“Luken?” I questioned, finding him in the crowd. Lady Camille blushed, enamored by his royal charm. “Luken never disagrees with the King’s decisions.”
Fanfare stopped our conversation, leaving me to wonder why Luken would dare contradict Parliament. As heir to the throne, it was his duty to adhere to the King’s ideals.
“Presenting the Unity Knights of Brisleia,” the crier announced.
Speaking of ideals.
The Unity Knights acted as the personal guard to the Brisleian Divine and often came from gentry families, only to become the desire of many young women at court. The King collected men that best described his virtues and offered them the world in return for loyalty to the crown. Divided into two groups, Counsel and Combat, they served in Parliament and lived in luxury at court.
The Unity Knights had seating on a second-floor balcony that overlooked the ballroom, allowing them to be vigilant over the crowd of wealthy landowners and giving eyes and ears to the King where his grasp exceeded him.
In addition to celebrating my birthday, this ball was meant to welcome home the knights, who had been absent from the palace for several weeks. They marched into court in two lines, and each one took a knee before the royal family to proclaim the virtue he served. The Counsel Knights: Honor, Honesty, Justice, Trust, Wisdom. The Combat Knights: Patience, Loyalty, Strength, Peace, Valor.
As the knights filtered through the room, some heading to their perch and the others flirting with noblemen’s daughters, my brother appeared before me.
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, dear sister?”
Luken knew I didn’t dance unless forced. It was often impossible to decline an invitation, especially from a member of the family—though the persistence of dukes and knights could be equally impossible to escape. I’d danced with Sir Gregory Owens of Loyalty more times than I cared to acknowledge.
Luken extended his hand. Faking a smile for my father’s sake, I accepted.
The crowd parted as he led me to the dance floor. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.
“That’s a leading question,” I quipped.
I held up my gown, and he took my waist, twisting me around him, my dress flowing in riverlike waves behind us.
“You’re hiding something from me,” he said.
“I could say the same thing about you,” I countered, wrinkling my nose. “One thing was different this year. I didn’t receive a gift from Podar.” The heavily volcanic western country usually sent the most elaborate presents. Once I’d received a magnificent bed carved from pumice rock. Having no use for it, I gave it to the palace to be used in one of the guest rooms.
“Perhaps”—his eyes wandered to the stairs and back to me—“I do know something you do not.” He twirled me, flaring my gown. “And maybe it’s about Podar, and maybe it is why I haven’t been completely myself.”
A sense of oncoming turmoil tightened my chest. “So, tell me,” I pressed.
His expression hardened. “I promised the King I wouldn’t. It will be up to you to decide what to make of it.”
“That isn’t fair. I would tell you.” Yet, I had not spoken a word of my dreaming.
“Something is about to happen, and you are at the center of it.”
Before I could continue my interrogation, fanfare blared, and Luken escorted me back to the dais. I eyed the rest of my family, all smiling and thrilled by some new arrival.
“Presenting His Divine Royal Majesty Prince Marcus Ember of Caldera, Crowned Heir to the Throne of Podar,” the crier proclaimed.
My stomach jumped into my throat. Why had I not been informed of a foreign Divine Prince visiting Alamantia Palace? I shot Luken a disgruntled stare while he faked the happiest smile to welcome our Divine guest.
I had never met Prince Marcus, but I knew a little about him and his vague history. Sick for most of his childhood, he had only recently entered the political world of the Divine. Though the Podarian King still reigned, he was seriously unwell, and Marcus had taken over the ruling of Castle Caldera and all Podar, with praise heaped upon him. Under his direction, Podar was coming out of the violent darkness that had so long consumed her.
Prince Marcus started down the stairs with fifty attendants following him, each carrying a box or tray. At only nineteen, he was grand in stature and appearance, tall and broad for his age, with silky black hair and smooth olive skin. Flecks of loose black locks framed his dark brow. Ambition and control edged his deep basil-green eyes. The Podarian Mandala wrapped around his features in the same manner as the Brisleian, but it lacked the floral filigree pattern. Instead, the sharp design had few curved edges and glowed a deep blood red. Intimidating, yet still beautiful.
He wore a silken ebony tunic enhanced with black diamond threading, and the matching pants were tucked into the top of shiny onyx boots. A heavy chartreuse cloak was slung over his right shoulder, and the black diamond hilt of a sword peeked out from under the resplendent fabric. The spectacular entourage that followed were dressed in all black, with glistening platinum chains decorating their shoulders.
My father’s court bowed as he walked through the center of the ballroom, each young girl excited to glimpse a Prince they could only admire from afar. He stopped at the base of the steps and dipped his head, his attendants following suit.
“Your Majesty, King Hugo.” His deeply determined voice flowed bold and rich yet seemed to hold an ongoing internal power struggle. I swallowed nervously.
King Hugo opened his arms, inviting the foreigner to join us on the platform. “Prince Marcus, welcome to my court.” The two embraced. “I am pleased to hear of your safe travels through Brisleia.”
“The convoy you sent to assist mine made for an impervious journey. Your Unity Knights were of fine service.”
The King smiled pleasantly. “You remember my son and heir, Prince Luken Rose.” The two Princes bowed to each other. I blinked rapidly, stunned by the tension tightening my brother’s mouth. “And may I introduce to you my wife, Queen Helena.”
Marcus respectfully kissed my mother’s hand. “Your Highness, your husband has hardly done your beauty justice in his descriptions of you.”
My mother blushed. She actually blushed. “I hope you find your visit meets all your expectations.”
“Alamantia could never disappoint me. Your kingdom holds the most beautiful city in Athera, and I have every intention of enjoying its splendors.” Marcus’s smoldering eyes darted to me.
“May I also present to you my daughter, the Princess Ayleth, to whom we owe this joyous occasion,” King Hugo continued.
Marcus’s gaze bored directly into my eyes, and his mouth spread into a slow, satisfied smile. “Princess Ayleth.” He paused for a long moment, examining me. “I hope that during my stay I may get to know you better. I am sure we will have much in common.” He took my hand and kissed it. A strange rousing sensation eased through my fingers and up my arm. I forced myself not to pull away. I did not need to insult a foreign Prince. “I’ve brought many gifts in honor of your birthday. I hope you enjoy them.” He gestured to the fifty men standing behind him, presenting me with the most outlandish gift ceremony I had ever received.
“Your Majesty . . .” I hesitated, uncertain I could still speak. “Surely you do not mean all these gifts for me.”
“Indeed. I have also brought you a Podarian mare, as well as pumice rock to have crafted into anything of your choosing.”
Instead of the proper appreciation, rage boiled through my insides. I did not need a mare, and I highly doubted I needed anything else in his fifty parcels. What game was he playing? Not even the King of Alamantia had ever received so much from a Podarian Prince. Something was amiss and I could see it in Luken’s fake smile.
A lifetime of royal training dictated I conceal my anger. I dipped my head. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said through clenched teeth.
Marcus smirked, his countenance accusing me of naivety. A wave of his hand dismissed the entourage.
“Have these gifts delivered to the Princess’s apartments, where she can enjoy them to their fullest this evening.”
My head began to spin, and a clammy sweat took over my palms.
“Princess Ayleth”—he closed in on me—“would you do me the honor of a dance? With your father’s permission, of course.”
King Hugo smiled. “Splendid.”
Every ridiculous eye in the room watched me, waiting for my answer with grins or anticipation.
“It would be my pleasure,” I accepted reluctantly.
Prince Marcus towered over me. I felt meek standing next to him, the way a finch might feel sharing a branch with an eagle. A bizarre silence fell over the guests as he led me to the center of the ballroom.
He turned me to face him. I craned my neck back to meet his gaze and instantly regretted it. He was extremely attractive—almost unnaturally handsome—with high cheekbones, full pink lips, and every bit of the bravado of a man overflowing with power, yet his presence still held something of the young boy trying to fill his father’s place in history. A chess piece that didn’t match the others, in use only so the game could continue.
The music began. He took my waist and glided me across the floor, our steps in perfect sync.
“I hate this ostentatious nonsense,” he said after we had circled the ballroom. His voice didn’t seem to belong to him. “People will always expect Divine royalty to put on an exhibition.”
I gave a small nod. “Seeing a Divine royal is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for most. You should know, despite falling into duty for appearances, I despise dancing.” Unwilling to let fear control me, I met his gaze, hoping the terror wouldn’t show in my expression.
“Your footwork is exquisite, despite your resistance.”
“It’s not the steps I dislike. It’s touching someone I find repulsive.”
He suppressed a laugh. “Someone of your beauty should be repulsed by those of lesser value. I suspect you only associate with those you find befitting to your station.”
I frowned. “No one would dare accuse me of being so shallow.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Does my father know how you mock me? Do you assume this backward flattery is charming?” Handsome, yes, but his arrogance and pompous behavior overshadowed his regal appearance.
The edges of his mouth twitched. “As it happens, I have spoken a great deal with your father. I aim to take a wife in the near future.”
“I suppose it would be prudent for a country with only one Divine heir to secure its bloodline,” I cautioned.
“My interests differ from the majority currently ruling the Senate.” He paused, and though he continued to pull me along, my steps noticeably began to drag. “Podar and Duval both have their share of beauties.”
“I cannot agree nor disagree with you, as I have never been to either,” I said, attempting to steer the conversation away from marriage.
“Beauties none as fine as Brisleian royalty.” He gave the same deceitful grin.
In that moment I began to realize Luken’s secret, because it wasn’t just Luken hiding it. My eyes darted from face to face around the ballroom; each one stared with an expectant luster. I furrowed my brows. “Why are you here?”
“My desires for a wife have fallen upon you.”
My feet came to an abrupt halt. “Your Majesty, you don’t even know me, nor should you desire me.”
He sighed, annoyed by my reaction. “I didn’t need to know anything more than your beauty, but I am indeed finding your obstinance equally attractive. Despite your brother’s concern, you will make a fine Podarian Queen. Like the beautiful mare I brought for you, stunning and wild, you too will need to be trained—I can’t have your tenacity hindering my throne—but a long engagement should fix that snag.”
“Trained? You mean, as in breaking a horse?” I ripped my hands away from him.
A hush fell over the court. This was not a conversation for the middle of a ballroom with noble onlookers.
I charged onto the court balcony. The large glass doors swung open, leading onto a massive alabaster terrace three hundred feet above Alamantia City. The immense pearlescent pillars glittered as the last memories of daylight faded into the stars and the first of the celebratory fireworks exploded over the palace.
Prince Marcus followed on my heels, giving a nod to the King, who urged the music to continue. The nobles commenced dancing in awkward steps, each head still turned towards the Podarian Prince and me.
“How dare you proclaim such affection. Compare me to a mare!” I shrilled. “A Prince you may be, sire, but a gentleman you are not. Surely you have not forgotten that I am as Divine as you. Divines do not marry other Divines. It’s forbidden.”
After the Riving appeared and the Divine became critical to the continent’s survival, the Senate believed crossing country bloodlines would bring disaster to Athera. Others dismissed that idea as paranoia. In any case, I did not want to be the first to test the theory.
“The prospect of a cross-continental Divine marriage has been under discussion in the Senate for some time,” Marcus said casually, crossing to the railing and scanning the city. “It has been prudent in the past for the Divine to marry outside the circle, but with fewer of us born each century, we must consider alternative means to keep Athera alive. I believe crossing bloodlines could create a hybrid whose life is tied to both Podar and Brisleia. It may be the only way to ensure Athera’s lifeblood. My proposition is beneficial to your brother’s reign and will keep Brisleia under the safe protection of Podar. The blood of mixed children will ensure both countries’ survival into the future.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “I won’t do it.”
He raked his nails over the marble, making faint scratches in the stone. “You lack the faculties to make this decision. The Senate, Parliament, and your father have decided what is best.”
“My father would never approve a marital taboo.”
He fingered the indentation he had created before turning his back to it, as though to hide the destruction. “The purpose of the Divine is to ensure the life of their given country. Kenara no longer exists, and Brisleia already came close to disaster when your grandmother was the only surviving heir two generations ago. Your father fears the same outcome. Only a Divine male heir should ever rule as sovereign.”
“Kenara no longer exists because a Podarian King thought the ruling Queen too weak to command her country and, just as you propose, offered protection. Podarians, your people, killed the life of Kenara, and it would seem Podar is about to repeat history. Tell me, Prince Marcus, is Brisleia in need of protection?”
“The royalty of my country has not always done what is best for Athera, but we have learned from our mistakes. Keeping the last branches of the continent alive are of upmost importance to Podar. I assure you, with you as my wife, Brisleia will always remain.”
“What makes you think I would ignore a taboo and accept marriage into a country with your history?” I glanced into the ballroom. The nobles had fallen back into normality, but my family still actively watched us.
“It is no secret that when Prince Tydous ascends the throne, the Duvali monarchy will be swayed. It is likely that whoever remains in the Prince’s good favor will become Duval’s ally. If Podar and Brisleia partner now, it will isolate the south, essentially forcing them to fall under the new bloodline’s command.”
“This is absurd.” I buried my nails into my scalp, dislodging my crown from its pins.
“It’s politics.”
I pulled my fingers out of my hair and balled my hands into little, nonthreatening fists. “Politics or not, I refuse to be a pawn for your sexual experiments and political gain. Take your gifts and leave. I want nothing to do with you.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes, and the once hint of a smile disappeared into the darkness of his tone. “Your opinion in the matter is irrelevant. If you care for your country, you will do what is commanded of you. Tha
t is your only concern.” His smile reappeared, but this time his teeth looked pointed.
“My father has consented to this?” I questioned.
He nodded. “The unity of our nations will be a magnificent turning point in the fusion of the entire continent. I will see to it that you are happy and have all the riches you desire. As the Divine Queen of Podar, you will have everything you can imagine. I will prove to be a fine husband.”
“Why ask me?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions under control. “If my father has consented and it is not my choice, then why does my answer matter?”
“It would please me to hear you accept my proposal of your own accord,” he admitted.
“It would please you?” I hissed. “Of course, how could I not have taken your pleasure into consideration?”
His eyes gleamed at my sarcasm. “I aim for you to love me in the future, as I am certain to grow very fond of you”—he ran his fingers along my cheek—“and your vivacious spirit.”
I slapped his hand. “Love you? How could I ever love you after being forced into this. I’ll hate you. I hate you now, and I’ll hate you then.” I stomped my foot against the stone.
“As much as I had hoped for your willingness”—he stepped closer, his voice low—“forcing you to submit to me will be just as invigorating.”
My shoulders sank in defeat; the Divine Royal Highness Ayleth Rose of Alamantia diminished into a nameless political tool.
“I must remain in Podar over the course of our engagement. I shall visit you and write to you often. I am speaking with your father of the possibility of moving your household to the Ember Court.” He took my hand, ignoring my previous refusal of affection, and another charged wave pulsed up my arm. I pulled back so forcefully my skin stung. He breathed out in a growl, trying to control something boiling deep within him. “After you have spent time with me in Podar, you will grow to love me. Or at the very least you will have learned respect.”
“I have no intention of moving my household. Nor do I desire to marry you or any man who would seek to buy me because of my status. Furthermore, if you were the Prince you claim to be, you would respect my decision and turn your interest elsewhere.”
Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence Page 3
