The Beginning of Everything

by Kristen Ashley

  This dowry situation, by the by, did not best please my father.

  No, it did not.

  Mostly considering my uncle expected my father to offer the lot of it.

  And the lot of it was a lot.

  I felt True shift, and he was so close to me, standing in a protective manner at my side and partly to my front (my much beloved cousin), that his arm brushed my shoulder.

  I really wanted to look upon the woman with the lush exotic features, eyes that shown like topaz, and such finery on her body (but it was so strange, I couldn’t believe).

  The woman destined for my dear cousin.

  The woman sitting on a pile of cushions at the king’s side farthest from me.

  But since entering the throne room of the Catrame Palace ten minutes before, a part of my uncle’s somewhat large entourage (considering we were greeted solely by the Firenz King and True’s intended), I could barely take my eyes off the brute sitting his throne.

  Red, collarless, long-sleeved shirt, a black jacket that I would suspect, if he rose from his ruby embedded gold throne (something he did not do when we entered), would fall to his ankles, and it had no sleeves. Loose black trousers.

  And bare feet.

  This was interesting, as these were not the clothes of the males of my country (and no one in Wodell went in bare feet—and what feet! By the gods, who in all the lands had attractive feet? I’ll tell you who—King Mars of Firenze!).

  But truly, it was the rest of him.

  The hair (so much hair).

  The beard (such a full beard, and it came down to a point).

  The eyes (so very black—pitch…or tar).

  The piercings (everywhere!).

  The slim scar the ran from his right cheekbone over the bridge of his nose.

  The other one that ran under the swell of his left cheekbone.

  And the sheer volume of his gargantuan frame, all of it made up of muscle.

  He was the single most extraordinary being I’d ever seen in…my…life.

  I could…

  Well, I could gaze on him for centuries.

  Sadly, it would seem, he could not do the same with me.

  For when we arrived, and I was presented to my intended, he barely looked me top to toe before he turned his attention to my uncle. Though as was my way, I knew, even if his gaze rested on King Wilmer, his mind was attuned to True.

  This would, of course, be smart.

  Although my uncle had a guard in this very room that equaled sixteen in number, and another fifty stood outside the palace, I still would guess the only real threat was True (who I knew, because I heard, but I’d also seen him perform in the games, that he was a very good soldier, and he was renown as the best horseman in all of Wodell).

  The King of Firenze was unarmed.

  But there was a large, ceremonial broadsword hanging behind him studded with enormous Firenz rubies, even larger Sjofn ice diamonds, sparkling emeralds and beautifully-cut amethysts, which I knew were also mined in Firenze.

  I further knew, from the stories I had heard as well as gazing upon him now, this king could have his hand around the handle of that sword in the blink of an eye and not give a thought to its pricelessness as he cut down my uncle’s guard in a thrice and then turned to True.

  King Wilmer should not have made True keep his personal lieutenants outside. They were like True. And I’d heard tell they’d die for him.

  This thought made me get even closer to my cousin and rub my knuckles against his.

  True took my hand.

  The instant he did, the king’s head turned, his face grew hard, and his eyes narrowed on our hands.

  My heart skipped several beats.

  Oh yes, he was attuned to True.

  And perhaps even…me.

  And right then, he was terrifying.

  “You’re aware,” he said to our hands, “that no man, not her own, touches a Firenz bride unless given leave by the man who is her own.”

  “With respect, Your Grace, she’s my cousin and not Firenz. I’ve known her since she was wee,” True returned. “And I suspect this is a fretful occasion for her.”

  The king’s gaze lifted to True’s as he spoke again.

  “You are aware,” he said, much more slowly this time, and his deep voice seemed impossibly deeper, “that another man…does not touch…a Firenz bride…unless given leave.”

  “I’m fine, True,” I whispered, tugging my hand away.

  I tore my eyes from the king to look up and see my cousin’s jaw dancing as he scowled at the dark king.

  True then looked down at me and he’d forced his expression to gentle. “You’re certain?”

  I swallowed.

  True watched.

  Then I nodded.

  That muscle danced in his cheek again and he turned back to the Firenz king.

  Doing perhaps the only wise thing he’d done in his life, my uncle interrupted this conversation.

  “We’ve come bearing five hundred bushels of Dellish wool. Two hundred head of Dellish sheep. One thousand bags of milled Dellish flour, which you know, Mars, is the finest in all the lands. It makes the best bread and pastries in Triton. And also one hundred pieces of Dellish silver-pewter, which is renown. All of this as agreed.”

  “And I sent a messenger some weeks ago sharing I wanted one thousand bushels of wool and five hundred head of sheep,” King Mars returned.

  “That’s outlandish,” my father muttered under his breath.

  “We received no message,” my uncle said to the king.

  “This is unfortunate,” the king murmured.

  “We cannot go back now. The ceremonies begin four days hence. The Nadirii already ride over Firenz land. And I’d hate to see what Serena would do if she rode all the way from The Enchantments only to have to turn back,” my uncle warned.

  “I care not what the copper one thinks,” the king replied, and his eyes went back to True. “Everyone knows that gold is more precious.”

  I made not a noise as I shuffled closer to True seeing as that was just, well…cruel.

  And thus, I stared now without awe (and perhaps there had been a wee amount of rapture) and instead gazed coldly at the king.

  It would surprise me, and annoy me in that moment, that he actually wasn’t attuned to True.

  He was that to me.

  I knew this when his gaze fell instantly on me the moment my expression changed.

  “Have I irritated you, my intended?”

  I glanced but briefly at the lush beauty on cushions by his side and I spoke no words about anything, specifically about the fact that my cousin was enamored of that “gold” that was more precious.

  Namely, Elena of the Nadirii.

  “Does she speak?” he asked someone else, for his words stated thus but his dark eyes never left me.

  “She speaks,” my father said, then turned, glowered at me and prodded, “The king asked you a question.”

  I drew in breath.

  And then I answered softly, “I heard him.”

  “Well, answer,” my father hissed.

  I held the king’s gaze.

  “Silence,” my mother whispered pleadingly when I said nothing.

  “This is an odd name, no?” King Mars remarked. “And it seems she took it to heart.”

  “She is standing right in front of you, sir,” I said quietly. “And she tends not to say anything when she has nothing to say, or nothing to say she wishes heard.”

  At that, to my stunned surprise, he threw his fearsome (but handsome) head back and the large room filled with the thunder of his laughter.

  Oh faith, but he was even more easy to watch when he laughed.

  That muscled throat.

  What a bother!

  I felt myself glaring at him and I had no idea what came over me because I had learned long ago to keep such to myself.

  I could think things.

  I could feel things.

  I could not show things.r />
  He was still chuckling when he caught my new expression and he leaned toward me. “Now I see I have irritated you, my little monkey.”

  One could say I did not enjoy being referred to as a monkey.

  I turned my gaze to the lush beauty who sat on the cushions beside him.

  If it could be credited, she appeared to be sending me the message that she felt for me, such was her rueful expression.

  She got to marry True, who was the finest man I knew.

  I was to marry this brute, who called me a monkey.

  I didn’t need her feeling sorry for me, or at least I didn’t need to witness it, so I looked to the floor.

  “Piccolina,” the king called quietly, and with nothing for it (he was a king, soon to be my king), I lifted my eyes to his. “A queen does not study the floor,” he instructed, still speaking quietly. “Ever,” he whispered.

  “I’m not queen yet,” I returned.

  That was when his gaze took its time to traverse my face, taking in my hair, my neck.

  It slid down my throat and lingered on my chest, which I had to admit, was much pronounced in the gown I wore of layers of sheer, sage-green chiffon that fell in a multitude of gathers from the off-shoulder neckline to a belt of the same material just above my natural waist. The gathers fell to a rough inside-out seam at my hips and then down in gracious folds to cover my feet. The lovely sleeves were wide and billowy and gathered just above my wrist.

  It was lighter (and cooler) than my normal garments.

  And I wore nothing to further adorn it but a sage satin ribbon in my hair, for I felt the simplistic wonder of that dress, and the sumptuous material, needed no accessories.

  His eyes barely scanned my bottom half, and I could understand why, his lush companion was barely clothed (you could see her navel!—and her upper half was covered only in a bejeweled brassiere).

  But it seemed, from the look in his eyes, a look that did something to my insides, he was pleased with my breasts.

  I felt my cheeks heat even if I told myself at least that was something.

  “Rosa,” he whispered, his gaze on my face. Pink, he’d said. “Affascinante.”

  I suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

  Because his last was Enchanting.

  Oh faith.

  His attention abruptly moved to my uncle.

  “I’ll take her,” he declared.

  It felt like there was a huge frog in my throat and something quite curious was happening in the region of my belly (and, truth be told, below).

  My mother looked to me, pleased.

  As did my father.

  My uncle said, “Of course you do, Mars, to quell the Beast.”

  The Firenz king spoke as if my king did not. “You can send a messenger, have the rest of her dowry delivered while we travel.”

  “You said she pleased you. I don’t under—” my uncle began.

  “She pleases me, and I’ll have her,” King Mars announced.

  Faith!

  “But the dowry had already been agreed,” King Wilmer repeated.

  “The quakes, they’ve stopped, no?” King Mars remarked.

  My uncle spluttered because they had. The last three fortnights there hadn’t been one. And we were a week into the next and still…nothing.

  “The prophecy must go forward. The witches warned us that it must be done,” King Wilmer reminded him.

  “And so you’ll send the remainder of the dowry or, once we’re wed, and my Farah is given to your Prince True, I’ll have my warriors come into Wodell and they’ll take it,” he finished.

  King Wilmer’s face got red before he whirled to my father.

  “Send a messenger, Johan, and have the dowry delivered,” he ordered.

  “At once,” Father said, suddenly amenable and not quite hiding a sly smile.

  I did not like his sly smile, and I was so much not myself in that moment, I didn’t hide it.

  It was when I felt King Mars’s regard again that I noticed he was studying me.

  When I caught his gaze, it went to my father, back to me, and he arched a heavy, black brow.

  I pressed my lips together.

  He studied me for an excruciatingly long moment, then his very full and attractive lips twitched.

  “Perhaps I can have a few moments to get to know my own intended,” True interrupted our silent exchange.

  “Of course,” the king of the Firenz agreed, standing (and I was right, that jacket fell down to his ankles, and he was taller than anyone, perhaps, in history).

  He reached a hand out to the beauty beside him. She took it and gracefully came to her feet.

  “The receiving room, my little sister?” he murmured, holding her long, elegant fingers (apparently, Firenz men didn’t have any problem touching a Dellish man’s intended—the cheek!).

  “Sì, mio re,” she replied, looked under her lashes to True.

  Then she sashayed out, full hips swaying, sheer burgundy skirts under a jewel-encrusted waistband floating (and her skirts were not sheer like mine, you couldn’t see through the multiple layers of mine, you could most assuredly see her long shapely legs through hers).

  True might be the only man who would follow that woman like he was heading to the gallows.

  Something he did.

  “I’m not thinking True got the short end of that stick,” my father muttered to my mother.

  I fought a roll of my eyes.

  “Johan,” my mother hissed.

  “We’re finished,” King Mars announced.

  And with that, but without a glance at anyone (including me!), not to mention a word about our accommodations (which were supposed to be in that very palace), or refreshments (he hadn’t even offered us a cool glass of water), with his long coat flying out behind him like a mantle, the mighty King of Firenze sauntered out of his throne room.

  Farah Magos

  Lantern Room, East Corridor, Catrame Palace, Fire City

  FIRENZE

  Sensing his mood, I did not take my intended to Mars’s receiving room.

  I wandered farther down the hall, beyond the vestibule, into the family’s rooms, and I took him to Mars’s informal sitting room.

  It had always been one of my favorite chambers. The large lamp hanging low over the middle of the space had some clear, beveled glass panels, but these were mingled with artfully etched amethyst ones.

  The many windows were shielded in screens of intricate boxes of exquisite scrollwork.

  The floor was covered in thick rugs of cream and brown and taupe, there were large cushions to rest on flung about the room, woven rattan poofs to sit on or bring to you to rest your feet, and a divan in the corner with soft pillows to bolster you against the wall.

  And Queen Elpis had put her array of iron lanterns here and there, which could seem odd, but gave the room a personal feel.

  Once the Prince of Wodell had seen me inside the room in a gallant manner that reminded me of my own race, though much less showy, my intended had moved directly to the window.

  A young servant boy had followed us in.

  “Wine, my little brother,” I murmured to him. “Cool water. Olives. Some shelled pistachios. And some cheese. Yes?”

  The boy nodded and dashed out.

  I turned back to my betrothed.

  He had not been what I expected.

  His frame was so straight, like an arrow. And it was tall, very tall. Much taller than I would have imagined. His shoulders were squared. They were broad. Perhaps not as broad as a warrior of my own kind, but they were broad. And his body was muscled, much leaner than men of my country, but there was something appealing about the economy of power, for even if he was lean, the power was not hidden.

  His dark brown hair had a sheen to it. It was very thick and cut short. Not as short as an Airenzian, but it was definitely not long, as the men of Firenze wore it.

  And it curled around his neck and ears in a manner that was also very appealing.


  His features openly showed his aristocratic lineage, straight nose, square shaven jaw, high cheekbones, strong brow.

  But the keen intelligence in his extraordinary green eyes was what had struck me upon sight of him.

  The intelligence and the feeling.

  He worried much about his cousin. Positioned to protect her. Indeed, his sole focus, after a scan of my king, and then of my person, was doing what a powerless man could do in an uncertain situation to offer her succor in a trying time.

  Though it would come about that little mouse needed little aid.

  A surprise, this coming from such a small woman. A woman of Wodell.

  I suspected a good surprise for my king.

  I moved across the room to my betrothed, watching him gaze out through the screens.

  I stopped with my side to the wall and studied him further.

  I did not have a good deal of time to do this for those green eyes came to me.

  Truly, they were like emeralds.

  “I’ve asked for refreshments,” I murmured.

  “I heard. Very kind,” he replied.

  And there was his voice. Deep and smooth, but muted. He was not a man who had to shout to be heard. People would listen simply because of his manner.

  But he had understood my words to the boy.

  This meant he spoke my language (as I did his).

  “Your Grace—” I began.

  “I think, Farah, as you’ll be sleeping beside me the whole of our lives, that you should call me True, don’t you?”

  I felt a flutter in my chest.

  But I nodded.

  I dipped my voice and told him, “I know of—”

  “Elena. Of course,” he again interrupted me, not, I suspected, in a rude way. Instead, as if he wished to relieve me of saying something that was difficult to say.

  He turned his gaze back to the windows and it was then I felt a tightness in my chest.

  “We were not meant to be. We both should have known that. My father would never allow me to wed a Nadirii. And Elena would have died a new death every day if she had to leave The Enchantments. Her sisters. From the beginning it was futility.”

  “The heart knows nothing of futility,” I shared.