He knew her, but somehow, he’d forgotten her in that single idiotic moment. Ehmet had seen Lady Hevva before, at various galas over the years at Kirce Palace, and who knew where else. He didn’t recall her very well, merely recognized her silvery-white hair, an uncommon trait in Selwas. He wasn’t sure he’d ever realized she was the daughter of Lord Kahoth of Stormhill. But he should have.
Some king.He made a mental note to study up on his nobility. The Selwassan custom of men maintaining their surnames, passing them down through sons, while women did the same with daughters would never fail to throw him off. It made families excruciatingly confusing. No one’s names matched.
The beauty across from him offered half a smirk, and the beginnings of a sparkle lit her eye. “Our parents are quite well, thank you. They are at home, treatingtheirpeople with kindness and respect.”
He balked internally at the jab. Externally, the king smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been a very long day, please accept my apologies. I am pleased to see you both, Lady Hevva, Lord Akkas.” He chose his words with care, unsure whether he’d officially been introduced to the pair before. Ehmet didn’t want to imply it was the firstofficialmeeting and kick her ire up another notch after he’d so rudely dismissed her young brother. Though, she had called him out on it, impressively.
“Just Kas,” the bold woman spoke up on behalf of her brother.
“Lord Kas,” the king amended. “How about I make this unfortunate encounter up to the pair of you. Dinner, perhaps? Hewran Hall, tonight?”
“No.”
Beside him, Nekash choked on laughter. His gaggle of misses had moved on, it seemed. Ehmet wasn’t sure how long his brother had been watching this encounter.
The silver-haired vixen turned to her young companion. “Say what you’d like.”
The young man swallowed before he spoke, “King Hethtar, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Despite his exceptional height, the boy’s voice had not yet begun to change. He was younger than sixteen, itwould seem. He’d be as tall as a ship’s mast when grown.
“I am pleased to make yours as well, Lord Kas. Are you looking forward to the symposium?”Who the fates says no to dinner with the king?His tired mind caught up to the countess’s previous comment.
“Very much. I am most interested in attending a talk tomorrow afternoon on the complexities of Domossan sensory magic, specifically the uses for taste abilities.”
The child talked like he was grown.Impressive.“That sounds enlightening, young man. I look forward to seeing what you do with that mind of yours in the future.” He smiled serenely at the lord who would one day become Earl of Kabuvirib when his elder sister assumed the title of Duchess of Stormhill, taking up the mantle her father currently held.
“Kas, let’s go. The king has other subjects to greet.” She tugged on her brother’s arm and eyed a passing servant who carried a tray of glittering glass flutes.
“Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” Lord Kas Kahoth tipped into a bow before moving away.
“Any time, Lord Kas.” Ehmet called after the boy.
The sister lingered for a moment before dipping the most shallow and insignificant curtsy he’d ever seen in his life. It was more like she was eyeing a stain on his trousers than a gesture of respect. He almost laughed aloud. Apparently, Lady Hevva wasn’t as quick to change her opinion of him as her younger sibling.
three
Hevva grabs her brother’s arm.
“Can’t we stay awhile longer?” Kas whined as Hevva all but dragged him across the crowded public room. “Not even for dinner?”
“Ten minutes. We’ll eat at the inn,” she bit out, sounding a lot more like her mother than intended. “Sorry.”
He met her eyes straight on. They were the same height, until his next growth spurt, at least. At the tender age of fourteen, Kas likely had another foot to go. “It’s fine, that didn’t go exactly how we’d expected. I’m not sure he meant the offense, though.”
“Perhaps.” Hevva’s heart still pounded as they retreated from the imposing presence of King Hethtar the Fourth. He didn’t look much like his father who’d been thin, with a weaselly build...and personality. In contrast, the younger Hethtar was broad in the shoulders and trim in the waist, with a surprisingly muscular body for someone whose job it was to sign parchments all day. Perhaps the dead king was beefier in his youth, but not when she’d met him in Serkath. The fourth King Hethtar was easier on the eyes than Hethtar the Third, with his wide chiseled jaw, strong aquiline nose, and those deep green eyes that reminded her of the rolling hills surrounding her home at Stormhill. She could gaze upon that view for hours and never tire of it—the hills, obviously.
He was tall too, taller than her, which was saying something since shewas encroaching on six feet in heeled slippers. Part of why she despised them. The former king had most certainly been smaller in stature and width than his elder son. Hevva shivered at the memory of Hethtar the Third hugging her far too familiarly and for far too long during her presentation at court when she’d turned eighteen. This Hethtar though, she suspected his large, muscled arms would feel decidedly different wrapped around her frame.
Shaking her head, Hevva attempted to clear the image. Of which king? She wouldn’t admit. Either way, she shouldn’t have refused the man’s invitation to dine. Her father would be disappointed. Her mother would outright kill her if she found out. “Uncouth behavior, Hevva,” she would say. With a groan, she made Kas promise not to mention it. If it got back to them some other way, so be it. She’d face the consequences.
With ten more minutes to wile away, Hevva allowed her brother to circle the room and greet a few of his favorite academics and authors, while she sought refuge beside an enormous potted plant.
“Thank you,” she said to a member of the staff, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing tray. Ideally, the effervescent bubbles would wash away the lingering discomfort of her first real meeting with the king. She hoped it would also be her last, until she was forced to see him at some such ball or house party.
The introduction had been a disaster, filled with awkward exchanges and fumbled words. He’d bordered on giving them the cut direct with that eye roll and scoff—Gods, how embarrassing.Hevva groaned into her glass.
The king still stood across the room, his bulky presence hard to miss as he greeted patron after patron, attendees of the symposium who wanted their moment with the shiny new monarch. She rolled her eyes as he lifted the dainty hand of a petite, curvy young woman who blushed beneath his stoic gaze. He might look better than the dead King Hethtar, but that didn’t mean this onewasbetter.
And his brother!Ew.She didn’t miss the way he again trailed his fire magic—not hot enough to burn,she assumed—along the low-cut bosom of yet another lovely young lady.
