Page 35 of Kingdom of Dance

Obsidian slid obediently into the chair, only realizing once he was seated that he was directly across the table from Princess Zinnia. He tried not to look at her, but his eyes didn’t seem willing to obey his mind. The younger princess on his other side leaned around him to speak with Princess Briar, and Obsidian found himself once again assessing Princess Zinnia with his gaze.

She seemed relaxed, talking cheerfully with the sister next to her, a ready smile available for any family member trying to catch her attention. The only hint of her evening’s arduous activities was the quantity of food she consumed, too ravenously for grace.

Obsidian had to admit to himself that he was fascinated. It wasn’t just that Princess Zinnia wasn’t at all what he’d expected of a royal. He’d never encountered anyone like her, princess or not. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have suspected she had either the capability or the motivation to engage in the clandestine investigations he’d witnessed.

And the most perplexing question of all still remained—why? Why create a double life, when the brother with whom she was reportedly close surely had the resources to do anything that needed to be done, and far more effectively than she could? And why keep her investigations secret from that same brother?

Watching her light banter, he knew that she must be an excellent actress. But still, he found himself strangely reluctant to believe what he had at first assumed—that she was hiding something for a nefarious purpose.

Princess Zinnia looked up suddenly, her eyes finding his at once. Knowing it was too late to avoid being caught watching her, Obsidian held her gaze steadily, confident that his own face gave nothing away. Her eyes seemed to search him slowly, and it was impossible to tell what she found.

“How did you sleep, Lieutenant?” she asked abruptly. A few of their nearest neighbors looked up, waiting for his answer.

“I didn’t sleep well at all,” piped up one of the youngest princesses. “I had a nightmare—about being burned in a fire!”

“Don’t interrupt, Ivy,” said the dowager queen reprovingly. “Zinnia asked Lieutenant Obsidian how he slept, not you.”

In spite of this prompt, Obsidian didn’t immediately answer the question himself. He noticed that Princess Zinnia’s expression was particularly troubled as she looked at the sister who’d spoken, a girl no more than about five years old. Whatever her secrets, it was clear that she cared about her siblings. A glance about the table showed several people waiting for his response, and even Princess Zinnia pulled her gaze slowly back to him.

“I’m sorry to hear you had a nightmare, Your Highness,” he said politely to the young girl. “I’ve had many such dreams myself, and I know it’s not pleasant.” His gaze transferred to the eldest princess. “But last night I slept as well as can be expected in a new environment.” Realizing belatedly that his words might be construed as a slight on the accommodations, he added quickly, “The bed was incredibly comfortable,” with a quick glance at the dowager queen.

“Much more comfortable than what you slept on as a soldier, I’m guessing,” Princess Zinnia chimed in with a smile.

Obsidian found himself smiling as well, picturing his hard cot back on the front lines. “Most definitely,” he agreed. He didn’t mention that it was also considerably more comfortable than any bed he’d ever had in his own home.

“Is that what you have nightmares about?” asked Princess Ivy, leaning her elbow on the table and accidentally upending a goblet of some kind of juice. Servants moved forward to clean it up, none of the family even reacting to what was clearly a common occurrence.

“What, uncomfortable beds?” scoffed another girl, halfway up the table.

“No,” said the five-year-old defensively. “I meant the war.”

Obsidian blinked, not sure how to respond.

“Leave the poor lieutenant alone,” said King Basil. He spoke mildly enough, but it was the first time Obsidian had ever heard him chastise any of his sisters, and they all instantly gave him their full attention. “I didn’t invite him to stay with us so we could interrogate him.”

“But what was the war like?” Princess Briar asked, staring curiously at Obsidian. The intensity of her focus made him shift uncomfortably. “Was it awful?”

“Briar,” scolded the dowager queen. The princess paid much less attention to this rebuke than Princess Ivy had to her brother’s. Her eyes remained fixed expectantly on Obsidian.

For a moment he considered her question, his mind going back involuntarily to some of the things he most tried to forget. The smells, the sounds. The first time he’d seen a friend die. The knowledge that he’d taken life himself. His stomach clenched at that last thought, the one he dodged most of all.

“Yes,” he said, the honest answer slipping out before he could catch it.

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Obsidian wished he could take back the word. How had he become the center of attention? All other conversation had ceased, and every eye was on him.

“Why did you want to become a soldier, then?” Princess Briar asked, in her matter-of-fact way.

“Briar,” said Princess Zinnia quietly, but the twelve-year-old just lifted her hands.

“What? Is it really such a rude question?”

“No,” Obsidian answered. Little as he liked being questioned in front of the entire royal family, he liked the feeling of being shielded from a group of children even less. “It’s not a rude question. I wanted to become a soldier because my father was a soldier. And I admired him, deeply.”

“Wasa soldier?” Princess Zinnia’s voice was almost tentative.

Obsidian cleared his throat. “He passed away some years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Princess Zinnia, the sentiment echoed by a few others around the table.

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