23
The parlor’s newly-acquired collection of diversions rattle as the king closes in. A terrifying thought strikes me then.
Is he coming as anactualdragon?
The approaching footfalls certainly aren’t those of a man. Will I turn and find myself looking into the eyes of a beast? Eyes framed by the scale I saw him take on earlier? I clutch onto the faint hope that if a camel can’t mount the stairs, a dragon can’t either.
A camel. What was I thinking? Why did I aggravate him so?
I ball my fists at my sides. I don’t know, but I must face the consequences, me and me alone. I glance over the servants’ pale faces.
“Please,” I say, conjuring a smile, “if you’ll exit through the servants’ entrance, we can continue this later.”
“There’s no need.”
I nearly leap from my skin at the sound of the king’s voice. My head turns slowly toward the horned man who somehow appeared at my side without a sound. He regards the room with an even stare.
“Carry on,” he says.
I’ve never seen such a sharp turnaround; all fear evaporates from the servants’ faces as they fall back to their work. In seconds, the room takes on its previous volume.
“Good afternoon, Princess Serah,” the king says in a voice pitched only for my ears.
I gulp down a swell of nerves. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.”
A taut silence falls between us despite the clamor of the room. I’m gathering the courage to break it when the king says in the driest tone ever heard, “A camel?”
A hysterical giggle burbles up, and I have to clamp my lips together to contain it. What is the matter with me?
“I thought to divert myself,” I say, not sounding very convincing, “as you suggested.”
I remind myself that this man, this king, did tell me he was going to keep me locked up like a stone in a box, which seems as equally unreasonable as asking that a camel to be brought to one’s chambers. Still, as I watch a huddle of servants wrestle the second pianoforte through the bedroom, my conviction wanes further, even if they do look cheerful while doing it.
The king observes the spectacle without expression. “The staff’s spirits seem high for those fulfilling such a daunting string of—” He pauses to watch a peacock strut by. “—requests.”
I color. “I may have offered anyone who assisted me a day of repose. And cake.” Lots of cake. “Everyone appeared pleased.”
“Did they now?” the king asks.
Is he upset at the staff for helping me? That would be far worse than whatever ire he aims at me. All the anger I previously thought righteous suddenly seems childish,and my cheeks redden with shame. I peer up at the king through my lashes. “If you’re going to be angry with anyone, please let it be me. They only did as I asked.”
The bustle around me fades away as his eyes fall on mine, pinning me with the force of their stare.
“For someone untrained in our ways,” he says, “you seem to ascertain our weaknesses with little difficulty.”
My mouth goes dry. I offered the reward on a whim, or a hunch, really, based on the chocolate-laden breakfast and the king mentioning a desserts-only feast when I arrived. Everyonelikescake, but I wondered if dragons had a particular penchant for sweets. The staff’s eager eyes had been answer enough.
“It was only a guess, Your Majesty,” I whisper.
A clang rings out as someone drops a metal dish in the other room and it clatters across the floor. The king’s gaze doesn’t waver.
“Dragons are universally fond of cake,” he says in something nearing a rumble. “Some might say they would do anything for it.”
I don’t know what possesses me to speak then. “And you, Your Majesty?”
His eyes graze my neck and the jewel there before returning to my face. “Oh, I absolutely would, Princess.”
A gulp travels down my throat as this statement hangs between us. I have the distinct impression we’re no longer speaking of cake, and a mortifying heat creeps over my face for provoking him.
