Page 29 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Trumpets blared as Luminaux’s Haellium gate opened, slowly enough for a swarm of soldiers in blue tabards to rush through – their archers lining the parapets, Cahra realised, not focused on Thierre’s caravan, but on the surrounding Wilds.

She sat back from the window as the coach’s wheels creaked forward, Luminaux’s Royal Guards swarming it like birds of prey: swiftly and strategically, footmen first, then bowmen on the ground and finally a mixed cavalry carrying all manner of shining weapons.

She watched their units fall into formation as the lengthy caravan inched through the gate, guards closing ranks behind them as she stared out the window at the passing gatehouse.

She couldn’t help but feel like game caught in a hunter’s trap.

Cahra had barely seen Kolyath’s exit through the tiny peephole in Thierre’s wagon, but Luminaux’s entrance was grand.

The stone walls weren’t her kingdom’s dull grey but a soft, pearly white, and she noted the undented armour and oiled weapons of the Royal Guards.

They were well-equipped, unlike Kolyath’s.

There, she’d been lucky to escape with a scratch and not a maiming slash to her limbs often enough as a child, thanks to the Steward’s failure to properly arm his own Kingdom Guards.

Luminaux’s Royal Guards, however, were well-provisioned and methodical, not to mention endless, their helmed faces lining the street as Terryl’s coach proceeded through it. Alongside them, more and more everyday folk began appearing, staring, smiling, even cheering loudly.

Why is everybody gawking at us? Cahra frowned, wondering what in Hael was going on, the clamour of trumpets eating away at her nerves.

Then she realised. It was Thierre.

This was his homecoming, for Luminaux’s dashing Prince, who’d been away on a foreign mission and returned to his kingdom at last.

She was in a royal parade. ‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she mumbled to Wyldaern. The Seer squeezed her hand.

It was a night terror made real. She, a low-born, was seated in the royal carriage for a procession that would lead her to the palace doors.

Her vision blurred as they ambled through the kingdom, Cahra only seeing the same perfect rows of ivory houses with their pitched slate roofs and wrought-iron balconies and windowsills overflowing with boxes of plump red and pink blossoms, the imagery stifling, the coach moving past the markets, the bread and pastry houses, the blacksmith’s—

She realised what she’d spotted, her eyes on the large, lovely workspace that was Luminaux’s smithy.

Just seeing the forge smouldering in the back like a tame volcano made her miss the heat, the sunset glow of flames, the awe of smelting ore into sublime creations…

She sniffed, longing to catch the faintest scent of coal, and felt almost hopeful, buoyed for the briefest of moments, before they rounded a corner and the smithy disappeared out of sight.

Cahra leaned back heavily, saying nothing.

When she finally lifted her head again, Thierre was watching her.

She’d guessed Luminaux and Kolyath would have similarities, being sister kingdoms, but their only likeness was different quadrants for trading, the military and farming, and a hilltop keep.

Only here, it wasn’t so much a hill as a soaring elevation backed by a fertile mountain range.

As they neared it, Cahra could see the palace wasn’t walled off from its kingdom’s subjects; that in itself was a difference to Kolyath.

Luminaux had nothing to fear from its own.

Despite the glee of the crowd and the fragrant jasmine wafting through the window, whisked along on a balmy breeze, a knot of tension was hardening in Cahra’s stomach as they began the ascent up the paved road to the palace.

By now, people were clapping and shouting praise for their Prince, Thierre leaning out the window, waving to all.

It was madness, or maybe that was just the pins and needles in Cahra’s arms and legs, as if her body was readying itself to jump right out of Thierre’s coach and run all the way back to Kolyath.

Instead, Cahra sat on her hands, willing the roiling inside her to subside as she forced her body to stay the course, this course, that would lead her to Thierre’s real life.

The royal life that she was in no way prepared for.

To distract herself, Cahra stared at the fine buildings, all the way from the wealthy residences that trumped even Thierre’s mansion in Kolyath, to little shops such as a florist’s, a sweet-maker’s, a perfumer’s and more.

All with hand-lettered signage of blue and gold, like the banners that lined the kingdom’s streets, a circle with a gold star in its upper right, an ominous black pyramid at the insignia’s centre.

She gazed at those flags and their black triangles all the way to the palace’s summit, past the impeccable gardens and into the courtyard of the royal keep.

And couldn’t help but think of Hael, alone, in darkness.

Once the caravan stopped, Cahra had no idea what to do. Thierre exited first, the guards and kingdom onlookers erupting into jubilant applause, Raiden a step behind him. The Captain turned, telling Cahra and Wyldaern, ‘You’re guests here. Act like it.’

Cahra wanted to scowl but forced a grim smile to her face, Wyldaern’s own features arranging into something of a placid simper.

Raiden stepped back, offering the Seer his hand. She took it, nodding primly, the trim of her robe spilling around her simple sandals.

Cahra breathed in, slowly and deeply. Then exhaled as she too left the coach, shielding her eyes from the sun.

As soon as her boots hit the ground, she realised she was the last to appear. Thierre strode forward with Raiden, Piet, Siarl, Queran and the rest of his apparent Royal Guards, Cahra seeing Langera and Merali at the rear.

Straightening, Cahra faced Luminaux’s court members gathered by the palace doors.

Though built from the pearly stones she’d seen earlier and ice-blue glass with gold accents, the palace wasn’t a stern ivory castle.

Unlike the Steward’s keep in Kolyath, Luminaux’s perched elegantly on its rise, sprawling and championing less, not more, to its majesty.

Cahra’s gaze traced a reluctant path from the building’s upper levels to the royals on the steps, dwarfed by doors emblazoned with a fleur-de-lis crest, her apprehension threatening to spill from her like a gushing torrent.

There were two men, and three women – one middle-aged and two younger like herself.

Cahra picked out the King and Queen with ease, the formal regalia an obvious giveaway.

Between the King’s cloak and the Queen’s gown, their matching royal blue and gold tailoring was exquisite, the brocade fabric sewn in tiny interlocking shapes with circles, triangles, ovals and stars interspersed with crescent moons.

The second, older man had a longsword and a warrior’s look to him, like Raiden, with the hard-baked scowl to match.

Then Cahra turned to the young women. Sisters?

The first was a rare beauty, with Thierre’s blue goldstone eyes and raven-coloured hair pinned in a tight braid flipped over one of her silver shoulder guards, a sword and the small, round shield of a buckler at the woman’s belt.

Her fine-boned face bore a polished detachment that failed to negate her looks.

But the second woman… No, not related. This woman was blonde, with glossy tresses far paler than Cahra’s own drab hair and eyes the lemony colour of waterworn jade, in such deep contrast with the emerald lace bodice and silken skirts that clung to her hourglass figure.

Their eyes met then, and there was something in the young woman’s gaze that made Cahra defy the urge to shrink beneath it.

She turned from the blonde woman as the Queen dashed to meet Thierre, sweeping her son into her arms. His mother was no doubt where he got his blue goldstone eyes from, only hers were a lighter, brighter shade of blue.

Thierre’s father just stood, arms folded at his back as she’d seen Thierre himself do.

The warm sun deepened the King’s rich brown skin, a smile finding its way to his crinkly navy eyes.

‘Hail, Crown Prince Thierre of Luminaux!’ A herald stood at the top of the stairs and announced Thierre, blowing on a trumpet. He chuckled and waved the sound away as his mother laughed, the two of them approaching the four left standing on the steps.

Before Cahra could shift on her feet, the horn sounded again and Raiden beckoned to her and Wyldaern, the Seer going first.

‘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 – Lady Delicia, 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.

‘Cahra,’ Wyldaern whispered, rallying her, ‘You will endure. We both will. We shall speak to Luminaux’s King and Queen, and we will rest. Then we will travel to the Oracle, where you shall learn your fate.’ She glared at Thierre. ‘And be free of this one’s falsehoods.’

Wyldaern stepped in front of Cahra, staring coldly at Thierre, and said quietly, ‘One more deception, Prince, and we depart. I do not care for your heedless reasons, nor your kingdom’s hospitality.’ Her tone was scathing. ‘Let us speak and be done with this.’

Then Wyldaern strode for the palace steps, head high.

Cahra didn’t know how to move her legs. But moment by moment, her limbs thawed, as she focused on each of Wyldaern’s footsteps. Eventually, Cahra managed to follow her, Thierre looking on.

Betrothed. Beloved. Thierre is to be married.

Cahra shut her eyes, letting the soothing numbness be her guide, her footsteps leaden.

Delicia’s jade-tinged gaze marked every one.