“Are you ready for me, Majesty?”
Just Hanna.
Kamari blew out a puff of air. How bad would it be if she just denied the Naming Day Banquet and stayed in bed?
Well, they’d call you a traitor for one,she thought.
And then there was the matter of her parents and Raffe. Everyone’s eyes, always watching her and now with the wedding customs to begin, she supposed there truly was no more hiding.
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes,” she said, smoothing her nightgown. “Come in, Hanna.”
There was no way out of it. She was going to put on her best queen’s smile and dance and shake hands with the priestesses and the lords and ladies and praise Celestria for her upcoming gifts. She would have ceremonial tea with Raffe the following day and she would take his hand and she would be what they needed her to be.
Even if all she wanted to do was hide under a blanket and read Desmond’s hidden journal over and over again.
“The storms have finally settled,” Hanna said as she swept through the room, tidying things. “Markets have reopened. Should be a beautiful evening.”
Kamari chewed her nail, sitting perched on the end of the bed like a child, her mind filled with Desmond and his journals. The key to finding him was in that journal she found locked away, she knew it. If only she could just finish–
“Are you thinking the purple or the red?” Hanna held two gowns up for selection.
“Hm?” Kamari looked up at the streams of fabric. One, a deep purple with intricate gold beading, delicate moons and stars dangling from the sleeves. The other was red, a silky fabric with a deep cut down the chest and tiny dazzling stars stitched into the hemline. Both were beautiful, both made her feel sick.
Celebrating a day that would steal someone’s life didn’t sit right with her and dancing while Desmond was missing, felt disloyal.
Her eyes snagged on the red dress, the color filling her chest with longing. She ached at the memory of wearing it the first time, only to make sure it fit. Desmond’s fingers traced the stars at the edges, the plunging neckline. He’d moved her in front of the mirror, made her watch everything he did to her. Asked her to say all the things she wanted him to do. She’d never felt so vulnerable. So open. So raw.
And she loved every second. Loved being in control. Loved passing that control onto Desmond and him picking up her cues seamlessly. He took his time learning her body, her wants, her needs.
Her throat tightened. “The purple,” she said before closing her eyes and sinking lower into bed, pushing the memory away.
“You’ll look radiant.”
She could hear Hanna hang the dresses up, and tinker around on her vanity. Likely pulling jewelry and other accessories. She chirped on about matching with Raffe and how lovely the menu sounded and whether or not there might be a new painting of Celestria revealed.
Hanna deserved a gift, Kamari thought. Or a large increase in pay. Anyone who could remain so bright under the oppressive cloud of sand they lived in, she thought, deserves to be able to indulge themselves.
The banquet hall was located in the very center of the Citadel. The enormity of the space was overwhelming. Extravagant chandeliers brightly lit withastrahung from the ornate mosaic ceiling. Huge tiles etched with Celestria’s stars led to a vast dance floor, shining and waiting to be used. A band was perched on a dais, string instruments and flutes drifting through the open space.
It was beautiful and expensive and yet all Kamari could think about were how many places someone could be hiding. Nev and her knights escorted her, staying dutifully behind her as she shook hands with various lords and ladies, the council, her parents, then finally, Raffe. He wore a similar deep purple tunic, lined with thick gold, and small stars adoring his shoulders. Several long necklaces hung down his chest, all layered on top of each other, each of them representing the different phases of the moon. “Your Majesty.” He dropped in a deep bow to which she curtsied in return.
Please don’t ask me to dance.
Please.
Please.
“May I have this dance?” Resolve settled between her shoulders. With her parents, the council and half of Vargah watching, she couldn’t get away with saying no.
“Of course, Lord Raffe.” She held out her hand. The long, delicate chains attached from the rings on her fingers, wound around her wrist and twinkled in theastralight. Raffe’s fingers wrapped around hers, his other hand landing lightly on her back. The music was a soft tempo as she and Raffe swept through the ballroom. His movements were confident, assured.
“They’re all watching,” he whispered against her ear. “Waiting to see what you do.”
Kamari drew her eyes from where she’d fixed them on the farthest walls of the room and met the crowd. Dozens of people stood, frozen, watching the enemy queen dance with someone who was not their king. “And what do you think they see?”
He spun them, following the sway of the string instruments. Her parents' faces flashed briefly before Raffe spun her again and pulled her flush with his chest.
