Page 58 of Wild Flame

The day of the coronation dawned bright and warm, and from the moment I woke, there was a bustle of activity. I bathed, and as I ate breakfast, my hair was done up in one of the most elaborately braided hairstyles I had worn since coming here. I was representing Halmar today in every way. No more Zehvitian-inspired dresses for me.

Instead, I wore the gown my mother had told Hilde to pack for me specifically for the coronation. The gown was pale blue, trimmed in silver fur, with a square neckline and long sleeves. Thankfully, the fabric wasn’t as heavy as some, and there were stylistic slashes down the arms that allowed it to breathe.

As I put the dress on, it felt like I was donning armor against what I had let happen in the gazebo with Malik, and our conversation afterward. I refused to let myself dwell on what we had done—what his hands, his mouth, had made me feel. I absolutely could not think about the fact that he had implied it allhadmeant something to him. What did I think would come of it? He was as good as betrothed to someone else—to Priya. It was all anyone could talk about as the other courtiers and I madeour way off the palace grounds and walked the short distance to the Temple of the Warrior just outside the gates surrounding the palace. Everyone was convinced Malik would announce his engagement tonight during the ball. I even noticed some people eyeing me speculatively, and I supposed I could understand why, since he had picked me for the dance last night.

Do you honestly think he will choose you?My mother’s sharp, horrible voice intruded on my whirling thoughts.You’re not even a dragon rider. What man would want you? Let alone a king. He might want you to spread your legs for him, but nothing more.

I fought to repress the vile words. So instead, my mind focused on something else Malik had said last night.

Don’t do that.

Don’t do what?

Retreat back behind that wall of yours.

The words replayed over and over in my head as we entered the temple where the coronation ceremony was to be held. Leif escorted me to our seats down near the front of the large, echoing nave. I wondered if I ever had the chance to come out from behind that wall Malik talked about, what I would find. Would that woman be terrifying and bitter and mean? Or maybe . . . maybe she could be someone kind. If she didn’t have to constantly worry about protecting herself and being who others wanted or expected her to be . . . if she could be herself . . . maybe she would be someone worth knowing.

“. . . rumor is that he is claiming he cannot remember what happened. Doesn’t know why he did it.”

The Zehvitian lady's conversation beside me interrupted my internal thoughts. Her companion, a ruddy faced elderly man sitting next to her, responded, “Total lie if you ask me. I heard they were postponing the trial. Blatant favoritism. Even Fangdar should not be immune from our laws.”

My stomach sank as I realized they were discussing Ramin. Zara had relayed to me that Taj’s investigation had stalled. He and his spies could find nothing more on the reasons behind the attack or what exactly had been done to Ramin. Malik had recently announced that they were postponing the trial until more information came to light. But it was only a temporary solution. Ramin’s dragon could only be sedated for so long while his rider was imprisoned. Sekar was currently being kept separate from Ramin, only allowed to rouse long enough to eat before being put back under again. A decision would have to be made soon.

I was just about to tell the two busybodies to shut their mouths about topics they didn’t fully understand, when the crowd outside let out a collective roar of excitement, and I knew Malik had arrived. Everyone inside the temple rose from their seats and turned as Malik appeared between the tall doors at the back of the hall. He was resplendent in a dark red cloak with Azrun at his side.

He stared straight ahead. When he reached the front of the room, he knelt before the priestess who stood there waiting. She looked to be the same one from the funeral as she spoke a few words in ancient Zehvitian while anointing his forehead with oil.

Then she began speaking in the common tongue, and Malik repeated after her. He swore the oath, pledging to honor the gods and uphold the laws of this land and defend and protect the people of this kingdom. The priestess then put the glittering gold and ruby-encrusted crown on Malik’s head.

He rose and turned to face the silent crowd, then removed his cloak. He was bare-chested underneath. A priest stepped forward and marked Malik with the Kathar family sigil directly over his heart. The inking process looked fairly detailed and took nearly a quarter hour. No one spoke, though, and Malik didn’t flinch once as the symbol was etched into his skin.

When it was done, the entire temple erupted into applause, the dragons roared, and cheers were echoed moments later by those outside. The Zehvitian people clearly loved their new king, and they were making it known.

The coronation ball was in full swing. The ballroom was stunning tonight. The alabaster stone pillars inlayed with carved mosaic designs glittered in the light of what felt like hundreds of hanging lamps and filigreed paper lanterns placed over glowing candles on the floor. The room had been decorated with the bright colors of red and gold, with accents of black. Sumptuous materials draped artfully from the ceiling, along with flags and banners stitched with the snarling dragon of the Kathar sigil. Arrangements of flowers littered the space and filled the air with the scents of orange, rose, and musk.

As couples danced and guests drank and ate and laughed, servants carried trays of milk sweets and delicate pastries filled with braised lamb and spiced lemon rice. Others brought around trays of wine, and the much harsher tasting ale that was popular in my homeland.

I stood off to one side, taking it all in while sipping on a glass of wine. I was trying to commit all the sights, sounds, and smells to memory, to memorize how it felt to be here. I was trying very hard not to think of the fact that I would be leaving tomorrow and would likely never return. Even though I missed home—or rather, I missed Helene and the sea and the cooler climate—I knew I would miss this place as well. I had found a part of myself here that I was afraid I would lose when I went back. And I did not relish the thought of seeing my parents again, or dealing with the fallout of my decision to stop working for Silvanus.

I would miss Zara and the other people I had met as well. And I couldn’t deny the sharp pang in my heart at the thought of never seeing Malik again. I could admit it to myself, even with things so unresolved between us.

My eyes were drawn, as they had been several times tonight, to the man in question. He was standing across the ballroom listening to a courtier who was talking animatedly to him. He now wore his crimson-scaled armor, and he looked so delicious my breath halted in my chest. I had never seen him in it before, and it was frankly unfair how it made him look so menacing and powerful.

We still had not spoken, not that I honestly expected him to seek me out. There really was nothing to discuss. He was incredibly busy with what seemed like every person in the kingdom wanting a moment of his time or to congratulate him.

Forcing myself to stop watching him, I let my gaze wander. It snagged on a corner of the room where Amir was holding court. He was reclining on one of the many seat cushions with two women sprawled over him as he drank, kissing one and then the other. Our eyes met for a brief moment, and he raised his glass to me before I glanced away, not for the first time thinking of how different siblings could be. Malik and Amir could not be more so. My sister and I were further proof of that.

My eyes roamed until they fell on Rajar Salim arguing with Nilfren. Salim looked angry. At first, I only noticed the men because it seemed like such an unlikely pairing in my eyes. I wondered what they could possibly be discussing.

I was contemplating slipping out for some fresh air on one of the balconies when a woman’s friendly voice cut through my thoughts.

“Hello, you must be Princess Leida.”

I glanced over to find a female dragon rider standing there with a smile on her face. She was probably only a few years myjunior, with long white-gold hair and striking green eyes. She wore dragonscale armor that matched the jade-colored dragon that sat on her shoulder and had a belt of daggers around her waist.

I knew who she was immediately, though we had never been properly introduced. “And you are Corrine Darrow,” I replied.

She waved her hand dismissively. “No one calls me that. Call me Rin, please, Your Highness.”

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