by Jeanne Allen
Sebastian laughs, my saucy question breaking him out of his trance. The baby-blues return. “Very much approve!” He wraps his arms around my shoulder. “I think you should wear this every day.”
“Good idea,” Lucas interjects. He’s got that twinkling Goblin thing going on, a telltale sign he’s up to something. “In fact, I think—”
“Tiger or elephant?” Lyle asks
“Huh?” I turn towards him.
He holds up tiger and elephant floating chairs.
“Oh, tiger!” I reach out for the chair, happy for the excuse to escape Lucas and Sebastian.
My new-found boldness only extends so far, it seems.
I smile gratefully at Lyle who nods back, his face as serious as always. There’s understanding in his expression. He interrupted his twin on purpose. Lyle seems to always be taking care of me without my noticing it.
We spend the rest of the day in the pool oasis swimming, playing pool-ball, laying out under heat lamps—which Sebastian informs me are handy in Canadian winters—and exploring the forest of different plants and trees along the paths winding throughout the greenhouse.
After a light dinner of baked salmon, I head upstairs to meet Jin, who called to say he finished my dress.
“Come in,” he says when I knock on his studio door.
I open the door slowly, noticing first the mannequins in varying states of dress and the unfinished dresses and scraps scattered around the room. Bolts and colorful fabrics, accents, accessories, and sewing machines fill the remaining space.
None of them look magical, but who knows.
Then there’s Jin, who stands next to yet another mannequin. My eyes focus on the dress it wears, and for a moment, I struggle to fully comprehend the design.
The dress is a dusty pink. A corset clings to the mannequin’s body, sculpted in delicate overlays of lace and antique-looking rose embroideries. Beads dance through the bodice, giving it a glimmer but still staying muted enough to give a touch of sophistication. At the hips, the bodice flairs out into a netted skirt that billows down in folds. More roses and beads sewn over the netting provide cover for modesty, but will still shows off my long legs underneath.
I’m going to look killer in this dress. I might not even mind the ball I have to attend in order to wear it.
“How…”
“Shh.” Jin lightly places a finger on my lips. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”
I don’t protest or even comment on his cheesy line. I’m too jittery with excitement at the prospect of wearing his magical creation tonight.
Jin smiles proudly at the dress.
Lost for words to express my appreciation, I take his hand and squeeze gently. He turns to me and nods. He knows he’s a god among men right now.
“We leave in an hour.” He detaches himself to go find the female staff waiting outside the door.
After giving the staff instructions on what makeup and hair will complement the dress, he leaves.
Exactly fifty-nine minutes later, I stand in the front foyer, my hair piled up in an Elizabethan up-do, complete with jewels threaded through the intricate twists. Around my neck rests the gorgeous ruby pendant Jin sent over along with the shoes he bought to go with the dress. For my peace of mind, I pretend the pendant is made of glass and not an actual ruby the size of my fist.
The effect of all this is a complete transformation when I turn to face one of the mirrors set in the walls of the foyer. Nothing has ever made me look or feel like this dress does. I’m a princess tonight. I hope I can act like one.
Jackson arrives in the lobby first, wearing some sort of black jacket with what seems to be a ceremonial sash, adorned with a large golden medal depicting a sun overshadowed by two tigers locked in battle. I assume it’s his family crest, since the sash he wears is powder-blue and white silk. His curly hair is tamed for once to leave him sleek and polished, every inch the prince to match my princess.
I beam at him, happy at the genuine appreciation lighting those deep-green eyes as he approaches.
“You look lovely.” With reverence, he bows and catches my hand for a polite kiss.
“You look, princely.”
Fudge-knuckles. That’s the best you could do, Rose? 4.0 GPA but your flirting skills are in the zero percentile.
Jackson smiles graciously. “Thank you.”
The others arrive, each wearing black jackets similar to Jackson’s, but with different colored sashes. Forrest and Sebastian wear rich purple and gold sashes. Sebastian’s has a small medal with an insignia portraying crossed swords. Forrest carries no insignia. The twins wear green sashes trimmed in gold. On their left shoulders, three large black opals sewn into the jacket shine ominously.
I move my attention to other matters, like how handsome my men look in what I guess is the customary formal dress of Phósopoi. “What do the sashes mean?”
Lyle smiles and fingers his. The corners of his mouth falter for a moment, but he forces them up as Sebastian explains. “They signify our birth region. Once a Phósopoi Bonds, they pledge to the monarch of the Agora or Royal they are Bound to and wear the colors of that region. Until then, they wear the colors of their birth region. Though, typically, only Royal Omás contain members outside their own region, so it’s not common practice to change colors.”
He looks at me oddly, but I’m too caught up in absorbing this fascinating new development to notice. “And the medals?” I indicate the ones he and Jackson wear. None of the others have them.
“These represent our family line. Usually only Royals are allowed to wear their family crests to denote their status as a Royal. But my family has had a long history of providing great warriors for the Knights and the Elite, so we were given the honor of wearing the Warrior-line crest.” Sebastian puffs up his chest, proudly showing off the small medal that holds so much meaning to his family.
I nod appreciatively; this knowledge will come in handy at the ball. How nice of the Phósopoi to make things easier for us newbies. Not only will they be color-coded by region, but the Royals will be wearing big gold stamps so I know who to avoid.
“What about Jin?” I point to where he walks down the stairs to join us.
He wears the same style jacket as the others, but his sash is pure black. Bright red cuts through the solid color where a rip was repaired with crimson thread. The thread goes all the way across the sash, like it was ripped in half. He also wears a medal, though his has a large bird of prey on it, its wings spread out in preparation for flight.
The guys awkwardly shuffle around a bit until Jin comes close enough to save them. “It’s alright, I’m not ashamed. My sash is black to signal Region Thirteen. I pledged to the High King when I joined the Elites.”
As he fingers the crimson thread, something flashes through his eyes, he seems stuck in the past for a moment.
He isn’t as unaffected as he pretends to be. I watch him closely, waiting for him to continue. Jin will tell me the rest when he’s ready.
“The red thread symbolizes when my sash was cut when I left the Elite. To leave, you must denounce your pledge to the High King. Usually, Elite members only leave when they find their Agora; they pledge immediately to the monarch of their Agora and receive a new sash.” He takes a breath before continuing. “But in cases like mine, where my Agora wasn’t coming forward, one can choose to retire—a rare choice for an Elite. My sash was cut and repaired with red thread to show my broken pledge. I cannot pledge again unless it is with my brother-Kladí when we pledge to our Agora’s monarch. Therefore, I belong to no region. I’m a lone wolf.”
A pit forms in the bottom of my stomach at his revelation. I don’t know how to respond; it was my fault he waited so long. At the same time, the rational side of me knows there was nothing I could have done. I didn’t choose when to be born.
In the end, I ask, “And the medal?”
“Another souvenir of my time as an Elite. All Elite wear one to denote our status. Not Royal, but almo
st.” He gives me a wink before putting his arm amiably around Jackson.
I blink at the two men. Until now, I hadn’t witnessed Jin being affectionate with the others. I assumed him to be the odd man out due to his age. Now, watching him exchange greetings with Sebastian and the twins, it seems he only has a strained relationship with Forrest. The two give each other the briefest nod.
I tuck their awkward exchange away for later questioning because Quincy appears, shuffling toward us, his eyes lit with the fire of a man with a mission.
It’s Cinderella time, Rose.
The building we pull up in front of can only be described as a castle. Now I know why Quincy seemed offended when I mistook our house for the Royal residence. This place makes ours look like a regular townhome in comparison. It’s nineteenth century French with pointed roofs and two round turrets connected to the larger main building. With a soft tan exterior, the white etched windows show off the lights inside.
Limousines and luxury cars pack the circular driveway, spitting out elegant guests in what is no doubt ridiculously expensive clothing. As we wait our turn, I’m happy to note none of the dresses compare to mine. My designer is obviously heads and tails above the others. I smirk at the thought before another one hits me.
“Where’s my sash?” I ask Jackson, panicked.
I assumed only men wore them, but if the women pouring out of the limo in front of us are any indication, Phósopoi women wear them too, albeit a thinner version to complement their sparkling evening gowns.
“You’re a special case,” he replies calmly.
The indifferent prince is back, and I struggle to read his expression. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t know who your family is, so we don’t know which region you come from. Phósopoi take family lineage seriously. You’ll either find your family or pledge to a monarch as a new family line.”
“Which will take forever,” Lucas grouses.
Jackson raises an eyebrow before continuing. “Until either of those happens, I’m afraid you don’t belong to any region.”
I turn to my Assassin. “I’m a lone wolf like Jin.”
He smiles at me softly. “Something like that, flower.”
“Will people care that I’m without a sash?”
Every single one of my Kladí finds something to preoccupy themselves with: the ceiling, their shoes, the lights lining the driveway outside. Anywhere but me.
Only Sebastian meets my gaze. “Don’t worry. One of us will be with you at all times. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
This is far from comforting. Yet, I hold onto that promise as footmen— liveried in the Region Two powder-blue and white— open our door.
We enter the palace through the massive front entrance held open by even more footmen.
“Haven’t these people ever heard of a doorstop?” I mutter.
Lucas, who walks next to me, leans over to whisper, “The more attendants, the more prestige. Queen J is trying to prove how powerful Region Two is.”
“As if she needs to,” Forrest mutters as we’re led into a huge dome-ceilinged ballroom beyond the central receiving area.
I have to agree; the inside of this place is as impressive as the outside. Beautiful artwork adorns the paneled walls. Inside the ballroom, waiters float around with fancy-looking hors-d’oeuvres and champagne. An orchestra sits along one wall, playing soft music for dancing—though most of the guests still mingle and observe.
My Kladí seem more relaxed than most of the people present, talking and joking about the ostentatious décor and unnecessary amount of wait staff.
Jackson slips into a court mask even more rigid than his usual one. I didn’t believe it was possible, but he stiffens even further when a beautiful woman approaches us.
She has a delicate face and large hazel eyes. She appears to be in her twenties, but so does everyone here. A stunning, pale-blue, Grecian-style gown designed from a mix of silk and satin drapes her dancer-esque frame. A large powder-blue and white sash and a stunning medal with Jackson’s family crest, rimmed in perfect diamonds, complements the dress.
My eyes widen as I glance up and notice the matching diamonds sitting atop her honey-brown hair in the form of a crown.
Chapter 11
Jackson’s mother, Queen Jacqueline. If the crown didn’t already give her away, I’ve heard her described before.
I stiffen my posture, desperately hoping I’m not supposed to bow or something.
She addresses Jackson first. “Well met, Son. It is a delight to see you after all this time.”
Shocked by her cool, indifferent tone, I don’t realize Jackson responds until I hear my name. “… my Agora, Rose Anastasia Christensen.”
The queen smiles at me coldly but says nothing.
The minute drags on for what seems like hours as panic builds inside me, before Lyle whispers, “Small curtsy, not too deep. Tell her well met, Mother Queen.”
Hating that this part of my education was forgotten, but relieved Lyle noticed in time, I attempt to bob a curtsy. “W-well met, Mother Queen.”
Lyle must know his stuff because her eyes warm for a second before she locks down her courtly smile and inclines her head. “Well met, Daughter Agora.”
As she turns to greet the rest of my Omás, I breathe out a sigh and turn to Jackson, who talks to a trio of men who wear the Region Two sash. He smiles at the men, surprising me with how relaxed he appears with them.
They’re not wearing any medals; they can’t be Royal.
I squint in their direction, intrigued. One stands as tall as Jackson and the Queen, with the same slim build. He has a square face and carries himself with a gentle regality. His mass of brown flyaway hair frames his wire-rimmed glasses and kind smile. He listens quietly to the conversation of the others, but rarely contributes.
When he turns toward me, I catch a glimpse of eyes the exact same shade as Jackson’s, the biggest clue to his identity. Then I notice more details, like the slope of their noses, and their elegant fingers.
This is Jackson’s father.
Which means the other two men must be the remaining Kladí in the Queen’s Omás. Jackson once told me three men raised him. Why don’t they carry the Royal insignia?
Maybe only those with Royal blood are considered Royal amongst the Phósopoi?
Jackson’s father notices me first and offers a warm smile, which I reciprocate. Jackson catches my attention and reaches out his hand, showering me with a smile the same flavor of sunshine as his father’s.
Since Phósopoi don’t age, Jackson’s father appears to be a young man in his twenties, and from afar Jackson and his father look like siblings. But with both men smiling at me, they’re more like twins. It’s hard to wrap my human-raised brain around them being father and son.
Just roll with it.
I grab Jackson’s hand and listen politely as he introduces me to his father, Daniel, and his uncles, Amir and William. Amir is a slim man with caramel-colored skin, dark eyes rimmed in even darker lashes, and prominent high cheekbones that portray his Egyptian ancestry. William is a jolly, redheaded man with a big belly and an even bigger beard. His ocean-blue eyes twinkle with so much mirth he tempts me to recite my Christmas wish list.
After meeting Jackson’s parents, Lyle whisks me away for a dance, and I manage to only step on his feet every other second, thanks to whatever voodoo Jin put into my princess dress. Between dancing with my Kladí and introductions to more people than I can remember, the evening progresses quickly.
I rightly assumed my outsider-status would be an issue. However, like Sebastian promised, they never leave me alone. Either he or one of my other Kladí always stay close, and people seem disinclined to say anything to my face around my notorious Kladí. The evening becomes of blur of stiff greetings and carefully concealed looks ranging from innocent curiosity to blatant animosity.
The most extreme of the latter comes as Jackson introduces me to Princess Nadira, the daughter of
High King Ahmad. Tall and graceful, like seemingly all of the Phósopoi, she sports the same caramel-colored skin as Amir, though hers is a shade or two lighter. Her remarkable, brilliant sage-green eyes slant slightly, and she wears her midnight-black hair piled into an elegant up-do much like my own. She is, in a word, stunning.
And she knows it.
It’s in the way she holds herself, her deep crimson gown billowing around her as she adjusts the folds to best show off the delicate black sash encumbered with the largest crest I’ve seen tonight. It’s a motif of a crowd of people with their arms raised towards a single star.
When she stops in front of Jackson and me, I offer the same polite smile and small curtsy I’ve given every Phósopoi tonight who outranks me. After Jackson introduces us, I say the traditional greeting, “Well met, Princess Nadira.”
Nadira sniffs and inclines her head. “Indeed.”
I wrinkle my nose, confused at the lack of proper greeting. After being introduced to at least a hundred people, I’ve come to expect it.
Jackson notices the absence as well. He clears his throat and raises his eyebrows pointedly at Nadira.
The Princess rolls her eyes. “Well met, Cousin Agora.”
It’s the same greeting I’ve received from every Royal tonight, and there aren’t many. Everyone else refers to me as Princess-Agora, I guess to honor my status as Agora to a Royal. It’s all a bit complicated, and I’m more than a little miffed the guys didn’t warn me.
Before I can offer the usual pleasantries of, “I love your dress,” or “Have you tried the baked scallops?” Nadira flounces off, but not before eyeing me with such malevolence that I wonder when, exactly, I murdered her entire family.
Jackson sighs. “Forgive her. Nadira is a bit spoiled. You’ll like her when you get to know her.”
I press my lips into a thin line but say nothing. Before I met the guys, I didn’t have many friends and spent a lot of time observing people. Even without proper experience, thanks to my hobby of people watching, I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing nonverbal cues.