“Oh yes. My family’s villa is constructed out of the entire mountainside. Still, the smaller homes here in Wilderise have a certain charm.”
Lord Ainsley’s smile remained pleasant, but Rinka could see the hint of a smirk pulling at his left cheek. “Mountainside? I believed Paistos to be on the sea.”
She had truly pushed a button then to have earned such a contentious response, but she pressed on. “The mountains meet the sea in Paistos, yes. Much like the eastern coast of Wilderise.”
“Of course,” said Lord Ainsley. “Forgive me; I was never much for geography. If you’ll both excuse me, I’m needed to greet the royal family. Or—the remaining members of the royal family. Forgive me, your highness.”
“Buffoon,” said Idris once he was out of earshot. “A nice dig you got in there, though. Done with all the passive aggressive animosity of a real courtier.”
“Thank you, your highness,” said Rinka with a smirking half-curtsy.
“Don’t forget what happens when you call me that,” growled Idris, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
The crowd stilled as the king made his final approach. He passed low overhead, cutting a straight line to the wicker man.
Then he roared, fire leaping from his open mouth to the wooden figure, bursting it into flame.
The crowd went wild.
“He does have a flair for the theatric,” said Idris.
Rinka would not admit it to him at this moment, but she did find it pretty entertaining.
With the king finally landed, the royals shifted back into their regular forms with a series of loud cracks that bounced from the walls of the manor like thunder. They were each wearing fine robes in the exact same shades as their scales, Rinka realized.
“The only bit of magic my father has patience for,” said Idris. “As much as he hates it, he could never stand for the royal family changing form in the nude.”
“A pity,” said Rinka. “I’d like to see that.”
“You’d like to see my father naked?”
“I—shoot. That one got away from me a bit there.”
“Don’t worry,” said Idris. “I understood your meaning.”
“Excuse me, your highness. The king has requested your presence,” said a woman in uniform.
“Come, my lady, it’s time to meet the family,” said Idris, offering his arm.
“I’m sorry, sir, but the king only requested that you come. Not the young lady.” The woman in uniform nervously looked at Rinka, hoping this wouldn’t be a problem.
“Well, won’t he be delighted then when he gets the both of us?”
“Rule-breaker,” muttered Rinka as she allowed him to lead her past the courtiers to the field where the royal family was gathered.
No one was rude enough to tell her to leave once she was there already, and so Idris introduced her to his closest relatives, who all greeted him with a surprising amount of kindness and delight at seeing him again after so long.
All except for the king and Princess Ceri, at least.
Princess Ceridwen looked very little like her brother. She was pale where he was tan, short where he was tall, her hair silver where his was black, and her eyes blue where his were brown. And yet the eyes were the same exact shape, an almond shape that must have belonged to their mother because they looked nothing like the king’s.
King Derkomai shared Idris’s imposing figure and his daughter’s coloring, but little else with either of them. Still, he was a handsome man for his age, his full head of silver hair windswept underneath a silver crown studded with deep red jewels to match his royal robes.
His pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief or perhaps cruelty; it was difficult for Rinka to say.
“Prince Idris,” he said. “How good of you to join us.”
The words were sweet, but the tone was acidic. Rinka gulped, trying to remain calm.
