Page 36 of Kingdom of Dance

Not the twelve-year-old beside him, however. “How did he die?” Princess Briar asked instead, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Obsidian saw King Basil and Princess Zinnia exchange a look, as if deciding who should intervene. A flash of defiance passed over him. He’d survived a war, hadn’t he? Surely he was strong enough to withstand an overly blunt child.

“He was killed in action,” he said curtly. “Less than a year after the war started. It was the Mistrans’ first major offensive.”

If he’d thought the mood was awkward before, it was nothing to the silence that descended over the table now. Even the servants who ringed the edges of the room were wide eyed, and more than one pair of eyes flicked to Queen Wren, the former Mistran princess.

Obsidian was studiously avoiding looking at her, wondering if he’d crossed a line with his honest answer. He was therefore taken completely by surprise when the normally silent young queen spoke.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Obsidian.” Her voice was gentle, and there was no mistaking the grief in her eyes. “I’m so deeply sorry for the terrible loss you’ve suffered.”

Obsidian found himself locked in her gaze, his throat suddenly tight as he read her sincerity. He didn’t think he would have doubted the truth of her sentiment even without his extra abilities.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said, looking her properly in the eyes for the first time.

He found himself unexpectedly moved by her response, and he could feel the tiniest bit of his bitterness being seared away. It was a little painful, but at the same time he felt strangely light.

“But I don’t believe anyone in this room owes me an apology,” he added, in a burst of honesty. “If I curse the Mistrans, I call down a curse on myself, from the families sitting around their breakfast in Mistra right now, wishing I’d never been born.”

His words were met by ringing silence, as the younger ones tried to catch up, and the older ones sought vainly for a response. Obsidian found himself watching Princess Zinnia, waiting for her disgust, or a hint of judgment. She met his eyes unflinchingly, her own so full of emotion he was the one to lower his gaze. He didn’t know what was in her thoughts, but it was too much.

A sharp intake of breath down the table indicated that one of the younger girls had just made sense of his veiled confession.

“I don’t think this is an appropriate topic of conversation in present company,” said the princess next to the queen, the second oldest, if Obsidian was correct. Her tone was disapproving, and Obsidian inclined his head respectfully.

“My apologies, Your Highness.” His voice came out a little stiff.

Princess Zinnia frowned at her sister but didn’t contradict her chastisement. She looked, once again, extremely troubled.

“But I don’t understand,” Princess Briar cut in again. “If your father died in the war, why did you want togoto war? Weren’t you afraid you’d die as well?”

“No,” said Obsidian grimly. “I wasn’t afraid of that.”

“Why not?”

“Briar,” scolded Princess Lilac, her voice clipped. “It’s well past time for you to learn when enough is enough.”

Princess Briar protested indignantly, and a hushed but heated discussion arose between her, Princess Lilac, and their mother.

Obsidian made no attempt to answer the blunt question this time. He knew that the other adults in the room must understand his motivations without him saying it. And they presumably shared his view that it would benefit no one for him to announce in front of his king and his Mistran-born queen that his teenage self had been motivated purely by a desire for vengeance against the kingdom he perceived as his bitter enemies.

It was hard to believe now how much he’d longed for his eighteenth birthday. How he’d hoped, perversely, that the war would continue long enough for him to enlist, to rain down his wrath on the foreigners who’d taken his beloved father from him.

He could no longer comprehend what he’d thought that would achieve.

King Basil deftly turned the conversation, but Obsidian noticed that both Queen Wren and Princess Zinnia remained subdued. It wasn’t as noticeable in the former, but from his short time with the royal family, he’d already observed that it was highly unusual for Princess Zinnia to show any sign of melancholy. He watched her covertly, seeing the troubled way her eyes darted to the younger girls. The ones who had understood the conversation were watching Obsidian with wide eyes, looking hesitant and even a little afraid. The change in their demeanor stung a little, and he wondered if his honesty really had been inappropriate.

But was he to blame if they didn’t know what a soldier was? What a soldier did? Had they really been so entirely oblivious to the nature of the war to which their father had been so dedicated? Their brother certainly hadn’t been oblivious. King Basil had gone to great lengths—and exposed himself to considerable personal risk—to end the war the moment he ascended the throne. It had made it impossible for Obsidian not to like the young royal.

Obsidian’s eyes flew back to Princess Zinnia, once again trying and failing to read the emotion he saw there. He felt a flash of guilt at adding to her already varied and mysterious troubles. But it was followed quickly by irritation. Why should he feel any kind of responsibility to her? All he knew so far was that she liked to dress as somekind of mercenary and creep around the taverns at night.

“Excuse me.” The princess spoke, startling Obsidian from his thoughts. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I think I’ll take another hour or so of rest.”

She stood abruptly, and Obsidian’s eyes followed her from the hall. A quick movement drew his eyes, and he saw that the king was inclining his head meaningfully toward his departing sister. It occurred to Obsidian that the king probably thought she was disappearing on some errand relating to her mysterious conduct. He hesitated, but in the public setting, he couldn’t see any way to tell the king that every word Princess Zinnia had spoken was true. There had been no hint of deception either in her declaration that she hadn’t slept well, or that she was going to rest.

Uncomfortable, but unwilling to disobey his king’s silent direction, Obsidian rose to his feet and took his leave as well. By the time he reached the corridor, he barely caught a swish of blue skirts as the princess rounded the corner up ahead. He’d assumed she was heading for her rooms, so he was surprised when her steps led her out the castle’s eastern entrance. Suspicion reared. Had she been lying about wanting to rest, after all? Had his magic failed him?

When he realized that two guards were following her at a discreet distance, Obsidian hesitated. If they were tailing her, would King Basil still expect him to do so?

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