“There are usually no weapons allowed at the feast, as all acts of war are forbidden,” Ziba says, standing to smooth my curls over my bare collarbones. “However, the king insists that you have your blade. Things can get rowdy with the Aspacana. They can be very enthusiastic with their celebrations.”
How does he know I’d feel naked without it? His thoughtfulness is unexpected. “Tell him thank you for me.”
Ziba hides her smile. “Tell him yourself. His Majesty is outside, waiting to escort you down.”
“Oh.” Suddenly, I’m breathless with anticipation. I don’t know if it’s vanity that makes me check my reflection in the mirror, but I do it anyway.
I let out a gasp. The women have outdone themselves. The bold hues of the gown complement my complexion perfectly, making my skin glow with health and radiance. My thick-lashed gray eyes look huge in my face, cheekbones rouged and my lips glistening a shiny plum. My dark curls have been brushed to a glossy sheen, the iridescent strands braided across the top into a crown of sorts and interwoven with a strand of glimmering opals. Stars above, I look like a princess... no, aqueen.
Nerves assault me as the door swings open and the king of Everlea enters.
Slowly, I turn to face him. I should notice the rich crimson velvet of his formal jacket with the touches of gold, and the way his charcoal tunic and trousers hug his towering form. I should notice the gleaming waterfall of silver hair beneath the sleek onyx crown and the compelling, arresting face that steals my breath away. I should notice the utter stillness of his shadows as if they, too, are somehow transfixed.
But all I can see is the way he looks at me and the unguarded desireburningin those midnight eyes, threatening to incinerate everything in this room.
“Gods, pátni, you undo me.”
A gasp from Ziba has my eyes darting toward her, but her head is bowed. The king’s shadows burst into frenetic motion after his whispered words, whirling around him as if barely contained. The last time he’d called me that, he had said it meant he should stay away from me.
“Leave us,” Darrius says, and the room clears.
“Does that mean you don’t actually hate me?” I tease for lack of anything cleverer to say when we stand alone.
“I could never—” He chokes on his words, his throat working. “Hate you.” Sands, is the cold, impervious king actually tongue-tied? Clearly fighting something inside—is it the curse?—he lifts his hand to rub at the center of his chest as he inhales and exhales deeply. “What I feel right now is, in fact, the opposite of that.”
I blink at the measured choice of words, refusing to read more into it. It’s a compliment, that’s all. He approaches, and his rich scent envelops me. I feel the devoted touch of his shadows, too, but I welcome their adoring, worshipful energy. My simurgh preens in response to their obvious reverence, making the runes on my arms brighten.
I wonder at their unusual connection—our magic always feels so familiar—but the thought flies from my head when the king stands at my back and turns us to the mirror. Pulse racing, I stare at his reflection, his immense frame looming over me as he wraps a gold necklace with a black pendant the size of a quail egg around my throat.
“This opal will protect you against anyone who might wish to do you harm,” he says, his fingers inordinately gentle against my skin. Tingles race at the points of contact.
I swallow and lick my lips, reaching up to touch the inky orb, seeing the light refract off the gem’s surface. “It’s beautiful.”
“It belonged to my mother,” he says softly.
“Thank you, Darrius.”
When we arrive at the main tent, where the music and dancing are already in fine form, the king’s presence is heralded. Everyone drops to one knee and bows before he gives them leave to rise. I immediately want to make myself scarce, though I can see that it will be impossible to hide in this dress. No wonder he wanted me to wear it.
Wearing his royal colors makes a statement, one that I can see does not go unnoticed, particularly by those from the Aspacana delegations. As we sweep by, I groan at the sight of two thrones on the dais. Surely Darrius doesn’t expect me to sit up there!
But of course he does.
“A throne is for your queen,” I say through my teeth when he directs me toward the dais.
He stubbornly refuses to respond and welcomes everyone, including the citizens from Verisia as well as other outlying cities, and finally, the Aspacana.
I recognize the redheaded Azes and the blond Karânî, standing with their warriors. There’s no blood on them today, but they are no less fearsome for it, even garbed in their fine clothing. Heavy gold jewelry adorns their necks and wrists, and they are dressed in their respective colors: bronze for Shabra, bone white for Chamros. I instantly catch sight of the giant in dark blue, who must be from Karkad, the water clan. The last in red, approaching the dais, is a diminutive woman who must be from Rakh.
“My king,” she says, “I see word of the guest of honor is not unwarranted in this case.”
Darrius lets out a noncommittal grunt. “Raissa Tabiti, you look well. May I introduce you to Lady Suraya.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say politely, and study the tiny brunette dressed in a stunning crimson cropped tunic and snug trousers. It’s meant to showcase the jewel glinting in her pierced belly button and the chain that winds around her trim waist. Her features are too sharp to be beautiful, but she is certainly striking... and not someone I’d want to cross on a battlefield.
Penetrating green eyes meet mine. “Word of your skill with the basilisk has already spread far and wide. You saved many.”
The king tenses beside me, but I keep my expression neutral. “Thank you, but I did not do it alone.”
