Page 10 of The Crimson Princess
Magic knows magic, but only some are gifted enough to sense who is stronger or weaker, and to some degree it’s irrelevant anyway. Those who train often and effectively can potentially defeat those more magically gifted. But I have secretly held the gift of omniscience since I was a young child, possessing the unique ability to feel magic at the most elemental level. I’m rather surprised my father, the keeper of the book’s magic, does not. Otherwise, he’d know that Bellar is far more powerful than Idris, and that my core magic, even before my coming of age, trumps both of Bellar’s and Idris’s abilities.
My father steps forward, signaling for me to follow, and both warriors immediately stand at attention, Idris homed in on my father, while Bellar’s attention is locked on me. I can feel the power radiating off of him, a charge in the air that is all but fire licking at my skin. And I think he might actually sense the force of my magic. If this is true, he knows what no one else knows. This makes him as interesting as he is dangerous, but I suspect he feels the same of me.
I step in unison with my father, closing the space between us and the two warriors, and I feel Bellar’s attention as I would the flame of a visiting demon I’m meant to destroy. We halt, me in front of Bellar and my father in direct alignment with Idris. My father lowers his voice and speaks to Idris. Bellar offers me his hand. “Princess,” he greets.
I hesitate, aware of the charge between us, aware of how forbidden a connection is between a gale and a druid, and regardless, I do not want one. Steeling myself for trickery, I press my palm to his.There’s a burn against my skin, and his eyes light with amusement, as if he’s testing me, exploring what I can or cannot sense, feel, touch. I’ve killed all kinds of nasty beings in battle and done so on repeat. He doesn’t scare me, but neither do I feel the need to show my hand.
I don’t react.
“Prince,” I greet. “Welcome to our home.”
He folds his arms in front of his chest, lowers his chin, and studies me, shadows shifting in his silver druid eyes. He’s trying to figure me out.Good luck with that, druid, I think. I might be younger than him by ten years, but I possess far more practical experience in battle, far more of a chance to assess true enemies, than he does.
And at this point, I consider him a potential enemy.
“Let’s sit,” my father orders, not even bothering to formally greet Bellar, but Idris isn’t about to leave without speaking to me.
“Princess,” he greets, angling toward me, an action that ensures I must turn away from Bellar, and I’m certain that’s his intention.
“Idris,” I say, “will you reconsider and stay for dinner?”
“No thank you, princess. I’m otherwise occupied with prep for the Challenge.”
“Is your brother competing?” I ask, as he himself is a chosen military leader, thus immune to such things. Some might believe I should be as well, but I never say never, as the book seems to deviate frequently from the expected where I’m concerned.
At this point, my father has led Bellar to the table, and I’m alone with Idris.
“He is,” Idris confirms. “I won’t pretend otherwise. I’m not pleased about it.”
Nor would I be if it were my sibling. There’s always the risk of death. “How old is he now?”
“A year your junior.”
“Age is only a number.”
“Age translates to a level of experience.”
“I started battling monsters at one of the portals when I was younger than he is at present and I’m still standing before you now. He’s had you to train him. That’s a big advantage. Is he ready?”
“As ready as one can be.”
“Just make sure he’s not as arrogant as you are,” I warn, only half teasing. “That can backfire.”
He bristles. “I’m confident, not arrogant.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. Whatever the case, your queen used to tell me that confidence doesn’t need to be announced, while arrogance is boisterous and cocky. And too often, it overrules caution. So I ask again, which is he?”
He grunts. “He is pretty arrogant.”
“Fix that.” That’s all I say before I turn and walk toward the table and claim my seat across from Bellar and to the right of my father, where he sits at the head of the table.
For long moments, I feel Idris staring at me as if he wants to pull me back and demand I say more. But there’s nothing I can say beyond what I have to help him save his brother. In the end, the book knows what we do not, and I suspect our destiny was long ago decided. It’s not until an attendant, a servant in my father’s eyes, but not mine, fills our wine glasses that I feel the disconnect of Idris’s attention.
“This is quite civilized,” my father states, lifting his glass. “Shall we toast to friendship beyond civility?”
My eyes meet Bellar’s, where I find amusement. “No,” I say firmly.
Bellar’s brow jolts upward. “No?”
