this morning,” Peter whispered. “Why didn’t you come?”
“You need to leave before someone sees you.”
“What’s wrong, Princess? You tired of me already?”
She twisted out of his grip and looked him in the eye. “You need to go now.”
“Just like that. No explanation. I thought we were friends.”
“You and I can’t be friends. We can’t be—” she sighed. “Anything.”
“What happened?” He gritted his teeth together and his jaw tightened.
Neala cast her gaze towards the wide front window. Captain Gubler tipped his head towards a woman passing on the street. Neala brought her eyes back to Peter. “My mother knows about our little excursions.”
“And you’re back in line now? Can’t spend time with the likes of me, huh?” The bitterness in his voice cut her heart.
“My mother is just afraid, that’s all. She loves me, wants what’s best for me.”
“But she’s not going to give you a choice about what that is, is she?”
“We’ll let the fates decide.”
Peter nodded and brushed his fingers down the side of her face. “I won’t give up.”
“You have to.” She swallowed hard and took hold of his hand, gently guiding it away from her cheek. Peter held tight to her hand, not allowing her to let his go. “Peter, if you don’t—” She sighed, not wanting to finish her thought. Her eyes stung a little and she blinked hard. “If you don’t, I’ll have to tell the chief.”
“And that will put paid to it, won’t it?” The line between his brows grew deep and he leaned in close. Softly, he pressed his lips against her jaw and dragged his mouth to her ear. “Let me give you a proper good-bye at least.” He planted soft, tiny kisses along her neck. The feel of his lips on her body sent a shiver through her and she had to shake her head to come back to her senses.
“I—I can’t. I have the festival and the meeting of suitors and—” she protested.
“After that, then. There’s something I have to show you.” His lips were so close to her own now. His breath smelled sweet, like mint.
“What?”
“Meet me at the landing stone near the warden’s base Saturday afternoon. I promise you won’t be disappointed,” he said.
“But—” He stopped her balking by pressing his soft, firm lips to hers. Every thought in her head turned to a spray of fireworks, exploding in fire and trailing sparks before dissipating into nothingness. Her body warmed, moving from her chest to belly, then lower. He pulled away abruptly with the sound of Madame Folger’s feet on the stairs, leaving her dazed.
“I’ll see you at the festival.” He grinned his reckless grin and backed into the shadows of the hall leading to the alley door.
Neala brushed her fingers over her mouth. The skin of her lips still tingled from his kiss.
“Here we go.” Madame Folger folded the cloth over her drawing table. “Highness, are you all right?”
“What? Oh. Yes, of course. I apologize. I was daydreaming.” Neala laughed and ran her hand over the peacock blue silk. “It’s beautiful.”
“Now I think because it’s still not quite summer, you should have sleeves. I have something more sheer in the same color,” Madame Folger said. “And this is what I was thinking for the waist.” Madame Folger placed a burnished silver belt across the bolt of fabric. The intricate, filigreed metal sparked beneath Neala’s touch.
Neala nodded. “Perfect. I prefer sleeves.”
“I have a few ideas about the belt, if you’d like to hear them.”
“I would love to.” Neala gave the woman a grin.
“Wonderful.” Madame Folger beamed and pulled out another set of drawings.
Five
Neala held her breath as she stood alone at the end of the ballroom opposite her mother’s throne. Hundreds of people gathered in the palace for the Spring Festival Ball, eating and drinking and dancing, all anticipating this moment when she would debut with each of the candidates. The weight of their stares as they watched her froze her to the spot and she prayed to the gods that she would be able to move when the time came. Some craned their necks for a better look, while some whispered to each other. When the dances were done, she had no doubt there would be bets made as to which young man would end up as her match. Her maid had shown her a betting sheet before one of the courtier’s match after the autumn festival. But all of those ended up being bad bets, since the courtier’s match failed. Neala wondered what sort of odds they would give her on being matched at all. She blew out her breath, nodded her head and the musicians began to play. Each young man would be allowed to dance with her for one full song.
The contenders stood in a long line in front of the crowds. She walked past each one, stopping for a moment, giving him a smile. They all looked at her with expectant eyes.
When she reached the end of the line, she stood in front of a pointy-nosed Hanree Cowell.
“Your Highness.” He stepped forward and bowed his head. She extended her hand and he lifted it to his lips, planting a wet kiss across her knuckles. She fought the urge to wipe the damp skin across her skirts as he took her into his arms. By the time they sashayed the length of the dance floor, the bones in her hand ached from his strong grip. Wiggling her fingers only made him tighten his grasp. She gritted her teeth together, praying to the goddess that the song would end soon. After several bars of music, other couples joined them on the dance floor and Neala felt like less of a spectacle.
The second young man, an Ethavian named Aero, bowed at the waist before her, kissed her hand and led her through a more intricate folk dance that did not include much spinning, but did require concentration on the footwork. Were these boys picking these dances so they didn’t have to talk to her? Neither said a word as they danced with her.
And so it went with most of them. The fifth young man kept stepping on her toes, and apologizing to her slippers. When the ninth young man spun her around the dance floor, at least he talked to her, even if it was only about how he couldn’t keep a good butler. Finally, the song ended and she forced a smile, thanking him, ready to be done with the whole evening.
Just one more dance and she could make her excuses and escape upstairs. This dance was the one she dreaded the most. She felt him before she saw him, turning to find him behind her. Chief Commander Cai Declan stood almost a head above her, which made him one of the tallest men at the dance. She craned her neck to look into his square-jawed face and his clear blue eyes locked with hers, making her stomach flutter.
“Your Highness.” He bowed his head.
“Good evening, Chief,” she said, unable to contain her smile. When had the chief become so handsome? The heat started in her cheeks, but it traveled to her neck and chest.
“Please call me Cai.” His usual scowl had been replaced by a confident but softer gaze.
“All right. Cai.” She emphasized his name. “You may call me Neala.”
The corners of his mouth tugged into a slight smirk. “Looks like your poor toes have had a very busy evening.”
She laughed. “Yes, you could say that.”
The music started and other couples began to move around them
. He took both of her hands in his and leaned in close. The intimacy of the gesture caught her off guard, but instead of stepping back she found herself edging nearer to him, turning her ear towards his mouth to hear him over the commotion.
“I’ve always found the dance with a potential match such an odd custom,” he said. She could feel his breath on her cheek and the lightness of his hands holding hers sent a fresh flutter through her stomach.
“Indeed.” She nodded. “My mother would tell you it’s to give our energies a chance to mingle for the first time, or some such nonsense.”
He chuckled. “I’m fairly certain our energies have mingled on more than one occasion.”
“Yes, but I don’t think arresting me for sneaking into the city library after hours counts,” Neala quipped, grinning.
“For the record, you were not arrested.”
“I believe you marched me home with shackles on my wrists.” Her grin widened.
“That was more for my protection than yours. After all, you’re known for you temper.” His eyes glinted, teasing her.
“I also have a strong affinity for metal. I only wore them so you wouldn’t look like a fool.” It surprised her how easy it was to talk to him. They shared a long history that was based mostly on her penchant for breaking petty rules and rebelling against her parents. She glanced away from him, and from the corner of her eye she saw her mother, wearing a ‘what are you waiting for?’ expression on her face. “So, Cai. How are your dancing skills? I don’t think my toes can take much more battery this evening.”
“Indeed.” He glanced sideways, nodding at the Queen who gestured to both of them with her hands to get on with it. “I think your mother’s unhappy with us.”
A laugh bubbled up Neala’s throat. “You know that just makes me want to stand here and drive her crazy.”
Cai grinned, and his face lit up in a way Neala had never seen before. Her breath caught in her throat. All the times she and the chief had crossed paths, never had he smiled at her. Mostly he had scowled, or at least gazed at her with such intensity it made her squirm or fidget or do whatever it took to get away from him. With his brow smoothed and no trace of his usual sternness, Cai Declan was downright beautiful.
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not rebellious when it comes to my Queen. She’s not very forgiving of her guard when they disobey,” he said.
“She’s not very forgiving of her children, either,” Neala joked.
“Then we’d best start pleasing her. May I have this dance?”
“Yes, you may,” she said. The skin on her arms tingled as he put his hand at her waist and guided her backward, through the crowd.
A shiver crept down her spine as he leaned in close and whispered next to her ear, “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Heat filled her face and she felt her lips curve. “Thank you. You look very handsome in your dress uniform.” He pulled her closer and she breathed him in, intoxicated by the fresh scent of soap and the spiciness of his cologne. “You know, I was surprised to see your name on the list of contenders.”
“Why is that?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I just figured you hated me. Especially after our last altercation.”
“Highness—” he began.
“Neala, remember?”
He nodded. “Neala. I may not agree with your ideas about your safety, and I admit you’ve made some of my wardens look like fools with your ability to outsmart them. But hate you? That would never happen.”
“Is it a law? That you’re not allowed to hate the Queen’s spoiled brats? ‘Cause I know how you feel about the laws,” she teased.
“Indeed.” His eyes glittered with humor. “Unlike a certain princess I know.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but grin.
“I see Peter’s watching us rather intently,” Cai said mildly. He reeled them around, not even having to look at his feet.
“Hmm. Is he?” She bunched her lips to one side and looked past Cai’s shoulder. Peter stood on the sidelines of the dance floor, staring at her, his face like a carved stone god, expressionless, and yet she sensed something angry burning deep within him. He blinked his hard eyes and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.
“Yes, he’s been watching you all night,” Cai said, all trace of humor gone. The music stopped and he released her. He bowed his head. “Thank you for the dance, Neala. May I get you something to drink?”
“Thank you.” She smiled and fanned herself with her hand. A drink of punch or cider sounded good. From the corner of her eye, she saw her sister Francie waving her over. “I would love it, but perhaps another time? My sister is calling me.”
He glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Francie. “Of course.”
“But thank you for the dance. I actually enjoyed it,” she said sounding surprised at the revelation.
“I’m glad.” His eyes held hers for a moment, sending a fresh wave of butterflies through her.
“And my feet thank you, too.” She smiled awkwardly, not wanting to go. Francie frowned and made a face at her. “I’m sorry, please excuse me. Evidently Princess Franceline has turned into a five-year-old.”
Cai shot a look at Francie, and she straightened up and smiled graciously at him. Neala shook her head, sighing as she moved away from him. Francie locked her arm in hers and they both looked back to find him gone.
******
Neala stepped away from the noise of the dancing and drinking to clear her head. Even her mother looked bored as she sat on her throne, watching the young people dance. Neala looked for an escape and noticed Peter’s mother, Governor Declan, snapping her fingers at one of the servants. The footman leaned in and listened to the governor, then hurried off to fulfill whatever request she’d made. Neala shook her head and continued to move through the crowd.
Her head ached a bit and the heated air from so many bodies pressed in on her. People filled every corner of the gallery outside the ballroom, tippling sparkling wine and laughing too loudly. She pushed her way out towards the terrace, which was less crowded, but still there were too many people for her liking. Near the garden entrance, Peter talked to two girls. One she recognized as Tayslee Beckett, Governor Beckett’s daughter. Round-faced like her mother, her blonde curls waggled as she threw her head back and laughed at whatever Peter had just said. Neala didn’t recognize the other girl, a dark-haired beauty who wrapped her arm in his, leaned in close and whispered something into his ear. A stab of jealousy caught her off guard and she brushed her fingers over her lips, remembering his kiss. It didn’t matter if Peter flirted with every girl here tonight. He was just as eligible to be matched as she was. Surely one of these girls was meant to be his mate. Scowling, she started down the garden paths towards the fish pond.
Her slippers crunched as she walked down the graveled path and she dragged her hands across the tops of the rosemary hedgerows. She pinched their thin leaves between her fingers and brought them to her nose. Breathing in their fresh, piney fragrance soothed her jangled nerves.
The sound of splashing water from the pond’s fountain beckoned her. In the dark, she would not be able to see the bright orange and white fish that combed the edge and begged for food, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to sit on one of the benches, far enough away from the palace so the sounds of people and music would be drowned out by the spray of the grand fountain.
The dark shape sitting on the bench stopped her dead in her tracks. Her heart lurched into her throat as her hand rested on her silver belt. The beautiful, intricate metal had a secret dagger built into it and she wrapped her fingers around the hilt. The shape rose from the bench, and she tightened her grip, ready to defend herself if needed.
“Your Highness?” A man’s voice said. She recognized the deep baritone immediately.
“Chief?”
“Why are you out here alone?” He sounded cross and despite the darkness, she had no problem imagining his furro
wed brow.
“Obviously, I’m not alone,” she said.
“Where is the captain?” he asked as he approached her.
“I sent him home a couple of hours ago.”
“I suppose you’re safe enough on palace grounds,” he said.
Neala shrugged, letting her hand fall to her side. “My father would probably disagree with you.”
“Where’s your dagger?”
“No proper place for it, I’m afraid, and my mother doesn’t approve of being armed at a formal function.” Neala grinned and pulled out the finely curved blade from the filigreed belt. “Although my dressmaker and I both disagreed with her.”
“Very nice blade,” Cai said, taking the small dagger and running his thumb close to the sharp edge. “Still, I think carrying your dagger no matter what the occasion is a fine idea. You can never be too careful these days.”
“I’ll let her know you think so.” Neala chuckled and slid the blade back into her belt.
“Would you like to join me?” He gestured towards the carved stone bench.
“Thank you.” They both sat, leaving a little distance between them. He angled his body towards her, and propped his elbow on the back of the bench.
“How is your evening so far?” he asked.
“Tiresome,” she said. “I feel a little like a doll on display in a window.”
“You are, aren’t you?” he teased.
Neala chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
“Did you enjoy your dances, at least?”
Neala chuckled. “I think I was too busy guarding my toes with most of them and really, you’re the only one that said more than boo to me.”
“They all seem so young to me.”
“Most of them are my age. So you must think me very young, too.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t really think of you as young.”
She laughed out loud. “So you think me old?”
“That’s not what I meant. I meant—”
“It’s all right, Chief. I think I know what you meant.” She smiled, not sure if he could see her face well, even in the bright light of the rising moon. “I do have a question for you, though.”