Page 14 of The Phoenix Inheritance

Dane

“How do you manage to look glum even when you’re surrounded by the most beautiful women in all of Sowilo?”

I impale a pickle with a small fork before casting a bored glance at my brother. Warwick is dressed in his finest regalia consisting of a cavalry jacket in our colors, a black minotaur fur capelet slung over one shoulder, and various other fineries from around the Kingdom. For the special occasion he doesn’t keep his wings hidden, as they’re magnificently splayed on his back, a vision of amber, bronze and imperial red.

I must be dressed in a similar fashion, though I can't be bothered to check. Minus the wings, obviously. As servants prepared us for tonight’s ball, my mind was everywhere but on the event that had the whole fort buzzing for days.

The annual mythical coalition council is being held in Sowilo this year, with eminent leaders from all species and countries coming to forge alliances or attempt to overcome feuds. Father decided to start off with a bang, throwing a massive reception that shan’t fail to impress. He also has high hopes that Warwick and I will find ourselves a pair of fiancées tonight.

Yet in the three days since I wandered back from Solenz, I can count on one hand the times I’ve thought about the ball. My attention has been engaged… elsewhere.

Not on Thyra, the daughter the Oþala King tried to introduce to me. I attempted to make eye contact with the one person who knows what it feels like to be human in a family of phoenixes, but her focus never left the floor. Most likely timid due to the rotten blow fate has dealt her. All it takes is a glimpse of that violet gaze, striking but churning with shame, to know that I don’t want to end up like her.

Yet the other prospects that are presented to me, each far better than Thyra, fail to catch my interest as well.

Strange thing, because I spent my whole life yearning for an opportunity like this. A chance to meet a woman worthy to be a phoenix’s partner. One whose mythical nature runs deep in her blood, whose beauty rivals all others.

One who can save me. Who can make me strong in Father’s eyes. Because she’ll have powers that inspire respect, a family lineage that will consolidate our state. With her at my arm, no-one would dare look down upon me again.

As I twirl my appetizer between my fingers, pondering about my strange lack of enthusiasm, Warwick nudges me and jerks towards a tall black-haired woman.

“Or from around the world, for that matter. Did you notice her? She’s the Princess of Nezemab, and she’s been ogling you for ten minutes straight.” He grabs some food from the banquet and promptly begins to imitate me with a devilish smile. “If I knew glaring at a pickle would capture the eye of a pretty Sphinx like her, I would’ve started sooner.” Warwick nudges me forward. “Go ahead! Talk to her.”

My brother’s shove is mighty enough to send me staggering to the woman’s side. Recognition strikes me as I take in her gold-spun gown and lapis lazuli jewelry, a turquoise more vivid than the southern shores of Sowilo.

Tabia, the King of Nezemab’s beloved daughter and the uncontested goddess of the Nile.

I never saw her in person until now, but I certainly heard a lot about her. People whisper about Tabia’s mightiness as a Sphinx even beyond her Kingdom’s borders, and her beauty has become the stuff of legends. I can now attest that the rumors are true.

Because Tabia is majestic, simply put. Superiority is etched into every fiber of her being, from the proud tilt of her chin to the elegance with which she carries herself. She must be nearly as tall as me, a faint trail of leopard-like spots lead to claws that scream power, her unwavering golden eyes are unequivocally mystical. The slinky material of her dress clings to her curves, more full and tantalizing than I could dream of.

“I’ve travelled a long way here, and now it seems the trip may finally be worth it,” she speaks like a Queen.

I sheepishly scratch the back of my head, unsure of what to say. “Oh yes? How did you, um, travel?”

Tabia’s shapely brows shoot high as she appraises me coldly. “With the flow of the Nile, of course. Then we sailed through the Red Sea, and then the Dead Sea…”

“Dead?” I echo none too brightly. Something about her eyes puts me off. They’re like gemstones – vivid but dreadfully hard.

“Not because any massacre took place there, unfortunately,” she utters so calmly the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Its name comes from the fact that the lake has so much salt, plants and animals cannot flourish.”

“Huh.”

So the Solenz isn’t the only of its kind. I store the information away, only to realize Tabia is awaiting a more elaborate response.

She’s perfect. Everything I’ve ever yearned for. And Father has spoken many times of making an alliance with Nezemab, the long-standing beacon of the supernatural world in the Middle East.

Yet I find myself awkwardly bidding farewell and walking back towards my brother, my pickle still untouched.

“Nah,” I inform him hastily. “Not really my type, I guess.”

And is a scrawny human with hair as colorless as a kitchen mouse and curves as non-existent as the Barrens plains more your type?

I frown at the snarky little voice in my head. Isobel isn’t without charm. Her big brown eyes have a way of drawing a person in like a fish on a hook. Besides, since my bizarre and quite disastrous visit three days ago, I know what she feels like in my arms – beautiful.

And that makes me frown again. I shouldn’t be mooning after Isobel like I’ve been doing ever since she pushed me away by the lake. I shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place.

“Blazing ashes, Dane, do you ever stop scowling?”

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