Page 19 of Of Nightmares & Fire (Elusive Umbra #1)

Chapter eighteen

Astraea

The heavy wood door closes, and I feel like fire has caught in my cheeks.

Everything is unfolding in slow motion, but at the same time it feels too fast to comprehend.

I look down at the spilled wine at the same moment that Cadoc begins guiding me away from the table, one hand on my elbow and the other low on my back.

“Careful, Princess. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He says, and a low whistle echoes through the great hall. My attention leaves the staff attending to the spill as it’s pulled to the man the whistle belongs to. Mavros’ eyebrows jump up, looking between me and my father, then to Cadoc.

“What a royal mess.” His eyes narrow on me knowingly. “I hope you can accept our apologies. We seem to have been given some misconstrued information.” He continues shifting his eyes from me to my father. Kyros stands at his side, but his gaze never leaves me. I don’t think he has yet to blink.

“Why are there two of you from Diemos? Who is the suitor for my daughter’s hand?

” My father asks blatantly. Kyros doesn’t move, but Mavros smiles wide.

I only barely register the movement behind them and notice that it’s Zinya making her way into the room and through the crowd of people; sitting at one of the tables, she watches.

“I am,” Mavros says at the same time that Kyros growls the same words. Mavros’ head whips in his brother's direction. His confusion mirroring my own. Kyros continues to stare at me as the tension in the room becomes so thick I feel I may choke on it.

“So you will go through the trials against each other then?” My father presses.

“No—” Mavros starts, but Kyros speaks over him.

“Yes.” The brothers look at one another then. A silent conversation seems to be had within their gazes before finally Mavros looks back at me.

“I guess it appears, we will…” His chin raises, and the muscle along his jaw feathers.

He glances out of the corner of his eye to Kyros, but Kyros ignores him.

Instead, he moves across the room and pulls out the one chair left at the royal table.

Sitting without another word. Mavros scoffs, shaking his head .

“I don't suppose we can get a place for me to sit? Or would the princess like to share ?” He grins, and I narrow my eyes on him. His dual meaning is not missed. Some staff rush around the table, putting a place setting out next to Kyros, and the other men all keep a wary eye on each other. As though at any moment, any one of them could turn on the other. All but Kyros. His onyx eyes have not strayed from me save for the moment with his brother. He has yet to even acknowledge the king. I don’t know if I should be embarrassed or concerned at this point.

Concern wins out because I can feel my father vibrating with anger.

They are both pushing him. He is not a man of patience and does not handle disrespect well.

I clear my throat; still standing, I reach for another glass of wine on the table to make the opening announcement. The start of the courting affairs, just as I have been trained, but when my fingers are about to reach the glass, my father whips his hand in front of mine, blocking my attempt.

“Perhaps we keep your mind unmuddled, dear. You have already made quite the mess of things without a sip.” My father whispers, not so quietly.

A few of the men snicker, but out of the corner of my eye I see Kyros’ fist ball on the table, and even Mavros levels a glare in my father’s direction.

The simple show of abhorrence catches me off guard.

“Surely it would be highly inappropriate for a princess to partake in overindulgence; you never know what kind of wild things might happen…” Mavros chides.

None of the others pay him any mind, but I see my father’s eyes narrow in his direction.

Heat floods my cheeks nonetheless, thinking of the things I saw him doing on the night he is referring to, but I need to get my father’s attention off Mavros.

I may have lied to them, but they were kind to me when I was out of my element.

They don't deserve my father to rain down hell on them for the mere fact that they were in my presence when I ran away.

“Of course, father.” I recede, sitting back in my chair.

“As all of you know, we are gathered here for the courting of my daughter. Your betrothal would secure a very powerful alliance with Eathian. Which, as you know, has the largest, most skilled horde of soldiers in the realm.” My father drawls on, and Mavros covers his scoff with a cough.

My eyes flick to his, and he winks . This man is going to get himself killed.

“When do the trials start?” The man, who I have not yet met, says from the right side of Kyros.

His sharp chin lifted high, a mess of shorter, wavy, deep brown hair falls across his hazel eyes, more gold than brown, and his tattooed arm is slung over the back of his chair like he’s not in the presence of royalty.

He inspects his nails as though he is bored, and many of the men bristle.

He must sense my eyes lingering on him, because he looks up through his lashes, and a barely visible smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. Oh, divine.

“Don’t worry, Prince Ruaan, the first battle is likely the easiest. You won’t have to worry about messing up those pretty nails.

” Benat chides, and the Prince, Ruaan of Pyraxia, if I recall from my studies, levels him with a menacing glare.

A throat clears, and I quickly avert my gaze.

It’s easy to lose interest in the conversation around me.

The talk of trials and warriors, of weapons, and time.

Eventually, they all ignore me, and I pretend to eat the food that is on my plate as I watch all of them.

Each man here is beautiful in their own right.

Every one of them radiates power and authority, and a few of them even kindness.

Cadoc is one of the only men who pays me any attention.

Sitting to my left, he mentions foods that are delectable—tells me to taste the honey-glazed meat but to pair it with the white cheese.

The night is calm yet filled with chaotic conversation, and through it all one thing has remained the same.

Kyros has not let his eyes stray from me.

My father claps as the food is being cleared from the table, and musicians come in, standing at the far back of the room on a raised dais. They set up their instruments and begin playing a soft melody. It’s beautiful, and if it weren’t for the situation I find myself in, I would almost enjoy it.

A hand extended over my shoulder causes me to jump, and I look up to the man offering it. A glittering obsidian gaze collides with mine, sending a chill down my spine. I was so lost in thought, I didn't even notice him get up.

“Shula,” he breathes, “Perhaps since the night is waning, you would give me the honor of a dance?” I blink, taken aback by the gentleness in his voice.

My eyes turn toward my father for direction.

This was not discussed with him for the first night of events, so I’m not sure what he would want me to do.

He looks between me and who he believes to be a stranger and nods a wary acceptance.

Swallowing as I place my hand in his, I feel the whole room’s gaze on us.

Tension is breathing on its own as I stand and he walks me to the center of the room.

No one else is dancing. My heart rate accelerates.

I have danced in front of people thousands of times, with hundreds of partners, but something about this moment feels different .

The hand that is in his feels like a weight, and when his other hand wraps around my body and rests on my low back, pushing me forward to press against his chest…

my breath hitches. No—this doesn’t just feel different.

It is different. This is not a dance I am used to; here in Eathian, there is hardly any touching when it comes to dancing with the princess.

There is typically not much interaction with me at all.

The men who are able to dance with me do so with the image of their own body hanging from my father’s noose between us.

But not with Kyros. He dominates. Impeding on my personal space with the press of his body.

I can basically feel the whispers of the people in the room. My father’s heavy gaze watching every move made. The other suitors stop their conversations to see the silent war that Kyros has just started.

“You’re not breathing, Shula,” he says quietly, and my eyes flick up to his.

“This is— inappropriate .” I murmur. Letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Where I’m from, this is perfectly acceptable.

But you know what is frowned upon?” I’m lost in the question in his eyes, remaining quiet for far longer than what his question requires to think of a response.

He spins us around in a steady but slow rhythmic motion in tune with the music.

Much more rhythmic than you would think an imposing figure such as him would be able to accomplish.

When I don’t answer, he brings his head down just a fraction.

His nose is just inches from mine and I know it must appear even closer to those looking in.

“Lying, Sienna, ” he whispers, and dips me low just as the music comes to an end and my heart plummets into my stomach.

Pulling me back upright, I’m breathless as his hands fall from me.

He bows low, keeping his eyes locked with mine, and as he lifts my hand, he places a chaste kiss on my knuckles.

Even though we are in a room full of people, the gesture alone feels inexplicably intimate.

Before he has turned away, another hand is placed in front of me. An invitation to continue this show of dancing as the next song begins. My eyes linger within the shadows of Kyros’ for a moment longer before I place my hand into the next suitor’s hand without even seeing who has offered.

I am pulled hard with a yank of my arm; I’m spun into Mavros’ chest. A much quicker song begins to play. He smiles wide down at me.

“Eyes on me, Princess.” He says it deviantly, his tongue rolling out over his bottom lip.

He too presses his body into mine and twirls us all around what is now the dance floor.

Many of the people have joined us in dancing as the alcohol has continued to flow.

Some of the dances are turning much more provocative.

I didn’t even realize I was still watching Kyros until Mavros said something about my wandering gaze.

My face turns toward him abashedly and heated from within .

“Good girl.”

“I didn’t agree to dance with you so you could tease me.” I roll my eyes and try to push him away, but he only holds tighter.

“Teasing is what I do, but believe me, the follow-through is what’s best.” He winks, grinning, and then brings his head closer to my ear in a particularly fast spinning motion. “You wanna talk about why you’ve made a bit of a habit out of running away lately?”

“No, not particularly.” I respond solemnly.

“I understand why you lied about your name if you were trying to run away…

But, tell me, why would a princess, who has everything they need, want to leave it all behind?

What is it that I'm not seeing?” He asks, his blue eyes cutting into me like the jagged, ice-capped mountains of the kingdom of Halcyon do the sky.

After a moment of silent steps, I finally break my resolve.

“I’m sick of people demanding things from me. I’m sick and tired of everyone making decisions for me. Maybe I just wanted to be in control.” I finally say, unsure why I have decided that now is the time I let my truth be known.

“If it's the control you want, why not just take it? You say you’re sick of this?” His chin gestures to the room around us.

“Tired of it? Why don’t you use the energy you have to dominate the fucking world?

” His head falls back as he laughs loudly, calling more attention to us.

He may have been joking, but his words resonate with me on a deeper level.

Bringing me back to the feeling of when I chose to leave in the first place.

Bringing me back to the moment that I decided to slap my father in his smug face.

Flashes of Colette’s face blaze like a wildfire in my memory, and I stand a little taller.

“Maybe I will.” I say with more conviction than I believe Mavros was expecting, but whatever he sees causes him to narrow his eyes on me, and that ruinous grin is back on his face.

“Atta girl. Maybe you will be the warrior we all need to defeat in the end.” I don’t understand it, but in a matter of minutes Mavros has eased the tension in my shoulders and brought a lightness to my feet.

Courting generally would end in the princess making the decision of who won her hand, but I know my father has other plans.

Unfortunately for him, those plans ride on the shoulders of an obliging daughter.

He may be using me as a tool, but it is I who will sharpen myself into a blade.

I choose to no longer be a timid princess. Today I choose me.