His command was clear:Follow.
Princess Cion’s throat clicked audibly next to Soren. This was far from over. Still, she kept her head held high as she strode towards the heavy door. Queen Lona stepped off the dais, immediately surrounded by her own ladies. She caught Soren’s eye for a brief moment.
Soren knew what it meant without any further indication or words. The queen was in need of her services. Her throat tightened at the prospect, but she set the fear aside for later. She would go to the queen in her chamber tonight, perhaps while Princess Cion was dining.
Little Princess Chelsa eyed her sister’s handmaidens curiously, as she always did, her gaze lingering on Soren the longest, as it always had.
Soren had no idea why the small princess was so interested in them. She was proper in a way all mothers of high society longed for their daughters to be. With long, dark tresses perfectly waved with hot irons each morning and fine silk dresses she slipped into without ever fussing, she was the definition of prim.
Soren often heard other servants, even Misean slaves, talking sweetly about the princess. And truthfully, Soren could not fault a child for the bloody war that raged hundreds of miles away.She would be a monster and a fool to do so. Then again, plenty of men in power let their hot-headed anger rule their decisions. It had always seemed odd to Soren that politics were the one place women were sparse in, thattheywere the ones said to be too emotional.
The sweet-faced princess swept past her, led away by a nanny and paraded out of the hall. With her, Soren let all wild thoughts of politics and battle and passion drift away too. She needed to focus.
Soren and the other handmaidens reached the door, and Princess Cion turned. Out of the group of her most trusted ladies, only one of them would be allowed in as her cupbearer. Who the princess chose always signified trust and who held the most of it currently. Soren had never been chosen in the past, though in fairness, there had not been many occasions. But now, the princess looked straight at her, green eyes filled with intent.
“Soren,” she murmured. “Come inside.”
Soren bowed her head immediately in thanks, as was the custom, before stepping ahead and pushing the heavy door open for the princess. Once they were both inside, Soren paused. She had never stepped into the small council chamber before, but it was as opulent as she had imagined.
Chairs made of soft, woven wood lined a long table, both made from rare Golden Nectar trees, said to have originally come from Arcadia. The surface of the table was covered in a long runner of turquoise-stained silk and laden with silver goblets and pitchers of sweet berry wine.
The large, arched window looked out across the cliffs beyond, creating a dizzying effect. It felt oddly as if she were standing on the edge of the world as she glanced outside. And perhaps, in a way, she was. This was the room where decisions that had caused the deaths of thousands of her people occurred. Now, itwould be the room where the princess’ life was surely to change forever, though Soren had little idea of how.
“Sit, Cion,” the king said, taking a spot in his own chair at the head of the table.
The princess perched delicately a few seats away from him, leaving room for the masters of coin, war, and trade closer to the king. Royal guards stood on either side of the door as it shut, their long, curved swords readied for any dangers that might lurk nearby. Their capes were a gleaming shade of jade, pressed with the royal crest: a rare Vemon dragon eclipsing the sun. It was a great symbol of power, as Vemon were the largest, and often most powerful, of their kind. It was fitting, she supposed, for the biggest kingdom on the continent. After all, Aren held eleven districts within its borders, whereas Mise held only five and Meesling three.
“There is more to this agreement,” King Johannas began.
Princess Cion was ramrod straight in her chair, and Soren, with the other slaves and servants, kept to the shadows at the edges of the room, only stepping forward if wine was requested.
“I understand, Father,” the princess replied quietly. “Will you expand?”
The king chuckled dryly. The sound sent a small shiver up Soren’s spine.
“You have always been the most headstrong and passionate of my children,” he said thoughtfully. “Which makes for a good warrior. You will do well on the battlefield, especially once you are astride a dragon.”
“But?” Princess Cion dared, raising a single, sculpted brow.
Soren curled her fingers into a fist, hating that she cared what the king said next. Shewantedto loathe these people, but she had known the princess since they were children, servingher since they were practically just playmates. And now, Princess Cion Livii, with her easy smiles and snarky quips, was going toride into battle and murder hundreds of Soren’s people astride whatever terrifying beast chose her.
For the briefest of moments, King Johannas paused, and in the hush of that breath, his gaze dragged over to the shadows where Soren stood. His amber-speckled eyes narrowed as they snagged on her.
Soren had never considered herself remarkable, and she had done her best to never catch the eye of the king. Up until this moment, she had been invisible, but she wondered what he saw as he looked at her now.
Like most from Mise, she had tawny skin that grew a shade darker in the heat of the summertime. She was short and slight but not overly muscular, since her work for the princess was not particularly labor-intensive. Her clothing was simple, just twisted pieces of fabric that crossed over her torso and fell to her bare ankles. The only adornments she was allowed were the small bronze studs in her ears and the single, gold-tinted ring in her nose, and even that was only permitted because she served in the royal household. None of her jewelry or clothing was truly fine; it was made to look presentable to reflect properly on those she served, but at the end of the day, she was often left with ripped bits of fabric she had mend herself or tarnish on her nose ring.
The only feature that had ever pinned her as different was her silver hair, tucked back into two long braids. A birth defect, she had been told by her parents.
Even so, there was no reason for King Johannas to be looking at her, but there was no mistaking the heavy weight of his attention. When the king singled a person out, they knew it, and it was almost never a good thing.
Soren resisted the urge to duck her chin or shift her feet. It would be over soon, and he would look away. She was nothing and no one, simply another orphan picked up from a burningvillage in Mise. There were many who had come before her and many who would surely come after her if this war continued the way it was.
King Johannas did look away, and she was entirely certain the whole exchange only lasted a few seconds, even if it felt much longer. Still, those brief moments left a feeling of acrid heaviness behind, as if his fathomless stare had been branded into her very being. She tamped down her fear as he began to speak again.
“But you are my heir now. That comes with certain duties and responsibilities, including marriage.”
Princess Cion opened her mouth, but the king lifted his hand before she could speak. “I have let you carry on for too long, Cion, like a child with a plaything they have outgrown. It is time to take on your true responsibilities as a member of the royal household.”
