Page 24 of The Crimson Princess
Bellar’s lips curve with a wry twist. “They tell us a great many things, now don’t they? But no matter how they try to shape our beliefs in what the future should hold, the future is always about change.”
In other words, he doesn’t believe my father to be the strongest living being, and I wonder if he thinks it’s him, an assessment that would be a mistake. Toren and my father are, at the very least, equals even if I doubt either believes that as truth. As for Bellar, he’spowerful, far more than your average gale or druid, but nowhere near their counterparts. Nowhere near me.
“We could learn from humans,” I say, daring to lift my cup again, relieved to find a steady hand, though I would not count on it lasting. “They jaunt through a much shorter life and handle change with more ease than any of us.”
“But they don’t live to resist the inevitability of change.” He leans in close, when he’s already close, his voice an octave lower. “The hunger for power and control will drive us to war unless we find a common ground.”
“We have common ground,” I remind him. “That’s why the war ended. You have your lands. We have ours.”
“There are many of the druids, my father included, who believe we should hold equal lands.”
“And yet,” I say without hesitation, “you refuse to protect humanity when the book demands the kingdom stand as guardians to them.”
“The gales are the guardians.”
“The gales are the book’s chosen rulers. If you wish to play more of a role in controlling these lands, you must claim the responsibilities that go with it.”
“We don’t agree.”
I throw a blast of my magic in the air and he stiffens. “I’m not your enemy, princess.”
Toren had said the same thing to me, but he’d been far more believable. I inch forward, and now I’m the one eating up the space between us. “The day you show up to the tournament and compete is the day I respect you.”
“Neither of us should be in that tournament. We are the future of our kingdoms. And the book didn’t name me, anyway.”
“Druids have never been a part of the gale’s population. If they want to join with us, I promise you they will be named. And I’d be interested to see you put your name forth for the book’s consideration. My father, I’m certain, could present you as a candidate.”
“The book didn’t choose your mother. She defied the process.”
“Did she? I would counter and say the book knew exactly what was going to happen, including your cowardice.”
His magic spikes in the air and he pushes to his feet. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
I push to my feet, and once again remind myself that magic and emotion do not mix when I haven’t needed such a reminder in a very long time. “As I said, when you compete, we can hold a meaningful conversation about the druids’ role in the Ravengale kingdom. If you live to have the conversation.”
Nevertheless, it’s with fierce willpower that I resist the urge to punish him, and I have the realization about my coming of age. I could easily do more than touch his magic with mine. I do believe I could shatter it like a delicate glass in my palm with nothing more than a thought. I think. Maybe I just wish for such a skill. Whatever the case, my voice is void of my wishes and fantasies, as I say, “I sincerely hope you’ll consider the invitation to compete, Prince Bellar.”
He plants his hands on the table and dares shift his weight toward me, the teal of his eyes overtaking the gray. “I am not your enemy,” he repeats. “And there will come a time when you test those words, and I vow to you now, I will prove them to be true.” With this groveling promise, he rotates and walks away, his retreat and declaration sitting all kinds of wrong.
Why would he think I need or want his vow? What hasn’t my father told me?Do not bend, Mikhail had said to me. That’s it. I need to see my father. I dash in Bellar’s wake, thankful he’s had the sense to expedite his departure and is nowhere in my sight. I exit at a different point than he would and travel a small corridor that leads me to the throne room.
I find my father speaking with Mikhail of all people, which only serves to confirm that Mikhail knows what I do not. My father straightens upon spotting me. “I trust your breakfast went well, daughter?”
“What haven’t you told me, father? What is it you hope to accomplish with me and the druid prince?”
He lifts a hand in Mikhail’s direction and Mikhail’s eyes meet mine, a reaffirmation of his prior words in his stare, but he obeys his dismissal, disappearing behind the thrones.
“Tell me,” I demand, before Mikhail can possibly have left the room, but I don’t care. I’m the only one living in the darkness of death and deceit.
“I met with the druids.”
“King Darus Dalaigh?”
“Yes. King Darus and we came to terms that avoid war and allow us to cede no power or land.”
Uneasiness burrows in my chest and I seek answers to relieve the pressure. “The sorceress is real.”
“Yes,” he confirms. “The sorceress is real.”
