Seven
RHAZIR
The great dining hall thrummed with life like a hive at dawn, young men scattered across cushioned sofas arranged around low tables laden with delicacies that glittered in the lamplight. The air itself seemed to sparkle with conversation and laughter, music floating from hidden corners where minstrels plucked lyres with fingers swift as hummingbird wings. At the hall's far end, a dais held the great table where honored guests would sit among Eletheria's elite.
I adjusted my leather jerkin uncomfortably as we entered, the familiar weight of my sword a foreign presence in this place of silk and poetry. Around us, young men wore garments so fine they seemed woven from moonbeams, their bodies visible through fabric that caught and held the light likecaptured starshine. I felt crude and overdressed, a wolf among gazelles.
Priest Callis materialized beside us with flowing grace, his sea-green robes rippling as he moved. "Your Highness, Master Rhazir, welcome to our celebration. Please, join us at the high table."
He led us through the crowd with practiced ease, and I watched faces turn toward us as we passed. Some showed curiosity, others welcome, but beneath it all I sensed the tension that always accompanied mention of the Three Isles. We were exotic visitors from a feared realm, dangerous predators temporarily sheathed in diplomatic courtesy.
The high table offered a commanding view of the entire hall, and I took my place with military precision while Serin settled beside me with fluid grace. To my left sat Callis himself, and beside him the silver-haired man I'd glimpsed before, whose intense blue eyes seemed to catalog everything with scholarly precision. Their hands lay entwined on the table's surface, an casual display of affection that would have been scandalous at any court I knew.
Priest Myris claimed the seat across from us, his gentle smile doing little to mask the wariness in his amber eyes. When conversation turned to our homeland, as inevitably it must, I felt the subtle shift in atmosphere like a change in weather before a storm.
"The Three Isles must be quite different from Eletheria," someone ventured with careful diplomacy.
"Indeed," Serin replied, and something in his tone made me look at him more closely. Where was the careful prince I knew, the young man who weighed every word for its political implications? This Serin spoke with easy confidence, gesturing as he described landscapes carved by volcanic fury, waters that ran black beneath storm-heavy skies, fortresses built to withstand siege and conquest.
"I was permitted to accompany a diplomatic mission to the Sunset Isles when I was sixteen," he continued, eyes bright with memory. "The coral reefs there stretch for leagues beneath water so clear you can see fish swimming twenty fathoms down. Nothing like our waters, which hide their secrets in darkness."
He laughed at something Myris said, the sound rich and unguarded, and I felt my chest tighten with recognition. This was the Serin I glimpsed only in stolen moments - when he thought no one was watching, when the weight of expectation lifted just enough to let his true nature shine through. At home, such displays of joy were quickly smothered by his father's disapproval, by the harsh realities of court life that demanded constant vigilance.
Here, he bloomed like a flower finally given proper sunlight.
The few questions directed my way received curt responses. I was not accustomed to conversation at high tables, more used to standing silent guard while others spoke of matters above my station. But watching Serin's transformation distracted me from my own discomfort, though I could not ignore the way my travel clothes clung to skin damp with perspiration. The humid air was nothing like the dry heat of home, and I found myself envying the light garments worn by everyone else, silk so fine it revealed more than it concealed, bodies displayed with shameless confidence that spoke of a culture unashamed of human beauty.
As the evening progressed, my heart sank deeper with each moment of Serin's obvious happiness. He belonged here in ways he never had at home, surrounded by people who valued art over conquest, beauty over brutality. How could I drag him back to a crown that would crush everything bright within him?
"You're very quiet tonight," he said suddenly, turning those beautiful eyes on me with concern that made something warm uncurl in my chest.
"Merely observing."
His smile was brilliant as sunrise, transforming his features from merely handsome to breathtaking. "And what do you observe?"
"That you are... happier here than I have seen you in years."
Something vulnerable flickered across his expression. "Is that so obvious?"
"To me, yes."
We shared a moment of understanding that felt dangerous in its honesty, and I saw him lean slightly closer before catching himself. The careful distance he maintained felt suddenly fragile, like ice beginning to crack under spring sun.
But then my own defenses rose like shields, walls slamming back into place with almost audible force. This was madness. He was a prince, heir to a throne, bound by duties I could not imagine. And I was nothing, a bodyguard, a weapon, a shadow with no substance of my own.
I watched disappointment flicker across his features before he hid it behind courtly composure, and guilt clawed at my chest like a living thing. We'd had a moment of genuine connection, and I'd destroyed it with my own cowardice.
As the feast drew toward its close, servants clearing away platters that had held delicacies beyond counting, Serin leaned close enough that I could smell the wine on his breath, the subtle scent of oils he used in his hair.
"Walk with me," he said quietly. "The olive grove should be beautiful in the moonlight."
I nodded, though we both knew this was no true invitation. Where he went, I followed; it was the fundamental truth of my existence, the purposethat defined me more completely than my own name.
We slipped away from the dying celebration like ghosts, moving through gardens that seemed transformed by darkness into something from the realm of dreams. Night-blooming jasmine filled the air with sweetness so intense it was almost narcotic, while orange trees added their own subtle perfume to the intoxicating mixture. Moonlight painted everything in silver and shadow, turning familiar paths into mysterious routes through an enchanted landscape.
The olive grove lay beyond the formal gardens, a place of ancient trees and weathered stone where the city's noise faded to whispers. We settled on a bench still warm from the day's sunshine, the ground beneath our feet carpeted with fallen fruit that released its earthy scent when crushed underfoot.
Above us, the full moon rode the star-scattered sky like a pearl on black velvet, its light strong enough to read by. In that ethereal glow, Serin looked like something carved from ivory and dreams, too beautiful to be entirely real.
