“Milords, here are your rooms.” Christopher halted before a large, clover-shaped vestibule, from which several open doors exited, showing sumptuous furnishings beyond. “Once you’re settled, I’ll return with details of the party to be held in your honor tomorrow evening. If you need anything in the meantime, ring the bells by the doors.” He bowed and scurried off the way they had come.
“Seems we’re royalty now,” Erik said while looking into the polished marble entry room. Rich tapestries and banners hung between each door, and the floor was covered by a lush red carpet with bright golden embellishments on its edges.
Kesh spun suddenly and jabbed a finger into the elf’s chest. “Never make that mistake, Erik!” His voice dripped with bile as it echoed off the walls of the room. “You and your half-pint protégé could never attain such heights!” Whirling again, he strode through the open door closest to him. His finger stabbed into his own chest, and then into the air as he continued, slowing not a whit. “And believe me when I tell you, I will personally make sure of it. The indignation I’ve endured this day because of the two of you will have dire consequences!” The crash of the heavy oak door punctuated his speech and cut off any further comment from the fuming courtier. A muffled thump sounded from the base of the door, followed by another cry, then silence.
“Wonderful.” Erik sighed, putting two fingers to his temple and looking under his brows at his stepson.
“It was worth it.”
Meagan grinned as she looked through golden viewing glasses beyond the velvety red curtains into the throne room.
Bella’s expression was lascivious. “I told you he was handsome.”
“Which one?” Marcella asked as she pushed past Meagan and took the glasses to get a better look.
“Their leader, the golden-haired one. He’s a chancellor, from what I understand,” Bella replied, stepping up to the curtains.
“Stop pushing!” Meagan bared her teeth at her older sister. Marcella waved her hand toward Meagan in a shooing gesture, ignoring the poor girl’s attempt to stand her ground.
“Ooh.” A soft purr emanated from Marcella’s mouth as she trailed the fingers of one hand languorously along the sculpted edges of fabric defining her bosom. “I like the short, stocky one! I wonder if he’s that big everywhere.” A round of gasps was emitted by the cluster of scandalized young women.
“Marcella! Remember who you are!” Leanne said, appalled.
Marcella turned from the curtains with puckered lips and hooded eyes, blowing a soft kiss at Leanne. The group erupted into giggles and snorts, until Sloane shushed them all.
Sloane stepped up to the curtain and opened her palm toward Marcella for the gold-bound eyepieces. “I would have a look at these delegates.”
Marcella nodded with a wink and gave a hurried curtsey before passing over the handle and stepping back to allow her princess room at the opening.
Sloane peeked through the curtains into the throne room to take in the scene. She had attended dozens of events throughout her childhood, but each time she was taken aback by the splendor of the great room.
The vaulted ceiling was so high that it was hard to see the intricate details carved into the arching surface. Six pairs of amber-colored pillars stretched the height of the great hall, each as wide as an adult winewood tree. Golden banners bearing crimson eagles swayed from golden ropes above the milling people. Hundreds of guests created a sea of multicolored fabric and jewelry that ebbed and flowed, reminding Sloane of the ocean waves just outside these polished walls.
Her stomach knotted at the thought of addressing so many people, and she looked away to regain her nerve.
Meagan squirmed back past Marcella, earning a dirty look that she cheerfully ignored, and touched Sloane on the shoulder. She raised one slim hand close to her body but pointed at a spot that would be just to the left of the king’s dais. “They’re right over there, cousin.” Meagan was the youngest of her maiden escorts, and her pale blue eyes sparkled with excitement.
Taking a deep breath, Sloane turned to view the crowded throne room once more. Following the direction of Meagan’s pointing hand, she set eyes upon the delegates from Waterfall Citadel for the first time.
They were hard to find in the gathering of local nobility that surrounded them, but once Sloane had identified the first deep emerald green tabard with its embroidered golden tree on the chest, she was able to pick out the full party. Bella had been correct in her appraisal of the chancellor; he was indeed an attractive man, despite a discoloration on one temple. The combination of his long golden locks and almost feminine features seemed to be working their charm on the pandering nobility. Several of the elaborately dressed women were gathered around him.
The object of Marcella’s commentary was easy to pick out as well. He made a couplet with another man who stood distinctly apart from the other delegates. Stature and character alone would have made them an unlikely pairing, but it went well beyond that. It was more than physical space that created the separation.
The shorter man wasn’t truly short, in her estimation. Yes, he was perhaps a half a hand or more shorter than the average courtier, but his partner was at least that much taller than them. This difference called attention to his height. While not sharing Marcella’s overt compulsions, Sloane could understand her opinion. Pelosians, as a rule, appreciated physical prowess. If she had ever seen a man who came close to matching her father or brother in stature, it would be this one. The tabard that shrouded the men in his party lacked the width to cover his massive chest and shoulders, though the tree was shown to excellent advantage. Unlike many men who achieved such size, this man’s features appeared proportionate to his frame. Something about the deep-set eyes and close cut, thick rusty beard seemed remarkably at home with the width of his neck, causing Sloane to wonder if he was entirely human.
The tall, willowy man who had his dark head bent in attention to something that was being said definitely was not. He is an elf. Sloane let her breath out as she pushed away thoughts of her father’s opinion on the race that bordered their lands.
Both men were wearing their hair in a complicated series of miniscule braids that fell gracefully around their shoulders as they moved in easy conversation. There the resemblance ended. Ruddy dark hair contrasted with dark brown, short stature contrasted with tall. A wide, stolid stance countered an easy grace, but perhaps most telling, even at this distance, was the deep, serious expression in the furrowed brow, which was met with an open and cheerful smile. The finely wrought features of the elf’s face were expressive and fluid in their transitions from attention to open merriment. One distinctive tapering ear slipped from the halo of his braids, but the elf surreptitiously tucked it back below the braids in a practiced gesture.
A flicker of movement from the alcove behind the Basinian entourage caught her eye. A page swathed in the house colors was stepping forward with a large horn draped with tassels, also crimson and gold. As the page raised the horn to his lips, Sloane could see several young men spaced about the hall, performing the same act in a practiced choreography. A low, resounding note from the dozen horns echoed through the great hall and silenced the rabble.
“It’s time.” Sloane said as she stepped away from the gap in the curtains and handed the glasses back to Meagan. Breathing purposefully and deeply, Sloane moved to her position on the red carpet that would lead her to the hundreds waiting beyond the flimsy velvet shield that sheltered her and her cousins. Sacha came to stand beside her, slipping a warm, comforting hand into her own as the beckoning call of the horn faded. Marcella, Leanne, Meagan, and Bella stepped quickly to fall into a wedge behind the two sisters.
Meagan all but danced on her toes in excitement. Her chest heaved under her frills as she burbled wordlessly.
“Calm yourself!” Marcella hissed over one shoulder without looking directly at her bobbing younger sister. “You’re making me nervous.” Meagan stuck her tongue out at Marcella but stilled her fidgeting some
what.
Light and air flowed into the vestibule occupied by the women as the tall, flowing curtains parted. The focused attention of the massed people fell upon Sloane like a physical weight and her stomach roiled in protest. Though she was no stranger to public appearances, and had spoken at many events similar in size to this one, she had never been the reason people had gathered. Knowing that all of these guests were here for her, and judging her suitability for the role she was to play, made a difference she had not anticipated. Life as a royal came with a certain amount of constant judgment by the people, but she was going to be the representative of her entire nation and giving her life to a man she had never met.
Sacha’s hand tightened in her own, as if the younger woman had sensed her growing discomfort. Sloane’s palm itched with moisture, but the butterflies flitting about inside her stomach abated with the gesture from her loving sister. Her shoulders began to slide back and she lifted her chin slightly, ready at last.
Her sister’s hand released and fell away as the herald called Sloane’s name and the names of her companions. Striding confidently, but without hurry, she led her entourage down the marble stairs to face her mother and father, already seated upon the thrones of Stone Mountain.
“By Eos, they’re stunning!” Erik choked. Drops of red wine splashed to the stone floor as he tried in vain to keep his goblet upright. Kinsey, predictably, stood in silence with his mouth agape.
Kesh frowned at the two buffoons he had been saddled with. “Close your mouths, you fools!”
For once, they both complied, clamping their mouths shut.
Kesh shook his head in disgust and turned back to the spanning staircase that led to the dais. Unlike his two companions, who had been shoved to one side, Kesh’s place in the center held the preeminence his position was due. Unfortunately, this meant his view of the women was occluded by other damnable persons. Refusing to crane his neck, he instead took a calming breath and looked expectantly to the spot of the princesses’ final destination.
Queen Arece’s smaller throne was directly in his line of sight, and he settled on gazing at her while he waited for Princess Sloane to make her appearance. The queen was an arresting figure of a woman, he had to admit. Slender yet muscular, she was an almost fragile counterpart to the massive individual who loomed in the ornate granite chair beside her. Slight ribbons of grey worked through the otherwise glossy chestnut hair that had been piled artfully atop her head. Crystal blue eyes looked proudly from a clear, pale face and were set forward above high cheekbones. Arece’s skin glowed with health—Or a very good bit of makeup, Kesh thought—that belied her age, and the musculature of her neck was neither standing out like a crone’s might, nor overstated like her caricature of a husband. If the princess takes after her mother, perhaps those idiots are not far wrong...
Kesh’s experiences with Pelosian woman thus far had been rather unpleasant. The women of this country tended to be too strong-willed. They also had the bad habit of assuming their say was welcome in the workings of men. He enjoyed playing with women who knew their proper place and resisted submission only enough to add some savor to the game. Unfortunately, such women tended to prove entertaining only for a limited time, and as such, needed refreshing on a regular basis. Finding the right mixture of lion and mouse had proved an impossible task thus far, but he retained a hope that someday, he might find a woman worthy of his full attention. Perhaps the queen...
Kesh’s thoughts sundered as the profiles of Princess Sloane and her sister came into view. Every hint of the beauty implied in the queen had been brought to full realization in her daughters. Raven hair had been elegantly stacked and bound with the finest of silver-and-gold netting. Certain locks of the ebony manes had been allowed to escape the bindings to fall and frame the near identical faces in soft black edges. The deep, sapphire blue eyes, hallmarks of those destined to rule in this land, contrasted deeply with the black lashes and brows, and arrested all who were caught in their gaze. Those eyes were settled on the king and his bride in a confident regard that was matched by their purposeful yet graceful strides toward the royal dais. The girls were tall, much taller than those who trailed behind them. Where he may have considered this freakish in other women, with these two... it simply accentuated their femininity. There was obvious strength in the limbs that held the bouquets clasped before them, but the skin of the sisters’ arms glowed in a way that promised silky smooth resilience to the touch.
When the pair turned to ascend the stairs approaching the king and queen, the spell that had held him rapt was broken. Kesh became aware that he was sweating, and as he raised a hand to wipe at his brow, it quavered weakly. Exhaling sharply, he regained his composure. Absurd, losing myself in adoration like a boy. Strangely, the reprimand he directed at himself echoed hollowly.
“...you would prefer them bearded, obviously.” Erik’s hushed voice drifted to the chancellor’s ear.
Almost gratefully, Kesh rounded on the elf, who had his head tipped slightly to whisper his jibe in Kinsey’s ear. Somehow the two simpletons had wormed their way closer to him while the princesses were making their entry. How he missed the shuffle, he couldn’t begin to guess. Likely the damnable scout and his sylvan ways had something to do with it.
Hissing, Kesh inclined his head toward the nettlesome pair. “You will not embarrass me further! Be silent, or be flogged. I care not.”
Thankfully, neither of the men voiced a complaint, and they fell silent.
Both of the princesses had been addressing King Hathorn from a deep curtsey during this brief exchange, and now, the giant raised himself from his throne.
Extending one hand to each of his daughters, he intoned in his deep voice, “Rise, daughters.”
Gracefully, the twins stood to their full heights and twisted to surrender their burdens to the women that trailed them. Bobbing gracefully, the attendants took the complicated arrangements of flowers and moved to the sides, allowing the crowd an unobstructed view of the royal family. The two princesses stepped toward the king, then turned to assume a position on either side. The rumble of the king’s voice rolled out from the dais. “My people. We all know that times are...”
Kesh recognized the beginnings of a standard speech extolling all of the supposed virtues of a people and the challenges they faced. Assuming his standard mask of rapt attention, he focused once again on the sisters, allowing his unconscious mind to listen to the speech and trusting his instincts to pick out the important bits for later consideration.
Now that the initial shock of their beauty had passed, he could evaluate the pair more closely. All things considered, the resemblance was uncanny. There was a difference however, and that difference was in the expression. He took the daughter standing to Hathorn’s left to be Sacha.
Her eyes carried a certain tension around them that Sloane’s lacked. It spoke of concerns beyond that of the current engagement. He had, of course, heard some rumors of trouble that surrounded Sacha’s removal to some remote sanctuary. Likely, the girl had gone and gotten herself a lover who was not acceptable to the king. Kesh allowed a small smirk to penetrate his mask. Possibilities here abounded. He understood that Sloane was well and truly beyond the reach of even one such as he—she was scheduled to marry a prince, after all. But Sacha; she must marry a man of some rank. To do anything less would be absurd.
Kesh’s hands rose and began to clap with the rest of the sheep around him as the king ended his speech. With a gesture, Hathorn brought Princess Sloane forward. As she assumed the center, the king resumed his seat next to the queen, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth and listening with his brows knitted furiously.
The voice of the statuesque beauty before him was rich and sultry, and sent a momentary thrill through him. The words, however, were as empty as those of her ridiculous father.
“My friends...” She began to extol the virtues of this hollowed-out cave and how much she would miss all of its comforts and the good friends and people
, and... It became quite easy to tune this out to a muted buzz. Lies of royalty. In truth, she likely could not wait to be away from this damp hole in the cliffside and her tyrannical father, perched upon his polished rock.
Inwardly sighing, Kesh returned to his evaluation of Sacha, who was watching Sloane with a sad, tight expression. Ahh, she does not approve. Interesting. Possibilities bloomed in his mind. He was, after all, a person of note in Basinia. The future is never set. Relaxing slightly, he allowed himself to consider what a future with her might hold.
His lips twitched as his eyes traced the graceful lines of her body. Where his gaze caressed, he imagined his fingers. The black silken threads of the hair that had been allowed to escape softly touched her shoulders in response to her small, subtle movements. He could all but feel the richness of her skin beneath his hand as he traced the artful curve of her shoulder and neck, dipping into the fastenings of the dress and gently peeling away the fabric that covered yet accentuated the curves beneath. As the speech droned on, Kesh could see every line of the woman on stage as she surrendered herself to him, and the bowing of that proud face as she knelt before him, hands sliding up his body to untie the cords of his clothing and hungrily begging him to give her what she needed.
A sharp jab in his back abruptly dissolved his mental image, and he found Princess Sloane unspeaking, one arm swept in welcome to the Basinian embassy, and every eye he could see locked on him. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he raced to catch up. His mind offered up her last words: “And of course, I welcome those who have traveled so far to ensure my safety upon my journey to a new home. May our union bring forth an era of unparalleled prosperity.”
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 10
