For what felt like the one hundredth time that evening, Leena reached out her hand, accepting an offer to dance.
This time it was Lord Padmir, a wifeless and childless bachelor far too old for her. At least she hoped her father wouldn't actually consider him. While hunched shoulders and a rotund belly wouldn’t concern the king, the man's falling fortunes would likely be enough to remove him from the list.
A leer spread across his lips, sending a shiver down Leena's back. She spared a glance over her shoulder, searching for Mikza. Still in their spot, he watched on, lips pressed in a tight line. Normally that move was made in anger, but by the slight glimmer in his eye, Leena thought he might be holding in a laugh.
Glad someone is enjoying himself.
She rolled her eyes, turning back to the lord, trying to keep her small dinner firmly in her stomach.
He bowed.
She curtsied.
Then the music began anew, and he pulled her from the sideline into the center of the ballroom, gripping her waist tighter than was comfortable. Luckily, it was frowned upon to talk during a dance, so Leena just had to smile and step, two motions that came naturally to her.
After a few spins, Leena found herself in a daze. Eyes glazing over, she began to picture Lord Padmir as Mikza. Young, handsome, in love with her. It made her giggle to imagine people's reactions—the shock that would spread around the room if a soldier walked out with the princess and put all of their dancing to shame.
Because the two of them would have done just that.
They would have blazed, setting fire to the room, blinding everyone with the force of their passion. No one would be able to look away. All would stand transfixed, jealous, and curious, in awe.
Tonight.
The word had become her prayer for the evening. Repeating it soothed her, snipping the nervous threads coiling through her limbs. Tonight she would be gone. Tonight she would be free. And she would never have to pretend for any man ever again. Mikza would be hers and she would be his, and everyone they met would know it.
Tonight.
The music began to wind down and the vision faded, replaced by graying hairs and a too wide smile that made Leena flinch.
"Enjoying ourselves?"
She stiffened, feet halting immediately. Leena knew that voice.
"Of course, my King," Lord Padmir rushed, bowing so quickly that he almost toppled over.
Leena moved more slowly, cautiously. Her father had paid her no attention all night, but it seemed that gift was finally gone. Standing behind her, he looked as commanding as ever. Off the throne, but still graced with the crown and an air of arrogance, King Razzaq knew how to impose. And at that moment, his umber eyes glimmered with intelligence, putting Leena on edge.
What did he know?
"Yes, my King," she said, forcing a smile through her teeth, trying to calm her suddenly racing pulse. "Who could do anything less than enjoy such a wonderful party, especially in honor of the wedding of my dear sister?"
"Who indeed?" He smiled, too sweetly. Eyes flicking to the lord, he said, "Leave us."
Leena gulped, resisting the urge to find Mikza, to make sure he was all right. Looking at him now would only encourage her father's suspicions, would only endanger them both.
"You seem happy tonight."
"Of course, Father," she answered, mouth suddenly dry. "I am only excited that it is now my time to be matched."
"Do not lie to me, girl," he said, gripping her wrist tight enough to bruise. To an outside observer, it might look like a touch of affection. But his eyes were furious. "I have heard it all before. Do not forget that I had sisters, and there were other daughters before you."
"I'm not sure what you mean, Father." Leena fought to keep her voice even, but the pain in her wrist only mirrored the fear in her heart, both making her body shake.
"Enough," he growled, pulling her in close, digging his fingers into her arm. "You will share one more dance of my choosing and then retire for the evening. Understood?"
Leena nodded, not trusting her voice. His rings were scraping her skin, chafing it raw, so she closed her eyes against the hurt.
Somehow, he knew.
Yasmine. It was the only explanation Leena could think of, but they had given nothing away.
Mikza?
Leena forced her neck still, fought to keep her head from jerking to the side, from finding him. Moments ago she had seen his smile, was it possible he had so quickly been taken? That things could so quickly change?
"Good," the king sneered, releasing Leena and stepping back. Placing his hand at her back, he pushed her forward. Not forceful enough to be noticed, but with power. Leena could not run, she could only step where her father wished, feeling like she marched to her grave and not to a dance partner.
"Lord Biitar," her father called, voice suddenly jovial. The old lord turned, Leena recognized him.
"My King," he said, bowing informally in greeting. No surprise shone on his mature face. This moment had been planned, Leena was sure of it. "May I introduce my son, Amosaan. Amo to our closest companions, which I hope you will soon become."
A young man stepped forward, skin firm with hardened muscles. Tattoos of curved daggers and harsh waves decorated his forearms. His face was pleasant, jaw square with soft lips and eyes a muddled hazel, unusual for the Ourthuri. She knew him, of course, but couldn't remember interacting with him before. Something about his smile seemed too kind to be trusted.
"Our daughter, Princess Leenaka," her father said, shoving her closer to the boy. She curtsied and offered her hand. He lifted it gently, placing a soft kiss on the backside of her palm. Fighting the urge to scream and run, Leena let her hand fall slowly back to her side.
"We think you should share a dance. The two of you certainly make a fine," King Razzaq said, then paused, eyes shifting to Leena, grip tightening just enough to make her listen, "match."
Leena caught the gasp before it slipped past her tongue, but the triumphant look on her father's face was enough to tell her something had been given away. So this was the boy he wanted to match her with, the man he wanted her to marry.
"Princess?" Amo said, offering his hand to lead her to the floor.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Her mind protested, but under the watchful eyes of her father, Leena could do nothing but smile and accept. Amo led her out, placed his hand on her hip, and confidently began the steps.
Shorter than Mikza—that was what she noticed first. He had none of Mikza's grace, none of his fluidity. This boy was stone where Mikza was water. His movements jerked her around, pulling instead of leading, commanding instead of sharing.
He was a son of Ourthuro.
He was everything she wanted to escape.
Tonight.
Leena tried to calm herself, but the prayer wasn't working. As she spun, her eyes shifted around the room, spotting Mikza unharmed and still standing guard.
Safe.
He was still safe.
But for how long? Her father had to know something. Or hinting at her match would not have been so satisfying to him, so sinister. Like a ghost, Leena still felt his grip on her arm, felt the rings of a king taking hold. He would never let her go.
The room began to blur. Heat built under her skin. The columns circling the dance floor seemed to expand, to close in, a beautiful prison, a golden cage. The laughter in the room grew unbearable, the candles blinded, the colors grew so saturated that she could hardly make out one person from the next. Suddenly her father's face seemed to loom in the air, to grow larger, an image she could not escape.
"Princess?" Amo said, breaking her trance.
They had stopped without her realizing. The room felt silent without music, empty, everyone seemed to be staring at her.
But they weren't. Leena looked around, her anxiety becoming too much, but no eyes met hers. No one had been watching, not really.
"I apologize," she
said, voice hoarse. Leena took a deep breath. "I suddenly do not feel very well. I think I will retire to my rooms."
Amo tugged on her arm, and in her weakened state, Leena fell forward. His hands caught her, just as her fingers landed on his chest, trying to find her balance. Just like a young couple in love might look, as though her father had planned it himself.
"If we're to be matched," he whispered, voice low, tone like iron, "I demand more respect than you have shown tonight. My wife will know her place, one way or another."
And then he released her, warm smile back on his lips. "Are you all right?" He cooed, settling her back on her feet, lightly running his hand from her shoulder to her elbow before letting go.
Leena could not think of a word to say. Her dry lips seemed glued shut. Her body trembled, and she felt as though she might faint. So without a response, she turned and walked slowly out of the ballroom, into the shadows, the cool night, wondering how long she could hide before someone would find her.
Fearing who that someone might be.
Five
The Golden Cage (A Dance of Dragons #0.5) Page 4
