Page 49 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

‘His Majesty, King Royce of Luminaux,’ a footman proclaimed as Thierre greeted his father, the two clasping arms before the King folded his son into an embrace. Raiden and Wyldaern followed to approach the ruler.

‘Her Royal Highness, Queen Avenais of Luminaux,’ the footman continued. Thierre’s mother took his arm with a laugh.

‘Her Royal Highness, Princess Sylvanir, General of the Royal Army of Luminaux.’

‘Sylvie,’ Thierre greeted. ‘Congratulations are in order!’ Then he smiled, teasing, ‘So, do I salute you, now?’

His sister smirked, arching a dark brow. ‘On the battlefield,’ she said, grinning.

He winked and raised his fist to his chest. It was only Cahra’s gifted hearing that allowed her to catch the words under his breath, ‘It may yet be today, sister.’

What did that mean? Fighting the urge to unravel Thierre’s words, she dimly noticed Sylvanir sneaking a glance at Wyldaern.

Thierre moved to the next man in line. ‘Commander Tyne.’ He inclined his head. ‘Each of your reports was simply riveting, a literary delight.’

Raiden choked, a step behind Thierre, stifling his laughter.

Not taking the bait, the Commander just retorted, ‘You’re back early.’

‘Yes,’ Raiden murmured, clearing his throat.

There was only one person left. Thierre seemed to collect himself, standing opposite the woman with the lemon-jade eyes. Cahra felt Wyldaern’s on her.

The Queen, her own eyes sparkling, squeezed Thierre. ‘We have wonderful news, darling. You and Lady Delicia are to be—’

‘I know.’ Thierre’s voice was downright cold. All affection, even the playful mocking for his kingdom’s Commander-in-chief, was now gone.

Cahra stared at him. Thierre had always been so courteous, so unruffled, a true nobleman. She’d never seen him act like this before.

For a moment, Thierre didn’t say anything more. But when he did, it was one word. ‘Delicia.’ As if not in greeting, but in warning.

‘Come, Thierre, is that any way to receive your betrothed?’ Disapproval fluttered briefly across his mother’s face.

Her words faded, replaced by a ringing in Cahra’s ears, a high-pitched wailing she was half-convinced was coming from her mouth, though no one else seemed to hear it.

‘My Queen, please, there is no need. My beloved is simply weary after a long and arduous journey,’ the young woman said in a soothing, saccharine voice. ‘Thierre…’

Thierre, who’d been gazing at Cahra, now twisted to face Delicia.

Cahra shivered, unexpectedly cold, as if she’d just showered in a hailstorm. Yet all her muscles were tingling. Burning. She stood, a statue, but felt as if she couldn’t get enough air into her chest, couldn’t keep it in her lungs. Her heart pounded in her ears.

Did Thierre’s mother just say ‘betrothed’?

Wyldaern was facing Cahra now, her face pinched with concern.

Betrothed.

To a girl that was the embodiment of nobility, of light, from her flaxen hair and creamy skin, all the way to her svelte physique. Even her voice, the way ‘beloved’ lilted from her tongue, with such high-born affectation.

All in cutting contrast to Cahra and her messy hair, face marred from fighting, her muddy eyes and nasal voice and too-strong body and wrong-size dress, everything about her common, unremarkable, beggarly—

I can’t do this.

Cahra wanted to melt into the marble of the lustrous courtyard, unable to look away as Thierre stared darkly at the woman, Delicia –LadyDelicia, Thierre’s noble fiancée – before he turned and moved for Cahra.

She instinctively flinched backwards, pain etching Thierre’s face as she did so. Stopping a respectful distance away, his eyes were pleading. What that was supposed to mean, Cahra didn’t know. She didn’t know anything any more.

And then Wyldaern was there, propping Cahra up as she sagged against the Seer.