Page 4 of Wild Flame (Wild Bond #2)

Chapter Four

T he heat was sweltering, and the heavy weight of my dress wasn’t helping. Hilde had apparently packed the least comfortable dress I owned for this and not considered the climate when she chose it. Elegant, but impractical for a late Zehvitian summer, the thick wool gown was high-necked, long-sleeved, and a deep blue trimmed in silver. Almost all my clothing was some variation of the two colors, because gods forbid, I wore anything other than Halmarish colors.

My long hair had been partially braided back on one side and Astrid had woven silvery threads throughout the red-brown strands. I rather liked the contrast it gave to the look and had complimented her on the idea. Astrid had blushed profusely at the praise and bowed while Hilde harrumphed loudly.

If I had gotten to choose my attire, I would have just worn my chemise. It was completely inappropriate for the occasion, but at least it would allow for a breeze. Even better would be a dip in the Vyre Sea or one of the cool, wintery lakes of my homeland.

But no, instead I was here, standing outside the doors of the audience chamber inside Ashar Palace, waiting to be announced. Ambassador Nilfren stood beside me, while Leif was only a step behind. Leif wasn’t royalty or anyone with noble or political standing, but he was a dragon rider and would be presented with us. Several of my guards shadowed us as well.

The Baldorian delegation had entered just before us, and all around the entrance hall Zehvitian nobles milled about waiting their turn. Several guards stood near each of the leaders, some wearing brightly colored sashes and turbans and black, gold, or silver armor. Almost all bore the wickedly sharp, curved sai blades that Zehvitians were famous for. Servants scurried around completing various tasks and almost all wore clothing in more subdued styles and colors. Nothing like the vibrant reds, oranges, yellows, and even pinks, blues, and greens of those they served. I also noted that elaborate designs—usually in gold—were the standard for most fabrics. Copious amounts of jewelry adorned the necks, wrists, ankles, and hands of men and women alike. Most of them also boasted several piercings in their ears and some even had them in their lips, noses, or eyebrows. My mother had always said it was an ugly, ridiculous fashion, but I thought many of them were actually rather beautiful. Though many of the fashions were admittedly a bit much for my simpler tastes.

My eyes were drawn to one woman in particular, who was dressed in an elegant, pale green, midriff-baring style. Zehvitian people were known for their exotic beauty, and this woman was no exception. An older imposing man stood at her side, most likely her father if I had to guess, and was obviously a dragon rider as he wore mahogany dragonscale armor. He glanced over at me as I studied him. He frowned darkly when he met my stare.

I looked away quickly, but not before I caught sight of his dragon glaring at me as well from where it sat by his feet. Several other dragons flitted about the hall, all in their minor forms, most staying close to their riders. Even as I thought this, Wormoth flew over and alighted on Leif’s shoulder. I had no idea where the smaller male dragon had been. Leif shot me a reassuring look, and I smiled back at him. When he glanced away, I sighed and pulled at the itchy collar of my gown, wanting nothing more than to rip it off.

I had to admit that though it was hot—so hot I felt like I was in the depths of the Dark Realms—my surroundings were beautiful. When we had first caught a glimpse of Taveran on the horizon, the city—and Ashar Palace itself—had taken my breath away. After several days of travelling through the arid landscape, the entire capital looked like a glimmering jewel in the midst of the desert. Everything was built using a combination of white rock and sandstone, and the palace was no exception. It sat high on a hill in the heart of the city and was a massive structure made up of rounded, domed turrets, and multitiered levels with balconies and trellises. I had even caught a brief glimpse of The Sphere of Ashar, an ancient portion of the palace that was touted to be one of the most beautiful architectural marvels of our world. I couldn’t wait to see it up close but would have to wait since it would be closed during the funeral rites.

Much of the palace was open to the outside with breezeways and walkways covered only by tiled roofs, and several of the inner courtyards I had seen since arriving boasted fountains and pools lined with intricate mosaic tiles.

To my surprise and delight, greenery and plant life were everywhere. Exotic flowers and trees I had never seen lined the pathways and grew from hanging pots, the bright colors a beautiful contrast to the pale stone of the palace. Wild vines had even been left to grow along many of the walls, while colorful murals or engravings covered others.

It was all so different from Nevgard and the stark, severe lines of the castle where I had grown up. I loved my home, and parts of my kingdom were truly stunning, but I couldn’t help but feel that much of it seemed pale and simplistic in comparison to my lush surroundings.

I pulled again at my choking collar.

“Are you well, Your Highness?” Ambassador Nilfren asked.

I blinked, coming out of my musings, and turned to the man beside me. “Fine,” I told him as a bead of sweat slid down my back under my gown. “Just taking in the scenery. It’s rather different from home.”

His gaze darted around. “Yes, but don’t worry, you will get used to the rather garish décor. Much like the Zehvitian people, though rather loud and abrasive at first, they do have their virtues. Their wine, for instance, is beyond compare. It will make all this standing around worth it.”

His words surprised me, though perhaps they shouldn’t have given some of the earlier comments he’d made while teaching me about Zehvi. Since he was my father’s ambassador and lived here for much of the year, I would have thought he would be more open-minded and willing to embrace their customs, but apparently that assumption was wrong. He sounded just like my mother—and most other Halmarish—when they spoke of this country.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued before I could.

“When we are presented to the prince, it would be best for you not to speak unless you absolutely must. We both know you are not well acquainted with political matters.” He gave me a patronizing pat on the arm. “Best to leave the diplomatic maneuvering to me, Princess.”

A familiar anger flared in me at his dismissal, but like I so often did, I bit back the retort that came readily to my tongue.

When I said nothing, Nilfren simply nodded as if he hadn’t truly expected me to anyway. “Good. That’s settled. You just stand there and look beautiful.” He flashed me a saccharine smile that I’m sure he thought was charming. I felt more than saw Leif stiffen where he stood. “Do try to smile though,” Nilfren added with a frown. “You can’t very well make a good impression on the prince if you are scowling at him.”

I wasn’t scowling. I knew very well my expression was the well-crafted and serene public mask I had perfected over the years.

One of the stewards motioned to our guards that it was finally our turn. Nilfren clasped my hand over his arm to escort me. I fought the urge to yank it away as the grand doors swung open and I was greeted with the sight of the palace’s massive audience chamber. As I took it all in, I was only vaguely aware of a steward’s heavily accented voice speaking in the common tongue, announcing our party and titles to the room. The common tongue was used everywhere in Palasia, but I knew many of the more remote desert tribes here still spoke some of the ancient Zehvitian dialects as well.

Elaborately decorated golden pillars lined the throne room on either side of a long center aisle, leading directly to the dais at the far end of the hall. Between each pillar were wide, filigreed arches that led the eye up to the massive domed ceiling above. Portions of the dome were glass, and sunlight shone down into the space, highlighting the golden veins in the white marble floor, and panes of the multiple candlelit chandeliers. People filled the room, standing under the archways or by the recessed windows with red silk drapes and cushioned seats that lined either side of the rectangular hall. The path to the throne had been left purposely clear, however, and as we began the trek down to the end, I could feel many eyes on us.

Don’t fidget. Stand up straight. My mother’s all too familiar voice scraped through my mind. I forced myself not to shift or give away how uncomfortable I was and tried to keep my eyes straight ahead as we approached.

A half-dozen steps led up to the top of the multi-tiered dais, with a large central platform and two lower platforms several steps down on either side.

On one lower platform sat a man with dark hair and eyes and a closely cropped beard. He appeared older than me by several years and was leaning back in his cushioned seat, looking incredibly bored with the whole affair. We had never met, but I assumed this had to be Prince Amir, Prince Malik’s younger brother. On the other lower platform sat two women. One was older and clad in all white—the Zehvitian mourning color—with a sheer veil covering her lower face. She had to be Queen Vashti, wife of the late king. The other was Princess Zara—whom I had nearly assassinated a few nights ago.

My stomach dropped and churned with nerves at the sight of her, as I considered what I had almost done. I had returned to the inn that night without a problem and spent the rest of it tossing and turning in my bed, agonizing over my choice. I still wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. Silvanus didn’t tolerate failure. I had never not completed an assignment before, so I wasn’t sure what he would do when he found out.

Our god hadn’t stricken me down yet, either. Which made me wonder if maybe I had been correct about Silvanus, and that maybe—just maybe—I had done the right thing in leaving the princess alive.

I made sure my impenetrable mask was still in place as I studied her more closely.

The princess appeared older, dressed formally as she was. She wore a gold midriff-baring top and wide-leg pants with a gold sash flowing from one shoulder to her opposite hip. Her hair had been pinned back from her face and was woven with tinkling gold chains. She also had gold bangles on her wrists and ankles, and wore a diamond teardrop necklace, while another teardrop dangled at the center of her forehead.

Who would want this girl dead? It didn’t make any sense.

Pushing all thoughts of that aside for the moment, I allowed my gaze to shift upward and lock on the figure on the central platform. Nerves of a different sort began to overtake me.

I was surprised to see that rather than a throne, the soon-to-be king lounged on a large, flat crimson cushion, surrounded by smaller red-gold pillows.

Prince Malik was as beautifully, brutally masculine as I remembered. His beard was dark and closely shaven like his brother’s and so many of the Zehvitian men I had seen, with a strong jaw and distractingly sensual mouth. His eyes were a deep golden brown, and his dark hair was short, though with a slight curl that reached just below his ears. He was leaning back on one elbow, long fingers crossed before him, as he watched our approach. Even in that lounging position, it was easy to see that he was just as tall and broad as the last time I’d seen him. He wore flowing dark pants and a red gold tunic that was partially unbuttoned down the center, revealing golden skin and a flat muscular chest. He wore no crown, but I could make out the glint of thick gold-plated bands around his wrists. Despite all the wealth displayed, his large feet were bare.

All three siblings held similarities with their bronze skin and dark hair, and they were all dragon riders, but none wore their dragonscale armor. Instead, each wore a variation of red, gold, and black—the Kathar family colors. Though I did note that they all wore at least one article of white mourning clothing—Amir a white sash around his waist, Zara a pearl-encrusted bracelet I had not noticed at first glance, and Malik a white band around his upper arm. Several other Zehvitians around the hall wore articles of white clothing as well.

None of the siblings’ dragons were present, which I found odd. Until I considered that they had no doubt been sitting in these presentations all day and what dragon would want to be a part of that? In my experience, Nova had always found other places to be whenever Helene had to see to her court duties for any extended period.

“Your Highness.” Nilfren bowed low at the waist before Malik, then bowed to the others, acknowledging each with a nod and a similar greeting. “It will be an honor to celebrate King Nazeem’s long, prosperous reign with you and your people. I have never had the chance to participate in Zehvitian funeral celebrations before. I have heard they can be quite memorable.”

I couldn’t tell by the benign half smile Prince Malik kept in place how he truly felt about the man beside me or his little speech.

“The honor is mine, Ambassador,” Malik replied, his smooth, cultured voice slightly accented as he projected for all those assembled to hear. His perceptive stare took in Nilfren before moving to me.

I had forgotten how penetrating that stare of his was. It gave away nothing of how he felt, but for some reason the look in his eyes made me think he knew how uncomfortable I was in my sweltering dress.

I stiffened my spine, refusing to show even a hint of discomfort.

“Thank you for traveling so far, Your Highness,” he said, finally addressing me directly.

I wasn’t given much choice, is what I wanted to say, but I bit back that response. As a royal myself, I didn’t bow, but I did incline my head before replying, “Thank you for having us, Your Majesty. I, too, am looking forward to the celebrations.” Then, maybe because I felt like I couldn’t stay silent on the subject, or maybe because of the tired, heavy look in the prince’s eyes, I continued. “And I am sorry about your father’s passing. I myself have never lost a family member, but if I had . . .” I swallowed, thinking of losing Helene. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through. I am sorry for your loss. Truly.” I made sure to include his siblings and stepmother in my look as well and saw genuine surprise cross the princess’s face. Prince Amir had no response, save for raised eyebrows. The Queen had let out a small sound. Prince Malik's face still gave nothing away, though the intensity of his stare increased as he regarded me.

It was then I became aware of the murmurs all around me. I had known I wasn’t supposed to offer condolences, Nilfren had told me as much, but I hadn’t been able to help it. I didn’t react to the stir I had caused as the prince continued to meet my stare. My chest tightened as the air between us seemed to grow weighted. Heavy.

Prince Malik opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Nilfren interrupted. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” the ambassador said, his voice slightly strained. “The princess is only newly familiar with the ways of your people.” He shot me a look of only faintly veiled censure.

The strange spell between the prince and I broke, and I flushed hot, glancing momentarily away. “My apologies,” I began, once again very aware of the eyes on me. “I-I meant no offense. I only—” Nilfren’s hand that had been resting placidly over mine on his arm tightened rather painfully, and I instantly stopped speaking.

Malik’s eyes cut sharply to where Nilfren’s hand gripped mine, and something like anger darkened his eyes. “Ambassador,” his commanding voice cracked like a whip, silencing the crowd. “I took no offense at Princess Leida’s words and understand the sentiment in which they were intended.” He stared pointedly at where Nilfren gripped my hand, and the man promptly released me. Only then did Malik return that penetrating stare to me, and his voice lost much of its stiff formality. “Thank you, Princess. I hope you enjoy the celebrations and take in the many delights Taveran has to offer during your time here.”

“Thank you. I will, Your Majesty,” I murmured, my voice wavering slightly. His stare held mine for another tense moment before he nodded.

Nilfren quickly introduced Leif, and he and Malik exchanged a few words. But I barely heard what was said as I fought to quell the lingering flush that had nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with the look in the prince’s eyes.

After that, Nilfren, Leif, and I stepped to the side and stood watching as Malik made a gesture with his hand and the doors at the other end of the hall opened once more. We stood there for over an hour as noble after noble was presented to the royal family. To distract myself, I began to study the beautifully unusual architecture of the dome overhead, loving how it allowed so much light into the space. We had nothing of its kind anywhere in Halmar.

Eventually, the striking young woman and the Zehvitian rider I had noticed earlier entered the throne room and were announced as Rajar Salim of Sohan, and his daughter, Priya Salim. The kingdom of Zehvi was broken up into seven territories known as Rajid. Each territory was ruled by a noble family whose leader was known as a Rajar. The leaders reported to the king and were subject to his rule in all matters. Zehvi did not have a council like Baldor or a Tribunal of Elders like Halmar. The king’s word was law.

Rulers also had their Fangdar—an elite group of dragon riders, that were usually made up of their closest friends and advisors. They did not govern or rule a territory like the Rajar, and they were not guards, but the six of them often had special roles at court and abroad. Nilfren had explained that one of Prince Malik’s Fangdar was his newly appointed spymaster, while another worked with the trainees who had not yet passed the trials. If rumor was to be believed, many of them had grown up at court together and represented most of the Zehvitian territories among them. I didn’t know them all by name, but I did recognize the tall man standing just to the right of the dais as one of them. Harun Usif—I guessed from Nilfren’s description—a tall man with a pointed beard and a stern stare, was Prince Malik’s closest friend and oversaw dragon rider assignments in the capital and other cities in Zehvi. A sand-colored dragon sat curled asleep at his feet. The Fangdar were easy to spot because, on formal occasions like this, they all wore the distinct dragon head insignia on their armor.

Returning my attention to the Rajar and his daughter, I noted they received the warmest welcome yet. Prince Malik smiled while he greeted them, and Princess Zara practically flew down from the dais to embrace the other woman. The two were obviously friends. I didn’t miss the look the woman—Priya—gave Malik, either. Even Queen Vashti moved—though more sedately than her daughter—down to greet her.

“He’ll announce her as his Hassai at the coronation. Mark my words,” I overheard a Zehvitian woman telling her companion who stood close by. My eyes returned to the woman and the princess. I had no idea what Hassai meant, but I could guess. They thought Malik intended to make this woman his queen. She was certainly beautiful and beloved by his family, if their reaction to her was any indication. I noted Malik did not descend the dais himself, nor did Prince Amir.

“Tell me about Sohan,” I said, leaning closer to Nilfren who stood at my side. He seemed surprised at my low command, but he obliged with only a slight hesitation.

“Sohan is the richest territory in the realm, thanks in large part to their jewel mines and vast farmlands. By all accounts, Rajar Salim is a competent leader and dragon rider. He was a member of the late king’s Fangdar. His wife is dead, and his daughter is a respected rider. His son is also a rider, and no doubt remained in Sohan.”

“Are they betrothed, then?” I asked. “She and Prince Malik?” Realms! Why had I asked that? And why did I want the answer so badly? I could tell Leif, who stood on my other side, was paying attention to our conversation as well.

Nilfren eyed me at the question. “Not to my knowledge, Your Highness. It is customary in Zehvi for a ruler to be married, or at least betrothed by their coronation, unless, of course, they are too young.” He turned to face the woman in question. “The Lady Priya is young and beautiful and from a wealthy dragon rider line. Her father is a Rajar, and Prince Malik is friends with her brother. They trained together to become riders, I believe. No doubt the families are close. The prince would be a fool not to marry her, and no doubt both families expect it.”

I still wasn’t sure how I felt about my father’s order to get close to Prince Malik, but it would be harder to do so if he were already betrothed. Part of me felt relieved at the idea that it might already be too late.

As I considered this, my eyes were drawn back up to where the prince himself still lounged. I jolted slightly when I saw Malik’s eyes were on me. A sliver of awareness raced down my spine at that stare. The reaction unsettled me, but I didn’t let it show. I met that look head on and let a few moments pass before glancing away.

But not before I saw the hint of a smirk grace his lips as I did.