Page 11 of The Crimson Princess
“No,” I say.
“What are you doing, Satima?” my father demands.
“Keeping things honest,” I state. “Bellar isn’t ready for friendship. We can’t toast to what isn’t achievable. At least, not yet. I don’t believe in being disingenuous.”
The laughter has faded from Bellar’s stare. “Tonight is about change.”
“Or sizing up our opponents,” I counter.
Now Bellar laughs, and he lifts his glass in my father’s direction. “To your daughter, who certainly won’t allow this dinner to be anything but interesting.”
My father grumbles under his breath and then clinks his glass against Bellar’s. “To my daughter, the future queen of Ravengale.”
I don’t toast. I taste my wine, a fruity, rich note beneath a woodsy flavor, my eyes meeting Bellar’s, and there’s something sharp and cutting in the depths of his stare. He doesn’t like how this night is playing out, and the salads haven’t even arrived. A sharp, unexpected warning sizzles through me, and I know, in every part of me, that the druids, all of them, this one at the helm, wish to take what is ours. No,planto take what is ours.
Protectiveness for my people, for my world, flares inside me, and my magic licks at my mind, but my mother’s voice defeats the fire within me, reminding me that emotion is deadly to me. Calm is deadly to my enemies.
My lips curve, and I reach for the druid’s magic, touching it with my own, just a whisper of my power that is so a part of me, I deliver it as easily as I do my next breath. His eyes go wide, his spine stiff. Now I have his attention. I’ve shown him a tiny sliver of my magic, tiny enough to allow him to underestimate me. Enough, though, to ensure he knows I’m not just a girl in a dress here to please him. I’m something he will never understand, no matter how he tries.
And the most dangerous thing outside emotion in battle is the unknown.
Chapter seven
Myfathersipsfromhis glass, his gaze sliding between me and Bellar, and there’s no mistaking the pleased look in his intelligent eyes; as if, impossible as it should be, he knows what’s transpired between me and the druid prince. A private magic exchange is just that—private. And yet…my father acts as if he knows exactly what has taken place. I remind myself that he is not just the king of Ravengale, the ultimate protector of gales and humans alike, but one of the most powerful living beings in existence, if not the most powerful. He is not one to underestimate or place in a box with others. I now believe he knows very well who holds the card magically, and he’s simply playing head games, or testing me, or a little of both.
His attention shifts to Bellar, and while on the surface he is in a casual, easygoing mood, there’s a dark energy beneath his surface that bleeds death. Bellar is as still as the stone carved with my name, but for the deep swallow and bob of his throat that tells me he too senses that dark energy. “One thing I do believe you will discover,” my father pauses, I suspect strategically, before adding, “my young druid prince, is that my daughter is nothing you might expect, but then, neither was her mother.”
It’s a curious comment that has me wondering what he knows of my battles fought at my mother’s side, or is he indicating a knowledge of my inherent skills that I’m still discovering? Twenty-three did not come upon me in an uneventful way, nor did it deliver a rush of new magic, as I’ve been taught to expect.
The first course arrives, saving Bellar a response to the king I suspect he was grappling to find, as we all turn our attention to the meal, and each of us is served an artichoke dripping with butter. There are many things in Ravengale that mimic life within the human world, and this dish is one of them, though it’s far more a staple for us than the humans. I learned my love of artichokes from my mother, and also like her, I’m not at all shy about eating, choosing to be the first to dig into my food. I pull off a leaf and dip it in the butter before I scrape the deliciousness onto my tongue.
The two men ignore their plates, instead chatting about the upcoming Challenge, and I tune them out. The last thing I want to think about right now is those damn bloody competitions. Death has a hold on me, on our entire kingdom, for that matter. We need less of it, not more, and yet, it’s the way of our people, the way of the book. Of course, they won’t let me escape the topic, and Bellar turns the attention back on me.
“You’ve never competed, correct?”
“I’ve spent years doing the job the contestants are competing to make their own,” I reply, sliding my plate to the side, having managed to down most of my appetizer while they talked amongst themselves.
“And you think there’s nothing in competition that can surprise you now?” he challenges.
“If you’re suggesting I’m afraid to compete, you’re mistaken,” I assure him.
“I’m not suggesting you’re afraid,” he states, “but it’s an odd thing to me.”
“What is ‘it’ and what does that even mean?” I ask as the main course arrives, temporarily pausing our exchange.
Once each of us is served a meat pie, much like the human’s pot pie, one of the famous dishes of Ravengale, my father is the one who brings us back to the topic. “The druids don’t allow their women to go to battle.”
“Ah. Yes. The druid way. I’m aware,” I say easily. “You ignore the immense magic of your females. I’ve often wondered if youfear them. It seems a waste of their skills to simply have them dress pretty and attend those druid operas your people so adore.”
“I won’t be offended that easily, princess. I believe in our ways. I sometimes wonder myself about you and how much you believe in your ways. We shelter our greatest gifts. And when we lex, it’s with purpose.”
“The gales are the chosen. We fight so you don’t have to. As for lexing. To lex is to use one’s magic and if you do not, you limit your ability to expand your skills. Never realizing one’s potential is no way to live.”
“And you, of all gales, know that moment has the potential to equaldeath.”
The anger bristling beneath my surface at his reference to my mother is hot but my tone is cool. “She would have rather died fighting for the innocent than watching, as is the way of a female druid,” I say. “And make no mistake, she was far more powerful than you, Bellar. You would not have survived what she faced.”
“And yet, you did?”
