“Umbra, I swear to Akaori…”
Killian’s response drowns out in the loud creak of the opening gate. The metal-like door moves slowly, dispersing particles of sand everywhere and revealing an inner courtyard where several warriors draped in ochre headscarves that cover their hair and faces await with their hands hovering over long dune swords hanging from their waists.
At the forefront stands the azure-eyed human, his headscarf unraveled to reveal a gorgeous ginger man, with unruly copper hair and a few days’ old stubble peppering his strong jawline. He throws me a quick once-over, his gaze lingering a second longer than it should on my exposed legs, before facing Killian head-on.
“Kahlya and Celine are not momentarily available. I am to accompany you to your chambers to rest and freshen up, and afterwards a private dinner will be held in your honor.”
“And you are?” Killian asks, not concealing his contempt. There go his so-called diplomacy skills.
“Mael, at your disposal, Foretold One.”
The man directs his response to me, purposefully ignoring Killian, as he bows slightly and offers me an arm that I gingerly take.
“I’m Kahlya’s cousin and thesuperiorsyou requested me to fetch for you. High General of the Reweroth army,” he throws over his shoulder to a stone-faced Killian.
“Call me Aimee,” I say as I let him guide me through the courtyard, past his line of warriors and up the polished steps leading into the palace. “Don’t mind him; that’s just his charming personality.”
Mael throws a dazzling smile my way as Killian mutters behind me something that sounds very much like “pain in my ass”.
The inside of Kasbah Sol’Kantarra is even more breathtaking than its exterior. Cool-stoned narrow hallways give in to rectangular courtyards centered on shallow pools of clear water, lush palm trees giving shade as the smell of orange blossoms permeates the air. The sun doesn’t feel so unforgiving inside here, and I let my senses get lost in the place’s beauty.
Carved wooden doors gleam with gold and silver celestial inscriptions, while pristine marble fountains trickle water in a perpetual loop. Mael veers to the left, and we go through such an intricately decorated doorway and up a flight of burnished stairs to reach a golden door so shiny I can see my reflection perfectly in it.
“Your room, Aimee. I hope everything will be to your liking. I’ll return at sunset to escort you to dinner.”
He winks mischievously before turning to Killian, all playfulness gone from his face.
“Come, Vampire King. Your chamber is next.”
I’ve been soaking in the giant sunken bathtub for the last few hours, relishing the peaceful moment. Pale pink and pristine white lotus flowers float all around me, while aromatic sandalwood oil fragrances the air.
When I first entered the bedroom, I was taken aback by its sheer artistry. The semicircular room opens onto a vast balcony, marble colonnades separating the two spaces, with the square bathtub set in the middle, while a giant golden canopy bed sits against the far wall.
I thought my room in Sangeries was pretty, but as I watch the sun descend on the horizon, lighting the sky on fire in hues of burnt orange and carmine, I have to admit nothing I’ve ever seen in my short life can hold a candle to Sol’Kantarra.
Splendor like this must be preserved. That’s another reason why we must defeat my sister at all costs. She would have no qualms about erasing this palace, this city from the face of the realm, in her bloodthirsty quest for power. All she cares about is death and destruction, and for some Godsforsaken reason I can’t fathom, Killian.
I haven’t forgotten her bizarre proclamation of ownership over him. She made it seem as though there was an ancient history between them, something I’m not privy to. Yet his puzzled bewilderment appeared so genuine, so unrehearsed that I don’t know what to believe.
I should probably ask him about it at some point, if and when we manage to hold a conversation for more than two minutes without hurling insults at one another.
The deepening violet and fuchsia hues of the sunset drag me out of my thoughts, realization dawning upon me that I should prepare for the dinner Mael mentioned.
I wrap myself in the linen robe that I found folded on top of a beige ottoman next to the bathtub and start perusing the clothes inside the spacious wooden wardrobe.
The style here differs from both Ryawarath and Wrahta. Fluid materials in light, earthy tones and bold cuts that surely leave skin exposed in all the right places comprise most of the desert wear.
I settle on a fitted crop top bodice and a flowing skirt crafted from the softest, ephemeral silk I’ve ever touched, dyed in rose gold and bronze hues that resemble the dunes outside, touched by the setting sun.
The translucent fabric drapes in layers upon layers, each one sheer enough to catch the dying embers of light, yet creating an opaque barrier between my skin and any wandering gazes.
I glide several golden spiral bracelets up my forearms, my shadows swirling delicately against the adornments. My feet are bare, save for matching anklets.
A rasping knock on the door comes just as I finish brushing my wet hair, letting it air dry into natural curls that cascade down my back.
Mael awaits in the hallway, his unruly copper hair combed back, his wheaten shirt half unbuttoned to reveal a muscular chest.
“Aimee, it is my pleasure to accompany you to dinner this evening,” he says, extending a hand in a courteous gesture.
