I can’t see much of his figure under his black robes, but I’m willing to bet it’s perfect as well.
I can see why someone might find him handsome. Someone, not me. I like faces with a bit more character, with a bit of history in them. A nose broken defending someone’s honor. A scar from the time oil jumped out of the pan.
This man looks like he hasn’t suffered a day in his life.
A smile flashes across his lips; there and gone in an instant.
Can he feel my disdain?
“Presenting, by the Grace of the Gods, Ronan III; Most High, Most Mighty, and Most Exalted God-King of Selara; Lord of Nithyria and Protector of the Realm. Please stand in line and wait to greet your king.”
Of course Cyrus threw that bit in there about Nithyria. It takes every ounce of control that I have not to roll my eyes.
Our small party is made up of the only members of our house worthy of introduction to royalty: our alchemist Hermes, our Guardian Larus, me, and finally Adria. Typhon ignores his father’s command and goes to a corner of the small room to greet a short-haired woman in a silk shirt and trousers who entered with Ronan. I guess he’s met the king many times before.
I want to ask Larus who Typhon is talking to, but everyone is silent as they wait for the king to approach.
He starts with Hermes. Hermes bows low to the king and is careful not to meet his eye.
Was I not supposed to look at him? I’m pretty sure Larus mentioned that.
Shit.
“Welcome back, Warden Magnus.” I wonder if Ronan truly remembers Hermes, who hasn’t spent much time in the capital since the war began, or if he’s just pretending to do so to seem charming.
Unfortunately, it seems to work on Hermes, who chuckles as he thanks the king for his generosity. This is part of the reason we kept him out of the plan: he’s something of a sycophant, and the alchemists on the whole have always been loyal to the crown over their assigned houses.
Next up is Larus. Larus gives a respectful bow, if not as fawning of a bow as Hermes, and meets the king’s eye with a face of perfect passivity.
Okay, eye contact must be allowed.
“Guardian Larus Adama,” says Ronan. Ronan has a couple of inches on Larus, but he tilts his head forward a bit to diminish the difference. “I heard tales of the elegance of your swordsmanship from my father. I hope you’ll do us the honor of entering into the tournament.”
Larus laughs at the suggestion, but unlike Hermes, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I leave the fighting to the young these days, but I’m sure our girls will do us proud.”
“I’m counting on it,” says Ronan.
Then he turns to me.
His eyes lock with mine before he even steps closer to face me. His stare is unnerving in its intensity. My instinct is to look away. To sink back into the shadows, to let his light shine on someone else.
But I remember what Larus told me. I can’t think of his words, not when I’m close enough to the king to reach out and touch him. Not when I’m certain he can feel everything I'm feeling. But I remember how they made me feel. Defiant. Angry.
Powerful.
I straighten my back, pulling myself up as tall as I can. I’m wearing my armor, not the dress we’d hoped would make a good impression, but maybe it’s for the best. Let him see our strength before I try to beguile him.
Then I bow, but I don’t break eye contact.
He hesitates for a long moment before speaking to me, his face unreadable. “Sylvara of House Verran,” he says, his voice soft. Intimate. As if I’m the only person in the room.
“Sylvie,” I say, maybe a little too loudly.
I can see his game. He’s sensed my desire to avoid the spotlight, and he’s trying to win me over by making me comfortable.
Maybe I should let him believe he has. Maybe I should smile and act like I’m swooning.
I do admit that I feel the same sort of warmth and comfort in his presence as I felt in Zara’s. It must be a gift of the light-born, then. And it’s an unfair one at that. How easy life must be when everyone likes you simply because they feel good when they’re near you.
