The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The following is intended for mature audiences only.
Chapter 16
Never have I ever been fond of babies.
Children I could manage fine. Finding their wonderment of the world refreshing and enlightening. Having never spent time around children under the age of three, babies made me nervous. They seemed so helpless and delicate. So when I heard Queen Ingenia and the newest prince, Ferrox, would not be able to attend dinner, I breathed the smallest sigh of relief. Prine Injaenus would still be present, so the nerves annoyingly remained.
On the arm of one of the guards assigned to my detail for the duration of the Fae’s visit, I approached the dining hall. I really missed Sterk, the Dreche that usually escorted me to these events for as long as I could remember.
He was like a huge bear of protective squishiness. The man would snarl and clear out an entire village. Deep down, Sterk was the gentlest man as long as you remained in his good graces. The level of protective aggression depended on circumstances. Most saw him and remembered Sterk for the extreme situations. The ones that left a trail of blood, body parts, and, often times, fire.
I barely noticed the guard who took my arm beyond the color of his eyes. Those struck me the moment I stepped down the main staircase to find him waiting. His eyes were the color of warm honey, deep amber with a ring of golden brown surrounding his pupils. The image of fields of blooms in Gramina Meadows popped into my head. Coincidentally, that was the inspiration for my gown this evening.
A pale yellow, sleeveless chiffon gown with wisps of white and gold trailing from my shoulders and down the back to join the trail of wildflower yellow. It was that particular shade of yellow that highlighted what small amount of summer still colored my skin. I knew it would pale in comparison to the Fae’s naturally bronzed complexion.
The creamy, white mask I wore left my mouth and chin exposed. I hated it. It reminded me of the puppet my father had perform for my fourth birthday. Not only was that the last birthday that was privately celebrated, but that thing haunted the shadows of my imagine for longer than I liked to admit.
Taking the last few steps, the guard paused us in front of the heavy wood and metal doors as they were opened at my escort’s gesture.
Once across the threshold soft sounds of conversation drifted our way. The other nobles in attendance were none of my concern tonight. They were merely there out of courtesy. Bodies to fill seats and favors to be asked of later. Any other time I would have been annoyed by the prospect of droll conversation and pointless posturing. Gone were the days when I could find some excuse to hide in my rooms. Easily dismissed from responsibility.
The Fae were my only focus tonight.
My eyes quickly fell upon Prince Nostrec. A handsome man that resembled his father while a glimmer of his mother showed in the feminine curve of his masculine features. His wavy, light brown hair framed his face, just brushing the tops of his shoulders.
Despite clearly being groomed as heir to the throne, the way he stood, one hand folded behind his back, fingers fidgeting. There was something in Prince Nostrec’s eyes that I couldn’t get past. Paying close attention to the conversation around him, Nostrec seemed to be analyzing his situation in a way neither king was.
My father taught me to keep a keen eye out for what a person meant, not what they were saying. Watch the eyes, he would tell me. He also told me, many times, to memorize a person’s body. Their musculature. Their mannerisms. The smallest movement, especially out of turn, could make the biggest difference. Not unlike what Finneck had been teaching me during training. Both had eerily similar outcomes.
That was not the look Prince Nostrec had in his eyes. He wasn’t watching mannerisms and muscle movement, Prince Nostrec was focused on the speaker’s eye and nothing more. Analytical but not in the way either king was assessing at the moment. It also didn’t match his brother’s Prince Injaenus,
The princeling, no longer the youngest as he was the last time we met, stood on the other side of his father. His posture mimicked what apparently all royal children were taught, regardless of race. Prince Injaenus had more, was more. It wasn’t just that familiar pressure in my chest that suddenly appeared the moment I stepped into the dinning hall. That feeling I attempted to ignore by focusing my analytical training on Prince Nostrec.
The distraction didn’t work.
That ache. Not as physically uncomfortable as I had made it out in my memory. Since I hadn’t felt it since last time I was in his presence, that was no surprise. The surprise was how pleasant it actually felt. Shit.
Maybe that was what held that extra sense about his posture—magic. Strong magic. Even as I thought it, I didn’t completely believe it. Double shit.
Just as I was able to sense Prince Injaenus’ power level, I could determine everyone else’s. King Basileus was quite gifted. But the hum of his magic was well controlled, finessed. A level of balance through practice and age no doubt.
Prince Nostrec was not quite as powerful as his younger brother, but he was by no means lacking. Where Prince Injaenus’ magic felt wild and tempting, Prince Nostrec’s felt steady. Almost methodical. It was easy to equate Fae magic with the wielder’s personality.
My father, on the other hand, the power level I sensed from him was a truth I would take to my grave.
Not daring to send out my senses, even though I’ve had a great deal of practice since that first jarring episode I experienced in Master Dagus and Minister Khayin presence after my eighteenth birthday. Since then, after shock and wariness wore off, I began to practice in secret—a running theme in my life I also tried to ignore.
Never having tested this type of magic on or around Fae, I didn’t know if they would be able to detect it. Eildun didn’t seem to be able to. But then again, that wasn’t one of their innate traits.
I had a dream once that ended horribly because the Fae in it could sense my magic. Not something I ever wanted to repeat. In the dream realm of this one.
Instead, I watched Prince Injaenus for a moment, unhindered by any other’s attention. It had been fifty years since we had seen each one another. His face hadn’t seen much change. His body, however, was a different story. Shoulders that were already broad gained more bulk—all muscle if the fit of his clothes was any indication of what laid beneath. Arms and legs filled out equally as much. And his eyes, more seasoned around the edges.
I had heard that he was commanding a small fleet of ships. Patrolling newly forged trade routes with Altera. Casting him out to sea several months at a time. His hair was longer, gathered at the nape of his neck by a worn leather cord that nearly matched the color of his rich hair. The end of the his ponytail hitting the bottom of his shoulder blades.
As if feeling eyes upon him, Prince Injaenus turned his attention in my direction. The moment his eyes locked on mine a new sensation hit my chest making it feel as if my insides could no longer be contained without causing internal damage. That place deep inside, reserved for my magic, throbbed even though it remained empty. Empty but not void. Without thought, my senses threw themselves out from my body.
No, that wasn’t quite right. They were being pulled from me toward Injaenus, wrapping around him as if it was the most natural thing to do. If he felt anything, he hid it extremely well. An ability I was still working on if my clenched jaw was any indication.
A powerful current flowed from me, encasing the Fae Prince. The beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his lungs. They sounded throughout my body seamlessly as my own. And with each breath it felt as if he was filling that well pf power that usually felt so cold and dark.
Fear crept over me.
Whipping my magic back into my body, grasping it tightly. Clenching my jaw tighter, praying to the gods I wouldn’t break a tooth. With effort I was able to severe the connection abruptly.
The empty well felt like a spreading iciness through my veins. My grip on the guard at my side, that I forgot was there, tightened as my steps faltered.
“Your Highness? Is everything alright? Do you need to sit?” a muffled whisper asked from my side.
“I am fine,” came the default answer. Even though I tried to put as much strength behind the answer as I could it still came across as nothing more than a harsh whisper. “Thank you,” I added releasing his arm, appreciative of his candor. Hesitating, realizing I didn’t know his name.
“Autem, Your Majesty. Reliquit Autemm.”
I chose not to actively notice that he didn’t offer his rank. Introducing himself as a man and not a guard. True, I could have looked at the insignia over the left breast of his uniform, but I was having a hard time focusing on anything other than the heart trying to break through my chest. Besides, I had bigger worries than the etiquette being taught to the guard. Hopefully he was only a Soldier and not an Officer because there was no way Finneck, or my father, would allow a Trainee to be my escort.
Nodding, I released his arm, keeping the younger prince in my sights as I approached while pretending my legs were not shaking beneath the layers of my gown. Following my father’s example as he conducted introductions as was our custom.
Prince Nostrec, as expected, was diplomatically polite as he brought my hand to his forehead from his lips as he bowed. It was Prince Injaenus’ hand wrapped around mine that stalled the breath in the middle of my throat. The sweet baritone cadence of his voice as it flowed over my bare arms. The moment he began to lower my hand from his forehead, I snatched it from his power-laced grip. Grateful he never let it truly touch his lips before tapping it to his forehead.
Straightening himself, I didn’t find the arrogance I expected. Only an instant of wonder sparked in his eyes before it was replaced with a well-trained princely mask.
As jarring as that was, it still didn’t surprise me as much as his father. King Basileus Robur was just plain pleasant. There was no other way to accurately describe him. After the obligatory introductions and respecting each other’s customs, he sincerely apologized for his absence from my Masking Ceremony. Fifty years ago. Then apologized again for allowing such a time to pass before presenting such an apology in person. Usually I would have immediately considered his offering nothing more than a pile of political shit. The Fae King’s face said otherwise.
Being born to privilege meant others did and said what they thought was needed to gain, well, anything. Whether it be favor, a heightened status, advancement in whatever game they believed was being played. It would be naïve of me to think that this was unacceptable behavior. I simply refused to participate and chose to observe. From a distance if possible. That made me quite the self-proclaimed expert at identifying such conduct, as it were.
Very rarely had I witnessed such open sincerity in this setting. Either that or King Basileus was overtly practiced and a deception master. I wasn’t sure which to truly believe. My father warned me about Fae deception from a very young age.
Something that was not rare was the two kings dominating the conversation over dinner. The lords, noblemen, their spouses, and courtiers sitting within earshot did their best to praise and drool over my father. My eyes were so tired. Denying them the satisfaction of rolling back into my head every few minutes. I could feel the threat of a headache beginning.
Prince Nostrec, to his credit, was able to interject a statement here and there that both kings acknowledged respectfully. Unfortunately, me and Prince Injaenus remained quiet, observing the volley of words being lobbed from one side of the table to the other. Only to be served back with a lofty thrust of arrogance.
I was hesitant to believe King Basileus had more sincerity in his words than deceit given his power level. As my father tried several times to get a rise from the Fae, King Basileus never took the bait, and rarely returned any of my father’s less than savory tones.
Was he really genuine or was he behaving as such to get a rise from my father. Both seemed plausible. I just didn’t know if I was ready to trust the former.
