by Cayla Kluver
“Thank you, My Lady,” Galen said, and I scoffed internally that he was even expressing gratitude on behalf of his friend. “Steldor will greatly appreciate your gesture.” Then he strode off to return to his own table.
I did not track either of the young field commanders further, but took my seat to my mother’s left. My father was beaming at me as my mother turned to me to admire my necklace.
“He does have exceptionally good taste,” she commented in her lilting, singsong manner, “and not just in jewelry.”
I nodded, picking at the meat and vegetables on my plate. A short time later, I saw an ashen-faced Koranis coming toward our table, but I did not see Narian. What had happened between father and son after they had been left together in the front yard? It looked as though Narian, at least, would not partake of the feast. In truth, I was no longer certain that I wanted to see him, for his display of weapons had been harrowing. I reviewed the past couple of hours in my mind, feeling as if the entire evening was spinning out of control.
I excused myself from the table after eating a few more bites and strolled out of the tent to where the musicians were setting up to play. Casting about for Miranna and Semari, I spotted them sitting on a bench along the edge of the dance floor. Judging from their rosy cheeks, they were gossiping about something. The nature of their chitchat became clear as I saw them look longingly toward a group of young men lounging in the shadows, a group that included Temerson. His brother had remained with him, although the boy was now accompanied by Zayle, Semari’s younger brother, and from the jostling going on between them, it appeared a friendship had been born.
Dusk was now upon us, and torches were being lit that would, with or without the moon’s assistance, bathe the dance floor in a romantic glow. As the musicians started to play, several couples moved onto the wooden planking and began to step in time with the music. I stayed on the sidelines as I had at the event in Narian’s honor, content to admire the graceful movements of the couples. I saw my mother glide into the midst of the dancers, escorted by my boisterous father, and wondered whether Temerson would find the courage to ask Miranna to dance, or whether she would have to take the initiative herself. My reverie was interrupted by an altogether too familiar, and definitely unwelcome, voice.
“Would you grant me the honor of a dance, Alera?”
Steldor had stepped into place beside me, and with a slight bow, was now offering me his hand.
I did not extend mine in return, but stared fixedly at the scene before me.
“Hardly,” I said snippily.
As I was determined not to look at him, I had to imagine his reaction to my rather indecorous rejection, and tried to envision his face clouded by frustration. Galen had apologized for him, after all, and I had presumably forgiven him. So why was my mood so cold?
“You would accept my generous gift, yet deny me a simple dance?” he asked.
To that I had no answer. The necklace was magnificent and extravagant, and having taken it, I could not with a clear conscience refuse to dance with him. He seemed to read my thoughts, which in truth he had planted, and took my hand without another word.
He was an excellent dancer. He moved with such ease and grace that it was difficult for me to match him. Perhaps we could have more effortlessly moved as one had I been at all content in his arms.
Though at first we danced as would acquaintances, Steldor soon realized that many eyes were upon us and decided to publicly confirm our courtship. He drew me close, and I went rigid. He continued to dance as elegantly as before, but my movements became increasingly ungainly.
“I’ve learned that you’ve made several visits here of late,” Steldor remarked, and I thought I detected an undertone of jealousy, no doubt stemming from his conjecture that I had been coming to see Narian. He did not know, of course, that his own father had commissioned me to spend so much time with Koranis’s elder son.
“Tell me,” he continued as he maneuvered us around the dance floor, “do you tire of playing nursemaid?”
“Only when I’m with you,” I retorted, indignation flaring at his jibe toward Narian.
He cocked his head at me, in neither anger nor amusement, but in some new emotion I could best interpret as consternation. The song ended, and I turned to leave, pleased that I had delivered the final blow, but he slipped his arm around my waist.
“Not so fast. We need to establish some sort of truce.”
The musicians began another piece, and once more Steldor and I danced, the elegance of his movement increasingly hindered by my resistance to the pressure his hand was exerting upon my back.
Without further ado, Steldor lamented, “I don’t understand you. You seem to be set wholeheartedly against me, and I don’t even know what I did to garner such resentment.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“You kissed my sister!”
“Before that!” he exclaimed, as if the point I had raised were irrelevant. He dropped his volume, conscious of the couples surrounding us. “Since the day we met, you’ve exhibited nothing but contempt toward me. What could I have done so long ago to offend you?”
I distinctly remembered my first impression of Steldor, as my opinion of him had not changed much over the years. I had been ten at the time, and he thirteen, and yet he had already possessed the ego of a young peacock.
“It’s nothing you did,” I hissed, dying to unleash my anger as I had in the garden in the aftermath of the palace celebration in Narian’s honor. “It’s simply…who you are!”
“What does that mean?” Steldor demanded, completely baffled, and I was sure no one had ever dared to tell him there was something wrong with his character.
“It’s your attitude,” I admonished, the loathing he had inspired within me on numerous occasions quickly surfacing. “The way you walk, the way you talk…even the way you breathe.”
He raised a sardonic eyebrow as if telling me I could do better by way of explanation.
“Honestly, Alera, the way I breathe?”
“Even now, you’re unbelievably condescending!” Though I was growing passionate in my speech, I managed to regulate my volume. “You treat everyone as if they are beneath you—Miranna, the guard in the market, Temerson, Narian, me! You can’t even deign to apologize for yourself, so forgive me if I’m a little disagreeable.”
I tried to pull away, but he held me in place, fuming. I felt trapped, and the deadly glare he fixed upon me was most unsettling. As my discomfort grew, so did my resolve to withdraw from the dance floor, and I remained stiff and unwilling in his arms as he continued to try to dance with me.
“Damn it, Alera, you won’t even let me lead!” he snapped, his voice low but heavy with rancor.
He gestured with a hand from my body to his, indicating the distance I insisted on maintaining between us.
“This dance exemplifies our entire relationship! You are more than ‘a little disagreeable,’ Alera. You can’t conceive that anything I do has merit, is good, is right, has potential. At least my so-called arrogance is backed up by my actions—I can do the things of which I claim to be capable, so that I do not boast, but rather state fact. You, on the other hand, oppose me without thought or reason! Better to be justifiably arrogant than irrationally contrary. If it were not the case that we must marry in order for me to assume the throne, as is your father’s desire, I would not suffer your company, and I don’t think many men would.”
The second song ended, but Steldor did not release my hand. With an affectation of pleasure upon his face, he led me away from the other couples.
“Now, won’t you join me at the refreshment table?” he said with forced pleasantness in his voice as well.
Stung by his criticism and unable to refuse his offer lest I prove his point, I let him guide me to the table, for once not fighting the arm he slid around my waist. I waited for him to bring me a glass of wine, hating that he was at least partially correct about my behavior toward him and racki
ng my brain for a way to escape the circumstances in which I wallowed. As Steldor returned to my side, I noticed Miranna approaching him from behind, and gratitude swept through me when she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Lord Steldor, would you care to dance?” she asked, her tone a touch too sweet.
He glanced between us in annoyance, no doubt aware that Miranna’s objective was to rescue me, and I feared he would turn her down.
“By all means, feel free to dance with Mira. It will, after all, give you another basis on which to compare the two of us,” I goaded. “Let’s see, you have flirted with us both and kissed us both. I would assume dancing with us both would be of interest as well.”
His eyes darkened, then he gulped down his wine and thrust the empty goblet into my hands.
“A gentleman will always satisfy a lady’s desires, even should it enable him to make such comparisons,” he responded before shifting his attention to Miranna. “I am honored by your request,” he said to her, bowing and offering his arm.
While I was relieved to see him walk away, I was dumbfounded by his gall, as he had intimated that both my sister and I sought his attentions. Seized by a desperate desire to leave the gathering, I located Destari and instructed him to inform the grooms that they should prepare one of the three royal carriages for departure. I then thanked Koranis and Alantonya for their hospitality, noting as I did so that the Baron had recovered his self-important air. Finally, I sought out my parents to let them know I was returning to the palace. My father, in particular, looked disappointed, but ultimately he did not object. Shortly thereafter, and due in no small part to Miranna’s continued insistence that Steldor dance with her, I was settled into a coach and on my way home, Destari riding his horse alongside the carriage while several additional guards followed behind.
We had not traveled far when I became aware of the sound of an approaching horse, traveling at a leisurely canter. Destari motioned for my carriage driver to halt and rode out to meet whomever had intercepted us. As only an occasional muffled snatch of conversation reached my ears, I was not able to identify the speakers, and I began to worry that Steldor had pursued me. My disquiet was allayed a few moments later with the return of my bodyguard.
“Lord Narian is here and requests to see you, Princess.”
I nodded, puzzled but not displeased, and Destari assisted me to step down from the carriage. I walked toward Narian, who had alighted from his impressive dappled gray steed to stand fifteen feet away, his eyes continually scanning the guards who were with me.
Although I knew I should be wary of him after what I had witnessed only a few hours ago, my reaction was in fact quite different. I was feeling a very pleasant, light and tingly sensation at being in his presence.
“Shall we walk?” Narian invited, still holding his horse’s reins and seemingly unwilling to speak in front of my guards.
“Yes,” I murmured, then I turned to Destari. “Will you bring me one of those lanterns?”
I motioned to the oil lamps hanging from the front of the carriage, and he retrieved the one nearest him.
“We’ll return in a short while,” I promised as he handed it to me, indicating I did not want him to trail us.
He did not object, and I could only assume that he was acquiescing due to the amount of trust Cannan had shown in Narian by allowing him to retain possession of his weapons.
“I presume our meetings, and your lessons, are at an end,” Narian said when we were out of earshot of the others.
“My permission has been withdrawn,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment, but realizing my tone was a match to his.
With a sharp laugh he halted, and his horse shifted restlessly. “I forgot—you need permission for everything.”
I turned toward him, unsure how to respond and unable to read his mood. I held up the lantern so I could see his face, but his expression was inscrutable.
“I know you are not familiar with the types of weapons I carry,” he continued, sounding for once ill at ease about the topic he was broaching. “I asked you once if you were afraid of Steldor—perhaps I should ask if you are afraid of me.”
It did not take me long to answer. “Reason says I should be, but I am not.”
“I would never hurt you, Alera.”
His mesmerizing blue eyes held me, then he looked away, as if he’d said something improper.
“Unless you count pulling me off a horse,” I jested.
I caught a flicker of amusement in Narian’s eyes and his horse snorted as if on cue. He gave it a pat on the neck before indicating with his hand that we should resume our aimless stroll.
“And how are things between you and your father?” I inquired hesitantly after we had walked a few additional paces.
“Koranis fears his own son,” Narian said contemptuously. “As you heard, he wants the Captain of the Guard to enroll me in the Military Academy. Until then, I am to move into his manor house in the city. I am to leave with the captain tonight. Koranis even chose to oversee my packing, not trusting that I will take only those things that are my own.” He glanced sideways at me, his countenance less guarded. “Of course, this means I will be living closer to the palace.”
I did not reply, uncertain of his meaning, although my heart quickened at his intimation. I hoped he would elaborate, but he did not, instead changing the subject.
“You didn’t appear to enjoy Steldor’s company tonight.”
I gave little thought to how he had seen me with Steldor, let alone discerned my feelings, as I was growing quite accustomed to his keen observations.
“I don’t ever enjoy Steldor’s company,” I said with a laugh.
“Then why do you endure him?” Narian responded to the lightness of my comment with confusion and frustration.
“I really have no choice,” I said, confident he would acknowledge the difficulty of my circumstances.
“You always have a choice.”
His words were blunt and devoid of sympathy, and I stared at him as we returned to the vicinity of the carriage, without an inkling of what to make of this encounter.
“I’m sure Steldor has noticed my absence by now,” I said, “so I had better continue to the palace before he pursues me.”
“He may find that rather difficult, as I borrowed his horse.”
“Borrowed?” I shook my head in disbelief as he mounted the powerful animal.
“Good night, Princess,” Narian said with a smirk, before galloping into the darkness in the direction of Koranis’s estate.
CHAPTER 22
DIVIDED HEART
“SO TELL ME, DID TEMERSON EVER WORK UP THE courage to ask you to dance?”
This was the first time my sister and I had visited since Semari’s birthday celebration five days earlier, and we were sitting in my parlor, I upon the sofa, and she in an adjacent armchair.
“No.” Miranna giggled. “But Perdic, his eight-year-old brother, did.”
I laughed along with her, picturing Temerson’s face as his own brother asked a princess to dance, when Temerson could hardly put together a full sentence around her.
Miranna and I were spending the afternoon together, embroidering the handkerchiefs we were to give out before the tournament. The mid-October sky was gray and overcast, and the logs smoldering in the fireplace were necessary to chase the chill from the air.
It was tradition that each princess who was of courting age would choose an escort for the tournament and the dinner the evening before by delivering a personally embroidered handkerchief to the favored young man. While Miranna and I were given leave to stitch whatever design we fancied on the cloth, I had, since the first time I’d been escorted at the age of fifteen, simply sewn my name into the corner. Miranna’s design would be more elaborate and creative, but then embroidery was more to her liking than it was to mine; more to her liking as well was the man who would be receiving her kerchief. I knew full well mine was to be sent to Steldor, despite my confused feelings.<
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“I danced a couple of times with Perdic,” Miranna continued, her eyes bright as she thought back to the party. “He’s a very sweet boy, though he’s much braver than his brother. Zayle, who spent most of the evening with Perdic, also requested a dance, which made Semari laugh. Eventually I asked Temerson!”
“And, of course, he blushed and agreed,” I teased.
Our conversation ended as my parlor door swung wide and my father bounded across the threshold.
“Ah, both of my daughters, I see. Excellent! Not interrupting anything, I hope?” he asked, bustling into our midst.
“Not at all,” I said, returning his smile. “Join us, Father.”
The King took in our activity as he sat beside me on the sofa and grinned from ear to ear.
“Ah, the handkerchiefs. And who will be so lucky as to receive yours, Miranna? The same boy from last year, perhaps? He was quite charming, if recollection serves.”
He winked, and Miranna’s cheeks grew warm.
“No,” she said, realizing that Father’s thoughts had traveled to potential suitors for her, though she would not be of marriageable age until she turned eighteen. “I was planning on sending mine to Lord Temerson.”
“Isn’t he the boy I chose to accompany you on the picnic?” He chuckled in a self-satisfied way at her nod. “Excellent. Comes from a fine family. I really do have a knack for these things!”
He turned to me, patting my hand.
“You will be interested to know that Steldor is going to take part in a fighting exhibition at the tournament. Cannan has arranged a mock battle between his son and Lord Kyenn to show the people some Cokyrian fighting techniques.”
“Why Steldor?” I blurted, apprehensive on Narian’s behalf.
My father interpreted my words in a way that I had not intended.
“You will only be deprived of your escort’s company for a short time. What grounds are there to deny such an opportunity to the best fighter in Hytanica, especially when he volunteers for the good of the event?”
