Page 4 of Court of Secrets and Flames (Dragons of Tirene #2)

Chapter Four

A sharp screech pierces the silence, wrenching me from a deep slumber devoid of dreams. My eyes flit open, and I blink back the grogginess.

Memories flit through my mind.

The guards. Walking through the tunnels. The arena. Hundreds of people. King Jasper. Dragons. My sister.

And then…nothing.

How did I get in my chamber? Is Leesa all right? Surely, after I passed out, the king allowed her to leave the arena. At that point the dragons were subdued. I could feel their calm…I don’t know how, but?—

The door creaks open.

Someone is coming in.

Alarm spurs me into action. I stumble out of bed, the hem of the gown I don’t remember putting on brushing against my bare calves. Not my preferred attire for fending off an attack, but I’ll worry about that later.

Every muscle coils tight as I grab the short sword Sterling left me from the nightstand and prepare to defend myself.

Surely the king hasn’t summoned me for round two.

The door swings wider, admitting a stern-faced woman of regal bearing. A spotless half-apron covers her fine clothing.

I blow out a relieved breath. “Hello.”

The tall, elegant woman sports raven-black hair that’s pinned to flaunt silver streaks many women her age work to conceal. I immediately like that about her. Instead of introducing herself, her gaze zeroes in on my right hand.

She raises a haughty eyebrow and speaks with a voice as crisp as a winter apple. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to carry on my conversations without immediate threat of disembowelment.”

Shit. I forgot all about the sword in my hand. “Sorry. My bad.”

Without another word, I drop the weapon on the rug and push the hilt away with my foot as a show of good faith. It’s still close enough that I can swoop it up and defend myself if necessary.

“Much better. Now, let’s start over. Good afternoon, my lady. I was wondering when you’d wake up. You’ve been asleep for several hours.” introduces herself with a small, elegant bow that doesn’t diminish her imposing stature. “I am Rhiann of House Barda, cousin to the king and the prince, and Lady of the Bedchamber.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Honestly, it’s too soon to make a judgement call on Lady Rhiann yet, but good manners never hurt anyone.

With precise flick of her fingers, she beckons the guards inside. A battle-scarred warrior I don’t recognize scuttles to obey, depositing a tray with quiet efficiency before he’s dismissed with a mere flick of her hand.

The door thuds shut, and she stands sentinel by the entrance.

Her title and the way she commands even the soldiers tells me everything I need to know.

She’s not one of the typical bedchamber maids, the women who not only clean but help people bathe and dress. The Lady of the Bedchamber is exclusive to royalty. She’s a caretaker for those crowned or high nobles.

“Your stay here shall be comfortable.” Rhiann eyes me with a raised brow. “I’ll ensure you have everything you require.”

Do I warrant the services of the Lady of the Bedchamber due to my own title in Aclaris? Or did the king send her because the entire Tirene court and likely many of its citizens witnessed firsthand I’m a dragoncaller?

“Thank you, Lady Rhiann. I appreciate that.” So far, she seems more straightforward and less stab-worthy than King Jasper, but I can’t forget they’re cousins.

Her relation to the king aside, I have no doubt this woman knows every room, every rumor, and all the hidden paths and routes throughout the palace. That makes her a useful ally.

When did I get so cutthroat about how I view others? Oh, right…probably after I discovered how many people were trying to torment, use, or kill me.

She lowers her chin. “Please, call me Rhiann. And tell me, how are you feeling? I was there this morning. Using your abilities like that must have utterly drained you. Especially if you’re not accustomed to it.”

The reminder of this morning’s ordeal burns my blood molten with fury. “Yes, well, it’s not like I had much of a choice in the matter, is it? And I’d feel better if someone told me where my sister is.”

“Your sister is safe and also recuperating.” Whether she approves of the king’s method of coaxing out my abilities or not, she gives no indication. Her quick reply mollifies my immediate concern over Leesa, though, and softens the sharp edge of my anger. “Now, why don’t you tell me how you’re feeling?”

I remind myself of my earlier vow to play nice. “I’m,” I run a hand through my tangled hair, “a little tired, but all right other than that.”

My back aches like a dragon perched on my spine, but I won’t tell her that. While she seems friendly enough, I can’t let my guard down.

“That’s to be expected. I would have let you sleep longer, but there’s no time to waste as it is. There’s a celebration banquet tonight in your honor, and we haven’t much time to prepare.”

Before I can ask after this celebration, the door flies open, and maids start to stream in. Over their heads, two guards peer into the room.

Yelping, I snatch the sheet and yank it up to my neck. Rhiann throws her arm in front of the first servant and snaps. “When you know someone’s inside, wait for permission before barging in. This isn’t how we treat our guests.”

She maneuvers in front of the opening, blocking the guards’ view.

My breath stills for a moment, and I feel a small burst of gratitude over her gesture.

Though modesty ranks pretty low on my list of concerns at the moment, I’d prefer not to flash the entire castle if at all possible.

Rhiann orders the guards to turn their backs before glancing at me. “Is it okay for me to let them in now?”

I’m tempted to ask what happens if I say no but nod instead. I need to pick my battles.

A parade of maids squeezes through the gap between door and frame. They flock into the chamber, the array of gowns draped over their arms reminiscent of the banners of an approaching army.

The dresses I wore at our estate in Aclaris were lovely, but these gowns? They’re exquisite.

“As I was saying, a night of celebration awaits, Lady Lark.” Rhiann’s eyes betray nothing of the thoughts behind them. I picture Sterling’s inscrutable expressions and wonder if the ability to put on a cryptic front runs in the family. “The king has ordered a royal banquet in your honor this evening that will start in three hours’ time.”

I glance at my ragged, dirty nails. “I’m a mess.”

“Best get started then.” Rhiann gestures to the women, who deposit their offerings and scurry off to the door on the other side of the room. “The bathing chamber awaits, where you may eat a late lunch as we attend to your needs.”

Though I don’t relish the thought of being poked, prodded, and dressed by strangers, a bath sounds fantastic. As does food. I haven’t eaten since Knox brought me dinner last night, and it must be pushing late afternoon now.

I nod, conceding to the inevitable.

The procession toward the bathroom, where steam is already rising from the monstrous tub, is a silent, graceful affair. Dropping my gown to the floor, I step into the bath. The heat laps at my senses, soothing me with warmth.

Rhiann enters with a tray of food. After quashing my initial protests that I’m perfectly capable of washing myself, she sets two maids to work on detangling and cleansing my hair, encouraging me to snack on cheese, ham, and fresh fruit. Other servants bring a steady procession of dresses for me to choose from.

Rhian checks my expression before dismissing each one. “Too ornate. Too fluffy. Too pale. Good gods, where did we find that dress? It looks like a giant potato sack.”

All the while, she scribbles notes in her little book, inventorying my tastes like a merchant appraising goods, and directs the exiting maids on which to bring next.

Finally, amidst the sea of rejected finery, I spot a gown that pulls a gasp from my lips. Floor-length with a plunging v-neck that joins to a simple a-line skirt with an attached narrow cape. The scarlet silk flows like captured sunset. But to me, its simplicity is the greatest allure. For some reason, the buttons along the neckline run across the back instead of the front.

“What about this one?”

For a fleeting moment, approval glints in Rhiann’s eyes.

Clean and robed in downy softness, I emerge from the bath rejuvenated. They lead me back, past the threshold into a room now stripped of its previous chaos.

I’m struck by the transformation when I step back into my bedroom. Order has replaced this morning’s frenzied disarray, and a wardrobe blooming with silks and velvets has replaced my soiled attire.

The bed boasts fresh linens, crisp and untouched.

A handmaid approaches and directs me to one of the cushioned chairs. Soon, the scented lotions she anoints me with seep into my pores. The rough state of my skin shows just how much my life has changed in only a few months.

Another attendant steps forward with a curious brush in hand. As she runs it through my damp locks, heat radiates through the bristles, coaxing my hair to dryness. It’s not merely a brush but a conduit for her magic, an elemental caress that leaves me impressed.

She possesses the same element as I do, yet I never once thought of using it this way. A heated metal comb absorbs the warmth from her magic, drying and straightening my hair at the same time.

Hopefully, the king wouldn’t make them go to all this trouble just to shove me in another arena or remove my head from my neck.

If I do meet my end, at least I’ll go out in style.

Rhiann approaches, holding the dress I chose. “Perhaps you’d like to try the gown now?”

The maids attending me back away, granting me space to step into the underclothes and then into the dress.

The scarlet silk slips over my skin, hugging my frame. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s perfect for you.” Rhiann inspects every line of the dress with the same dark brown eyes as Knox. “The color complements your complexion and hair.”

My face heats at her praise. “Thank you.”

With a soft knock on the door, two more women enter, carrying matching sets of jewelry.

Rhiann gestures to the array of gems. “Choose, my lady.”

I hold up my palms. “Oh no, I really couldn’t?—”

“The king insists. Do you want to disappoint him?”

What I want to do to the king isn’t fit for polite company. Rather than explaining that, I shake my head and weigh my options, understanding that each selection makes a statement. Fire opals beckon my fingers, the symbol of power, but also of fury and destruction. Wary of kindling flames I cannot control, I extend a hand, not toward the blaze, but the embers.

Red beryl set in silver. A choker with a matching bracelet. “These are pretty.”

“Interesting choice.” Rhiann flashes a genuine smile. “The precious gems most prized by Tirene.”

Oh, wonderful. That means if a clasp breaks and either the bracelet or necklace falls off, I’m basically screwed.

Well, more screwed that I already am.

Shimmering slippers, delicate and utterly impractical, are thrust before me, one pair after another. The maids hover like anxious doves until I wave them away. The over-the-top pampering is weird enough, but I draw the line at anyone fussing over my feet.

“Any of these are fine.” But my words fall on deaf ears.

Rhiann’s stern gaze silences me. “Proper slippers, my lady. This is a banquet, not a walk in the gardens. You must glide silently through the great hall.”

I couldn’t give an alicorn’s ass about footwear, but I bite my tongue. Apart from her misfortune in belonging to a family full of heartless kings and underhanded princes, Rhiann has done nothing to deserve my ire.

Yelling at her only makes me a jackass too.

I force a smile that feels as fragile as glass. Tonight, I will wear their colors, speak their words, and dance their dances. All the better to learn their ways and gain their trust. And hopefully not do anything to displease the king. At least, not before I have the chance to learn more about where I come from, or if I have any biological family in this kingdom.

Then the hairdressers enter, their tools gleaming in the afternoon light. Rhiann stands by, arms folded, her eyes tracking every movement with military precision. “Time is fleeting. Your locks must be curled into perfection before the banquet.”

My scalp tightens at the thought. Closing my eyes, I remind myself the torture is worthwhile if it scores me points with the king and helps Leesa and I survive in this foreign land.

One of the maids opens the door just as the hairdresser finishes, announcing the arrival of my escort. I pivot, expecting one of the guards.

Instead, Prince Knox glides into the room, his dominating presence a jolt to my senses. My knees betray me, weakening at the sight of him dressed in all his regal finery.

For just a minute, I forget to breathe.

He’s the picture of perfection.

Dark pants hug his hips and are paired with a pale gray waistcoat that boasts the sigil of House Barda, a black dragon upon a field of green. In the Tirene style, the flat front of his shirt shows off the broad expanse of muscles hidden under the silk. His dark, glossy hair hangs loose, framing his face in soft waves that my fingers itch to touch.

I resist the urge to wet my lips. Just barely.

Pull yourself together. He’s dangerous and deceitful and doesn’t give a shit about you. It’s all an act. He let his brother throw you to the dragons.

He returns the examination. With his furrowed brow and frantic gaze jumping to every body part, I get the sense that he’s assessing me for injuries. Once he finishes, he performs a more leisurely inspection, his eyes blazing as they travel the length of my body in the red dress.

By the time he focuses on my face, though, he’s banked the fire. “The king has asked me to escort you to the banquet hall.”

His voice is flat, his gaze as sharp as the ceremonial sword at his hip.

Annoyance flares within me, not only due to this forced proximity but also because he wears his uniform with infuriating elegance, which does nothing to hide his masculine strengths. In this moment, I see him not as Sterling, my instructor, but Prince Knox of House Barda, a man shaped by duty and draped in power.

This is who he really is. The man behind the disguise. How did I ever fall for him? And why does my body still react to him? It’s as much a traitor as he is.

Tamping down my irritation with both him and myself, I inhale a deep breath, summoning poise I scarcely feel, and step toward him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react at all. He simply stares down his nose at me with an expectant air.

Lifting my chin, I refuse to back down. I won’t flinch, no matter how fierce his gaze.

Finally, he bows. The back of his uniform top has the same slits along the back as my dress. They must be there to accommodate wings.

Knox gestures to the door. “Shall we?”

Once in the corridor, he offers his arm.

Every nerve ending hums with desire even though I know touching him is a bad idea. And the more I’m with him, the more clouded my judgment becomes. But I have to be strong. Treat this like any other task. If I set my mind to it, I can resist him.

Just outside the banquet hall, Knox stops and leans down to whisper in my ear. “As much as I enjoy the attention, it would be in both of our best interests for you to stop fucking me with your eyes. My brother won’t be amused.”

My face heats with outrage. I’m almost certain the color matches my dress. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

We’re not even to the dinner table yet, and I already want to commit murder.

This is going to be a long night.