by J. D. Monroe
He smiled. “Now, shall we have a drink?”
As one of the servants wandered by, Zayir stole another glass of vrisadan and drained it. The heavy ceremonial wine was far too sweet for his liking, but it was being poured freely and he would accept anything at the moment. The great hall was packed with dragon nobility, all dressed in glittering finery, as if they’d all been determined to outdress one another. He wasn’t sure whether they were here to celebrate the wedding or to gossip about them.
Normally Zayir enjoyed parties, and rarely objected to being the center of attention. Tonight was different, as he’d heard no less than a dozen different predictions on how he would perform in bed that night. He could tolerate most of it, but as he surveyed the crowd, he overheard a quiet male voice whisper, “t’haran vo shedh.” Blistering heat flared in his chest.
One that lies in the mud.
That was what they thought of him. And the vile insult was bad enough for him, but it was very clear what it meant about Ohrena.
A tendril of smoke drifted to his nostrils. Someone suddenly batted at his arm, and he stared down to see flames licking up from his own hand. An older Kadirai woman with sleek silver hair slapped at his sleeve, then spread her palm over the flame, absorbing it into her hand. “My apologies for the familiar contact, my prince. I thought I’d prevent a mishap. Congratulations on your wedding.”
He forced a smile and bowed. “Thank you.” The sleeve of the fancy coat was charred. Tarim would kill him if she saw it.
“She is very lovely,” the woman said. The nasty gossip had made him paranoid, and he scrutinized her expression, looking for any hint of insincerity. But her gaze had already drifted toward the center of the great hall.
A cluster of Kadirai musicians sat near the feast table playing a quick, noisy drum beat. Dressed in layers of glittering purple and blue silks, Ohrena and her three maids danced in a dizzying flurry of shimmying hips and rapid turns. The crowd had clearly become enrapt with the show, cheering loudly as they danced.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were sentenced to death tonight,” Kaldir said quietly. He held out a glass of amber liquid. “Something stronger?”
“Anything to please our queen,” Zayir replied, drinking half of the spicy liquor in one pull. Kaldir just raised an eyebrow, prompting Zayir to finish it.
“She seems eager to please,” Kaldir said. “You could suffer a far worse fate.”
Indeed, he could. Ohrena was quite lovely. He’d forgotten to breathe for a moment when he saw her coming up the path toward him, with the sun casting a reddish glow on her dark hair like a halo. The lantern had pleased him even more. The melding of flame was an obscure Ironflight tradition. As they’d traveled back to the palace, Tarim confided in him that she hadn’t mentioned the flame, which meant Ohrena had made the effort to learn of it herself.
Unfortunately, he saw the fear lurking beneath her gentle smile. And it didn’t help that every time he turned around, someone was giving their unsolicited thoughts on how their first night together would go. Under other circumstances, he’d have laughed it off, but each thoughtless comment cut deep, making him uneasy.
A chorus of murmurs erupted around them. One of Ohrena’s maids, Inrada, split through the crowd. Her bare midsection gleamed with a sheen of sweat as she sidled up to Kaldir. Her green eyes gleamed with the faint glassy sheen of alcohol. “My prince,” she said with a quick bow. She had come to him that morning to hear his oath, though she’d had on much more clothing at the time. Now her red hair was loose, streaming down her back in tousled waves. “Would you dance for us?”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Zayir said. He liked to dance, but he already felt the weight of hundreds of eyes on him. It was too much tonight. “Perhaps my friend Kaldir will join you.”
The woman’s face lit up. “Tallei-Kaldir,” she said, using the Edra honorific. “Come dance with us. It is tradition.”
“And what tradition is this?”
“That the bride’s oath-keeper has her pick of dance partners,” she said. The mischievous tilt to her smile said that she was making up traditions as the night progressed.
His friend shrugged and let Inrada take him by the hand. “I cannot disrespect tradition.” A hint of a smile crossed Kaldir’s face as the Edra woman dragged him into the crowd where Ohrena and the others were demonstrating a sequence of steps.
Kaldir was a serious man most of the time, but he could always be convinced to dance. He claimed it was a natural extension of his prowess in combat. While Kaldir was easily the most skilled fighter he’d ever seen, Zayir thought it was simply a clever manipulation of the odds. At the moment, Kaldir was currently surrounded by three half-tipsy Edra women eagerly teaching him a dance while at least a dozen Kadirai women watched him hungrily. His presence seemed to break the barrier, and several more Kadirai guests drifted toward them to join in. Zayir chuckled to himself. Kaldir would likely retire to his quarters alone as usual, but on the rare chance that he sought companionship tonight, he would have his pick of the party.
“She’ll probably cry as soon as he gets on top of her,” a female voice murmured, breaking through his mirth at the sight of his friend.
“That probably makes it even better for him,” a male voice responded. Zayir’s head snapped around, and he saw a pair with their heads leaned together as they watched Ohrena dance. “Perhaps when it’s over, he’ll find his sister for another round.” The woman laughed, a nasty sound that scraped his already raw nerves. Zayir didn’t recognize the woman, but the man was Marazad Firemantle, a noble merchant who had probably supplied the silk for half the dresses here.
He didn’t care if someone thought he couldn’t get hard without thinking of his sister. Those rumors had followed them from the minute Tarim had made her bid for the throne, and likely always would. But the last thing he would do was hurt anyone, least of all the woman he’d just promised to protect.
Zayir contemplated grabbing Marazad and burning his eyeballs from their sockets. But his sister would have his head if he made a scene. Besides, it was Tarim’s place to have fits of passion. His place was to calm her down, to be the steady compass that always pointed toward a logical path. He would tell her to ignore the rumors, to uphold their family’s honor and be the best woman she could be each day and let the rumormongers choke on their own poison.
Maybe just one eyeball.
As if he felt the heat of Zayir’s murderous gaze, Marazad’s eyes drifted up and met Zayir’s. The prince narrowed his eyes and raised his glass. With a smile that dripped insincerity, Marazad raised his own glass, then grabbed his companion’s arm and pulled her away. Anger still burned in Zayir’s chest as he watched them disappear into the crowd.
A gleam of dark hair caught his eye as Ohrena left the throng of people with Inrada close on her heels. They headed toward him, speaking in Edra as they approached. “Did you see the woman in the blue dress cut down to her navel? White hair?” Ohrena asked. Inrada nodded. He suppressed a smile. Perhaps she would enjoy her time here, gossiping with Tarim. “Follow her after the feast. She spoke of approaching my father about acquiring varastrin at a discount. I want to know what they say.”
“My pleasure,” Inrada said.
Interesting. They made no attempt to lower their voices, which meant she didn’t know he spoke Edra. He decided not to let her know and see what else she might let slip.
As if she felt him watching, Ohrena’s gaze lifted to him, and her serious expression turned to a bright smile. His heart thumped as the crowd parted around her. “Your dancing was quite lovely.”
“It would have been lovelier if you were to join,” she said, switching effortlessly to Kadirai. She gestured to the roiling mass of people now bouncing to the music and laughing.
“Oh, I fear that is entirely untrue,” he said. “Perhaps you can teach me when there are fewer people to stare.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “I would be pleased to.”
It was u
nsettling to watch the pleasant mask settle over her face, especially after hearing her issue orders to Inrada. Surely the woman wouldn’t try anything so soon. Then again, the Thorn might take advantage of the situation; they might strike right away, knowing it would be so unexpected.
“Would you like to sit?” Zayir asked. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, giving her a rosy glow.
“Yes, that would be nice,” she said, following him back to the elevated table. He held her hand to help her up the steps and waited for her to sit before he took his seat. A petty part of him enjoyed the elevated view; it was the one and only time he would be seated above his sister. Tarim was preoccupied in conversation with an advisor, while her husband Zersekh danced with Ohrena’s blonde maid. His twin nieces, Shadiah and Izarel, were twirling in rapid circles near the musicians, brandishing glittering silks discarded by Ohrena and her dancers.
Ohrena’s chair creaked as she reached for a pitcher of wine, but he lunged across her, covering her hand as he took the pitcher. Her eyes widened as she followed him, but he simply poured a glass for her. “A princess should never pour her own wine,” he said.
Her lips pursed in a shy smile. “Princess. That sounds so odd.”
“You’ll get used to it,” he said. “Has anyone been unkind to you this evening?” He hoped that she’d been spared some of the nastier gossip.
“Everyone has been quite polite to me,” she said, but her voice was distant. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the crowd. “At least to my face. I think some of the guests underestimate either my hearing or my grasp on your language.”
He scowled. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Your sister warned me,” she said. “And considering the Edra have scarcely been in this city for centuries, I understand.”
“It’s still rude.”
“Oh, it’s quite rude,” she said with a chuckle. Despite her smile, her eyes were creased with a hint of pain. “But it’s also not your fault. People will say what they wish.”
An endless stream of people approached the dais to offer their congratulations and introduce themselves to the new princess. She was gracious, though she said little, deferring to Zayir unless she was addressed directly. When one of his sister’s advisors, Raghar, approached, Ohrena’s eyes flitted to her black-haired maid, who had given up dancing with Kaldir. She nodded slightly, and Zayir watched as the woman snaked through the crowd to follow Raghar.
What was she up to?
His face had begun to ache from the forced smile by the time a loud gong was sounded. In the wake of the metallic crash, the dancing stopped abruptly. In the silence, the women in the crowd retreated while the men stepped forward. Zayir rose from his chair and hopped down to the floor so he was below Ohrena. She began to stand but he shook his head and said quietly, “Stay seated.”
“To the divine in my wife,” he said loudly. He knelt on the floor, still gazing up at her. Her golden eyes widened at the sight, and she glanced back and forth as if looking for help. Behind him, there was a rustle of clothing as the other men in the crowd followed suit. He didn’t have to look back to know that every man, including the queen’s husband, knelt before the new princess.
There was a tinkle of jewelry as Tarim slid closer to Ohrena and murmured in her ear. “Tell him to stand. This is a reminder of who rules our kind.”
Ohrena’s voice quavered as she spoke loudly. “You may rise.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said as he rose, offering his hand up to her. Her golden eyes skimmed across the crowd as the other guests rose to their feet. “We will take our leave now.” As he said it, her gentle smile faltered, the faintest flinch creasing her eyes. Then she nodded and stepped forward, grasping his wrists as he lifted her off the dais and set her on the ground next to him.
“Just walk with me,” he murmured in her ear. He squeezed her hand tightly. “And then we’re done.”
Behind him, the men had parted and lined up shoulder to shoulder to form a gauntlet. They bowed in turn as Zayir and Ohrena passed, murmuring blessings. No one commented on her; they would not dare at such an important moment. At the end of the long column was Kaldir, already waiting with four guards at his back. “Are you ready to go?”
Zayir raised an eyebrow. He wasn’t ready for this, no. At best, Ohrena was afraid of him, and at worst, she was spying on him and plotting an assassination. “I’m ready.”
Ohrena’s legs trembled with anxiety as she stood in front of the tall mirror in her chamber, examining her body. She still hadn’t been able to read Zayir. He’d been polite but detached. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
Zahila grasped her shoulders. “He will like you.”
“What if he’s rough?”
“If he is rough, I will slice him to ribbons,” Zahila said matter-of-factly. She held up the light crimson robe for Ohrena to put her arms through. She wished Inrada was here instead of spying on the merchant.
“That would end things rather quickly,” Ohrena said, glancing over her shoulder at Zahila.
Zahila’s pale blue eyes narrowed as a predatory smile crept across her painted lips. “Indeed it would.” She unpinned the intricate braids and slowly combed her fingers through Ohrena’s hair. “You’ve been with a man before, yes?”
“Yes,” Ohrena said. She’d spent a year of dalliances with her schoolmate, Arimohn. He’d been married off not long ago, which had left something of a void in her heart. But he was gentle and shy, and she feared that the prince would be completely opposite. “I’m just nervous.”
“If he is unkind at all, call for me,” Zahila said. “I will speak for you if you’re afraid.”
Ohrena turned to her. “You’ll reprimand the prince?”
Zahila chuckled. “Have you not noticed these people? Every man in attendance knelt before you. Your new husband included.”
“So?”
“So, this is not Firlanyn, sister,” Zahila said. She turned Ohrena around by the shoulders and combed a stray lock of hair out of her face. “These dragons may be brutish warlords, but they answer to a queen. And as far as these people are concerned, the prince now answers to you. I suspect that he will wish to make you happy.” She shrugged. “And he is quite handsome. You might have some fun.” Zahila took the discarded slippers to the wardrobe, then pulled a gleaming blade from beneath a folded dress. “I will be in here, and so will this.”
Ohrena laughed. “Thank you.”
“It is my job.”
“I mean for everything,” Ohrena said. “For leaving home and coming with me.”
Zahila shrugged. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, my friend. Besides, I quite look forward to finding all the clever corners of this place.” She patted Ohrena’s shoulder. “Now go.”
Her throat went dry as she headed to the heavy door that separated her room from Zayir’s. Her heart pounded, seeming to grow more intense with each footfall. The stone was ice cold on her bare feet, but the chill rooted her in reality when she thought she might simply drift away.
The feast had been full of beautiful Kadirai women, some of whom she suspected had been among Zayir’s lovers. None had dared say anything overt, but there was a smug familiarity in the way their eyes swept over him. She wasn’t stupid. And it was not her place to be jealous, not in an arrangement like this. Still, it sowed seeds of doubt in her mind as she imagined herself standing on display next to lovely creatures like them.
She gently knocked on the door, and it opened instantly for her, as if he’d been waiting for her. As the wooden door swung open to reveal her husband, her chest tightened. Zayir still wore his gold-threaded tunic from the feast, though it was open in the front, revealing a lean, muscled chest. The crown was gone, and his face was somber.
“Come in,” he said quietly. He closed the door behind her, then walked into his room. It was luxuriously furnished with dark wood furniture and deep red and gold silks.
As he retreated, she took a deep breath, then shrugge
d off the light dressing gown. Cold air prickled at her bare skin. As the robe hit the floor, Zayir whirled on his heel, and his amber eyes went wide. “My prince,” she said quietly.
“Dear Skymother,” he murmured. His gaze swept over her, but he backed away. “Please, cover yourself.”
Rejection stung at her, burning her cheeks. She was frozen to the ground, her muscles locked into place. “What? I’m—"
He hurried behind her and picked up the gown, draping it over her shoulders. His fingers barely grazed her collarbone. “Please, come sit,” he said. Grasping her hand gently, he led her to his bed. Her eyes stung as she pulled the gown closed over her body and sat on edge of the bed.
“Have I displeased you?”
“Gods, no,” he said. He perched on the arm of a plush chair closer to the window, as if he needed to put distance between them. Was she so repulsive? “You are very lovely. But we both know what this is. It’s a business arrangement. Right?”
“My prince, I—”
“Please,” he said sharply. “Please call me Zayir. You are not my servant.”
Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and she had to avert her gaze for fear of crying. “I only wished to be polite.”
“And I appreciate it, but you do not have to be so polite. Please, look at me,” he said. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing the tears to dry up. With a deep breath, she raised her head and met his gaze. “If your father had not made an arrangement with my sister, would you be here?”
“I don’t imagine so,” she said.
He gave her a sad smile. “This is just a business arrangement. And we don’t have to go through the motions to sell it. The deal is done, is it not?”
“True, but I had hoped you would be somewhat happy with our arrangement,” she said.
“Are you?” Her heart thumped. “What makes me happy is that our people are allies. I meant every word of my oath to you. I will serve you as you wish, and I will protect you from harm. But you do not have to lie with me just because you think it’s what a wife must do.”