Page 16 of The Crimson Princess (The Ravengale Chronicles #1)
Chapter twelve
I t’s with supreme effort that I resist the urge to press Mikhail for information, all too aware that he’s risked my father’s wrath with his discreet warning.
Instead, I offer a simple nod of appreciation and understanding, and walk away, but I wish beyond the stars I knew exactly what my father said to Mikhail.
What is Bellar after and what does it have to do with me?
Unease dances to its own rhythm along my nerve endings, my pace rapid with readiness to get this meeting over with.
Soon, I’ve reached my destination where I find Bellar, sitting at the table we’d dined at last night.
The instant he spies me, he pushes to his feet, his impressive height and stature on display, and of course, he’s wearing the pale gray jacket representing the druid military.
No wonder Mikhail was agitated. It’s the color the druids wore when at war with the gales and we lost far too many to even count.
Magic burns my fingertips with such intensity that I glance down and almost expect flames to burst from my skin, but there is nothing there, not even a blush to my skin.
I’m still going through the change , I think, and that means this meeting is poorly timed, as my magic is far from stable.
Any emotion the druid prince stirs in me, might trigger who knows what reaction.
I halt on the opposite side of the table from Bellar.
“Princess,” he greets, and until this moment I do not believe I’ve ever noticed how strikingly gray his eyes are, with a halo of teal glowing from within. The halo is his magic, I realize, and I do believe he only allows it to show when he wishes it to be visible.
And he’s chosen to show me .
Or perhaps he sees no reason to hide it. I’ve touched it, felt it. I know what he is and what powerful magic he wields should he so choose to go to war with us, with me .
“Hello, Prince Bellar,” I say, managing to sound far cooler than I feel.
The burn in my fingers has flared once again and it’s driving me crazy.
I curl them into my palms, low and by my sides, applying pressure that somehow eases the sensation but just barely.
“Can we move to a quieter place?” I inquire.
“There’s a smaller table deeper in the garden.
We can speak more freely there, without intrusion. ”
Curiosity flares within the depths of his stare, but he remains seemingly at ease, offering a cordial reply of, “I’d like that,” and nothing more.
Esmerelda, one of my father’s maidens appears, her brunette hair silk, her body curvy, her presence in my father’s bed, almost irrefutable.
Also irrefutable is her loyalty to him and her presence now tells me she fully intended to listen in on our meeting.
Pity for her and my father, as the change of location I’ve planned will render her ability to spy on us impossible.
“We’ll be moving to the Sapphire Corner,” I announce, pleased to deliver the blow to any plan at deception she might harbor. “If you can please, have our pastries and coffee brought there?”
There’s a flicker of panic in her eyes, no doubt her anticipation of explaining my actions to my father, but she dips her chin and murmurs, “Yes, princess,” before hurrying away.
“We evidently didn’t please her,” Bellar comments dryly.
I, in turn, don’t comment . The two of us are not a “we” nor do we stand together against my father’s intrusions.
I start walking and Bellar falls into step beside me, neither of us speaking until we are in a private corner of the garden, and seated at a small round table encased in tight ivy-covered walls.
We’ve barely claimed the intimate seating directly across from us, before we have glass cups of steaming coffee in front of us, the scent of both vanilla and chocolate lifting in the air.
Next comes a basket of delicate flaky pastries .
It’s a few minutes before I’m alone with Bellar, and we can do more than comment on the deliciousness of what we’ve been served. I lift my cup only to cringe as it trembles in my hand. Frustrated, I set the cup down and hold up my hands. “That has nothing to do with you.”
He studies me several beats and says, “Your magic is unstable, but it wasn’t last night.
” His eyes narrow. “The change. You’re late for the change.
” He scrubs his jaw. “Holy fuck. You were already more powerful than I ever expected.” He leans closer and lowers his voice.
“And you hadn’t been through the change yet? ”
I rub my arms that are now the part of my body on fire, while the rest of me is like ice. “It appears grief shocked me enough to create a delay.”
“Incredible. The rumors of your mother must be true.”
I’ve heard these rumors. Of course, I have; that she was more powerful than my father. That her parents were somehow connected to our original creators, and that her gifts from the river turned her into something no one would ever understand.
“I asked my mother about them once,” I dare say.
“And what did she say?”
“She told me no living being was more powerful than my father,” I say, but it’s a lie.
The lie she told me to tell. The truth is, she told me that she would never know the truth of what she was, or where she came from, but no one must ever believe they were more powerful than the ruler of Ravengale.
For that would lead to confrontation and our demise.
Bellar’s lips curve with a wry twist. “They tell us a great many things, now don’t they? But no matter how they try to shape our beliefs in what the future should hold, the future is always about change.”
In other words, he doesn’t believe my father to be the strongest living being, and I wonder if he thinks it’s him, an assessment that would be a mistake.
Toren and my father are, at the very least, equals even if I doubt either believes that as truth.
As for Bellar, he’s powerful, far more than your average gale or druid, but nowhere near their counterparts. Nowhere near me.
“We could learn from humans,” I say, daring to lift my cup again, relieved to find a steady hand, though I would not count on it lasting. “They jaunt through a much shorter life and handle change with more ease than any of us.”
“But they don’t live to resist the inevitability of change.” He leans in close, when he’s already close, his voice an octave lower. “The hunger for power and control will drive us to war unless we find a common ground.”
“We have common ground,” I remind him. “That’s why the war ended. You have your lands. We have ours.”
“There are many of the druids, my father included, who believe we should hold equal lands.”
“And yet,” I say without hesitation, “you refuse to protect humanity when the book demands the kingdom stand as guardians to them.”
“The gales are the guardians.”
“The gales are the book’s chosen rulers. If you wish to play more of a role in controlling these lands, you must claim the responsibilities that go with it.”
“We don’t agree.”
I throw a blast of my magic in the air and he stiffens. “I’m not your enemy, princess.”
Toren had said the same thing to me, but he’d been far more believable. I inch forward, and now I’m the one eating up the space between us. “The day you show up to the tournament and compete is the day I respect you.”
“Neither of us should be in that tournament. We are the future of our kingdoms. And the book didn’t name me, anyway.”
“Druids have never been a part of the gale’s population. If they want to join with us, I promise you they will be named. And I’d be interested to see you put your name forth for the book’s consideration. My father, I’m certain, could present you as a candidate.”
“The book didn’t choose your mother. She defied the process. ”
“Did she? I would counter and say the book knew exactly what was going to happen, including your cowardice.”
His magic spikes in the air and he pushes to his feet. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
I push to my feet, and once again remind myself that magic and emotion do not mix when I haven’t needed such a reminder in a very long time. “As I said, when you compete, we can hold a meaningful conversation about the druids’ role in the Ravengale kingdom. If you live to have the conversation.”
Nevertheless, it’s with fierce willpower that I resist the urge to punish him, and I have the realization about my coming of age.
I could easily do more than touch his magic with mine.
I do believe I could shatter it like a delicate glass in my palm with nothing more than a thought.
I think. Maybe I just wish for such a skill.
Whatever the case, my voice is void of my wishes and fantasies, as I say, “I sincerely hope you’ll consider the invitation to compete, Prince Bellar. ”
He plants his hands on the table and dares shift his weight toward me, the teal of his eyes overtaking the gray.
“I am not your enemy,” he repeats. “And there will come a time when you test those words, and I vow to you now, I will prove them to be true.” With this groveling promise, he rotates and walks away, his retreat and declaration sitting all kinds of wrong.
Why would he think I need or want his vow?
What hasn’t my father told me? Do not bend , Mikhail had said to me.
That’s it. I need to see my father. I dash in Bellar’s wake, thankful he’s had the sense to expedite his departure and is nowhere in my sight.
I exit at a different point than he would and travel a small corridor that leads me to the throne room.
I find my father speaking with Mikhail of all people, which only serves to confirm that Mikhail knows what I do not. My father straightens upon spotting me. “I trust your breakfast went well, daughter?”
“What haven’t you told me, father? What is it you hope to accomplish with me and the druid prince? ”