Page 10 of Wild Flame

Don’t fidget. Stand up straight.My mother’s all too familiar voice scraped through my mind. I forced myself not to shift or give away how uncomfortable I was and tried to keep my eyes straight ahead as we approached.

A half-dozen steps led up to the top of the multi-tiered dais, with a large central platform and two lower platforms several steps down on either side.

On one lower platform sat a man with dark hair and eyes and a closely cropped beard. He appeared older than me by several years and was leaning back in his cushioned seat, looking incredibly bored with the whole affair. We had never met, but I assumed this had to be Prince Amir, Prince Malik’s younger brother. On the other lower platform sat two women. One was older and clad in all white—the Zehvitian mourning color—with a sheer veil covering her lower face. She had to be Queen Vashti, wife of the late king. The other was Princess Zara—whom I had nearly assassinated a few nights ago.

My stomach dropped and churned with nerves at the sight of her, as I considered what I had almost done. I had returned to the inn that night without a problem and spent the rest of it tossing and turning in my bed, agonizing over my choice. I still wasn’t sure if I had done the right thing. Silvanus didn’t tolerate failure. I had never not completed an assignment before, so I wasn’t sure what he would do when he found out.

Our god hadn’t stricken me down yet, either. Which made me wonder if maybe I had been correct about Silvanus, and that maybe—just maybe—I had done the right thing in leaving the princess alive.

I made sure my impenetrable mask was still in place as I studied her more closely.

The princess appeared older, dressed formally as she was. She wore a gold midriff-baring top and wide-leg pants with a gold sash flowing from one shoulder to her opposite hip. Her hair had been pinned back from her face and was woven with tinkling gold chains. She also had gold bangles on her wrists and ankles, and wore a diamond teardrop necklace, while another teardrop dangled at the center of her forehead.

Who would want this girl dead? It didn’t make any sense.

Pushing all thoughts of that aside for the moment, I allowed my gaze to shift upward and lock on the figure on the central platform. Nerves of a different sort began to overtake me.

I was surprised to see that rather than a throne, the soon-to-be king lounged on a large, flat crimson cushion, surrounded by smaller red-gold pillows.

Prince Malik was as beautifully, brutally masculine as I remembered. His beard was dark and closely shaven like his brother’s and so many of the Zehvitian men I had seen, with a strong jaw and distractingly sensual mouth. His eyes were a deep golden brown, and his dark hair was short, though with a slight curl that reached just below his ears. He was leaning back on one elbow, long fingers crossed before him, as he watched our approach. Even in that lounging position, it was easy to see that he was just as tall and broad as the last time I’d seen him. He wore flowing dark pants and a red gold tunic that was partially unbuttoned down the center, revealing golden skin and a flat muscular chest. He wore no crown, but I could make out the glint of thick gold-plated bands around his wrists. Despite all the wealth displayed, his large feet were bare.

All three siblings held similarities with their bronze skin and dark hair, and they were all dragon riders, but none wore their dragonscale armor. Instead, each wore a variation of red, gold, and black—the Kathar family colors. Though I did note that they all wore at least one article of white mourning clothing—Amir a white sash around his waist, Zara a pearl-encrusted bracelet I had not noticed at first glance, and Malik a white band around his upper arm. Several other Zehvitians around the hall wore articles of white clothing as well.

None of the siblings’ dragons were present, which I found odd. Until I considered that they had no doubt been sitting in these presentations all day and what dragon would want to be a partof that? In my experience, Nova had always found other places to be whenever Helene had to see to her court duties for any extended period.

“Your Highness.” Nilfren bowed low at the waist before Malik, then bowed to the others, acknowledging each with a nod and a similar greeting. “It will be an honor to celebrate King Nazeem’s long, prosperous reign with you and your people. I have never had the chance to participate in Zehvitian funeral celebrations before. I have heard they can be quite memorable.”

I couldn’t tell by the benign half smile Prince Malik kept in place how he truly felt about the man beside me or his little speech.

“The honor is mine, Ambassador,” Malik replied, his smooth, cultured voice slightly accented as he projected for all those assembled to hear. His perceptive stare took in Nilfren before moving to me.

I had forgotten how penetrating that stare of his was. It gave away nothing of how he felt, but for some reason the look in his eyes made me think he knew how uncomfortable I was in my sweltering dress.

I stiffened my spine, refusing to show even a hint of discomfort.

“Thank you for traveling so far, Your Highness,” he said, finally addressing me directly.

I wasn’t given much choice,is what I wanted to say, but I bit back that response. As a royal myself, I didn’t bow, but I did incline my head before replying, “Thank you for having us, Your Majesty. I, too, am looking forward to the celebrations.” Then, maybe because I felt like I couldn’t stay silent on the subject, or maybe because of the tired, heavy look in the prince’s eyes, I continued. “And I am sorry about your father’s passing. I myself have never lost a family member, but if I had . . .” I swallowed, thinking of losing Helene. “I can’t imagine what you must begoing through. I am sorry for your loss. Truly.” I made sure to include his siblings and stepmother in my look as well and saw genuine surprise cross the princess’s face. Prince Amir had no response, save for raised eyebrows. The Queen had let out a small sound. Prince Malik's face still gave nothing away, though the intensity of his stare increased as he regarded me.

It was then I became aware of the murmurs all around me. I had known I wasn’t supposed to offer condolences, Nilfren had told me as much, but I hadn’t been able to help it. I didn’t react to the stir I had caused as the prince continued to meet my stare. My chest tightened as the air between us seemed to grow weighted. Heavy.

Prince Malik opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Nilfren interrupted. “My deepest apologies, Your Majesty,” the ambassador said, his voice slightly strained. “The princess is only newly familiar with the ways of your people.” He shot me a look of only faintly veiled censure.

The strange spell between the prince and I broke, and I flushed hot, glancing momentarily away. “My apologies,” I began, once again very aware of the eyes on me. “I-I meant no offense. I only—” Nilfren’s hand that had been resting placidly over mine on his arm tightened rather painfully, and I instantly stopped speaking.

Malik’s eyes cut sharply to where Nilfren’s hand gripped mine, and something like anger darkened his eyes. “Ambassador,” his commanding voice cracked like a whip, silencing the crowd. “I took no offense at Princess Leida’s words and understand the sentiment in which they were intended.” He stared pointedly at where Nilfren gripped my hand, and the man promptly released me. Only then did Malik return that penetrating stare to me, and his voice lost much of its stiff formality. “Thank you, Princess. I hope you enjoy the celebrations and take in the many delights Taveran has to offer during your time here.”

“Thank you. I will, Your Majesty,” I murmured, my voice wavering slightly. His stare held mine for another tense moment before he nodded.

Nilfren quickly introduced Leif, and he and Malik exchanged a few words. But I barely heard what was said as I fought to quell the lingering flush that had nothing to do with the heat and everything to do with the look in the prince’s eyes.

After that, Nilfren, Leif, and I stepped to the side and stood watching as Malik made a gesture with his hand and the doors at the other end of the hall opened once more. We stood there for over an hour as noble after noble was presented to the royal family. To distract myself, I began to study the beautifully unusual architecture of the dome overhead, loving how it allowed so much light into the space. We had nothing of its kind anywhere in Halmar.

Eventually, the striking young woman and the Zehvitian rider I had noticed earlier entered the throne room and were announced as Rajar Salim of Sohan, and his daughter, Priya Salim. The kingdom of Zehvi was broken up into seven territories known as Rajid. Each territory was ruled by a noble family whose leader was known as a Rajar. The leaders reported to the king and were subject to his rule in all matters. Zehvi did not have a council like Baldor or a Tribunal of Elders like Halmar. The king’s word was law.

Rulers also had their Fangdar—an elite group of dragon riders, that were usually made up of their closest friends and advisors. They did not govern or rule a territory like the Rajar, and they were not guards, but the six of them often had special roles at court and abroad. Nilfren had explained that one of Prince Malik’s Fangdar was his newly appointed spymaster, while another worked with the trainees who had not yet passed the trials. If rumor was to be believed, many of them had grown up at court together and represented most of the Zehvitianterritories among them. I didn’t know them all by name, but I did recognize the tall man standing just to the right of the dais as one of them. Harun Usif—I guessed from Nilfren’s description—a tall man with a pointed beard and a stern stare, was Prince Malik’s closest friend and oversaw dragon rider assignments in the capital and other cities in Zehvi. A sand-colored dragon sat curled asleep at his feet. The Fangdar were easy to spot because, on formal occasions like this, they all wore the distinct dragon head insignia on their armor.

Returning my attention to the Rajar and his daughter, I noted they received the warmest welcome yet. Prince Malik smiled while he greeted them, and Princess Zara practically flew down from the dais to embrace the other woman. The two were obviously friends. I didn’t miss the look the woman—Priya—gave Malik, either. Even Queen Vashti moved—though more sedately than her daughter—down to greet her.

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