“If you hurt her, I’ll be back for you! You hear me?”
I gasp, but to my surprise, the declaration is met with chuckles by the crowd. And the king…
He turns slowly and lowers himself into a deep, solemn bow.
“Come,” he says when he rises, taking my hand himself this time. I take one last look at my mother and sister before letting him lead me away.
The king’s two attendants meet him at the bottom of the gangplank. Twins, I realize, though it’s no wonder I didn’t notice upon my first glance at the pair. One,stern-faced and burly, cuts a quick bow to me. The other grins as he bows, while simultaneously holding a recently-broken nose. Very recently, from the looks of the dried blood about his nostrils.
“Soren,” the burly one says, “We need to get her out of here. Now.”
Soren. Dragons often guard their given names like jewels, this much I know. Did this man just reveal the king’s right in front of me?
“Wyverns?” the king asks coolly.
“Yes,” the man says, his face grim. “They’re coming.”
5
The king tightens his grip on my hand as if I might be thinking of bolting, which I do contemplate for a brief moment.
What’s a wyvern? And why does it sound like something I’d rather not be coming?
“How far?” This the king asks the attendant with the broken nose.
I watch with open fascination as the man lifts the damaged appendage into the air to give the wind several sniffs, then flashes the king four fingers. The king answers with a curt nod.
“Clear the way, Rally,” he says.
Like a great bellows, the burly attendant sucks down a breath and releases a roar of, "Make way for the king."
I catch one final glimpse of our ship before I’m being pulled through the crowd, faces blurring on either side of me.
“My things…” I begin. The king said his servants would fetch them, but I’d hoped to see them off myself. My own gowns would certainly be a comfort, but it’s my books and telescope I’m more concerned with.
“They’ll be brought,” he says shortly.
I’m desperate to slow down, to smile at the people in greeting and make a warm impression. At this speed, I can barely make out individual features, much less exchange pleasantries with anyone. I do note the absence of any other horns like those of the man towing me along behind him. Why is he the only one?
“Make way,” Rally booms again.
Noses lift as I pass, alarming me at first as I wonder if this is a sign of disapproval. I realize after a moment that they aresniffingme as I pass. I fight the urge to bite my lip.
“Faster, princess,” the king says, giving my hand a harsh jerk.
Heat pricks the back of my eyes. My sister, Celeste, spent the first three weeks of her new marriage crying, and I’d already decided on not doing the same. Yet here I was blinking back tears on the first day. I search desperately for something to distract me.
A cat, looking out an upper window of a nearby building, catches my eye. He’s a handsome tabby bearing the unimpressed expression typical of felines. A ginger watches from atop a balcony—two gingers, rather—and now that my eyes are cast higher, I note several of varying stripes and spots perched atop shoulders throughout the crowd. Cats are no strangers to ports, of course, but normally they’re skulking about for bits of fish, not sitting on people as if they’re chairs.
I’m suddenly wrenched to the left and we break free of the crowd, emerging onto a paved street bordered by towering stone buildings. I’ve barely taken notice of the carriage in front of me before the king is thrusting me up the stairs.
“Inside,” he says, his hand hot against the small of my back.
The door is shut, and the carriage lurches forward.
Leaving me trapped with the king.
For a moment, he simply stands just inside, hunched and staring at the floor as if his feet took root there.
