“He’ll come for you,” Rally whispers, and then he and his brother retreat into the shadows, leaving me to face the crowd alone.
No, not alone. The king stands, and as soon as he does, every head lowers. His gaze and his alone remains on me.
A fire lights in his eyes as he steps off the dais and starts toward me. This is different than the blaze I saw when he threatened Abely, and I feel the heat of it shiver through me as he stalks my way, the floor shuddering impossibly beneath his steps as his subjects wait.
I hold my skirts out at my sides and curtsy as he closes in. “Your Majesty,” I say in a breathy voice.
“They didn’t tell me you were wearing that.”
My throat is suddenly very dry.
That was not the reaction I was hoping for.
“Is something wrong with it, Your Majesty?” I ask, peering up at him.
The fire in his eyes blazes high. Then he blinks, and the flames vanish.
“Of course not,” he says.
Instead of an arm, he holds his hand out to me. I take it and try to ignore the sting of disappointment.
“Please join me,” the king booms, “in welcoming Princess Serah Celandina to the Kingdom of Tirenth.”
“Welcome,” his court says in unison, their heads still bowed. I’m sure the greeting isn’tmeantto be unsettling.
Together, the king and I walk the length of the silent hall together. He’s wearing the coat I chose for him—a long, open dress coat with silver embroidery along the lapels and edges—and I can’t deny he looks handsome in it.
All right, strikingly handsome.
Well, his lack of courtesy is no excuse for my own.
“You look dashing,” I whisper.
His fingers tighten on mine. “Thank you.”
At his bewildered tone, I sneak a glance at him. Is he…blushing? Surely not.
“Did you polish your horns?” I ask. “They seem to be gleaming more than usual.”
“I did.”
He isdefinitelyblushing.
My cheeks pucker in an effort not to smile. I’ve blushed more in the past couple of days than I have in my entire life, and to return the favor almost makes up for his reaction to my gown.
The king guides me onto the dais first and draws me down beside him. When we’re both seated, the hall finally returns to life. I breathe a sigh of relief as dishes begin clattering again.
Servants descend upon us, and in seconds, a vast array of meats, breads, and dips engulf the table. At a gesture from the king, I make the first selection. Some moments pass before he speaks.
“How was your time with my sister?”
It’s not the question I expected first, but I appreciate the attempt at conversation. “Wonderful. We spent a lovely afternoon together.”
He speaks little after that and looks at me even less. I occupy myself for some time by surreptitiously observing those around us. In appearance, no one seems anything but human, but I notice suggestions of their other forms—hair sculpted into the shape of horns, bracelets crafted to look like scales.
Strangely, no one but servants approach. There are no greetings or introductions. In truth, I feel a bit like a possession on display.
A not-so-favored one at that.
