Page 9 of The Beast King's Bride

A true aristocrat.

As if she has given the signal, more and more guests begin arriving, from the left and right staircases, descending slowly, attired in all the colors of the rainbow—lords dressed in fine clothes and tall hats, ladies in bustling gowns, fantastic wigs and delicate tiaras.

The butlers appear, bearing trays of drinks carried high to offer to the guests. I lose myself in the spectacle of the new arrivals and absently take a fluted glass from an offered tray. I sip at the sparkly wine and smile, the music and the voices weaving like a mist cloud around me.

The worries fall off me like dry mud and I nod to the music. I can’t see the musicians at first, but then I notice them moving through the crowd—violin and flute players, strolling among the lords and ladies, offering music instead of wine.

A commotion on my left has me turning around, and I find everyone is doing the same. Trumpeters are lining up in front of the thrones. As we watch, they lift their trumpets and blare out a magical cacophony. All other music stops, the voices and laughter quieten. A hush falls on the ballroom.

Another blast of the trumpets, and everyone takes a knee. I rush to follow suit, curtsying as the king and queen make their grand entrance. I know my eyes should be to the floor but I can’t look away.

King Pryam’s crown is shaped like a castle of gold and he looks like a bear in his purple mantle, thick at the waist, his beard shot with much more silver than I remember from when I was a child. And the queen wears a crown shaped like the hills, gently undulating, her matching purple mantle hiding her gown. They walk up to their thrones and sit as the musicians pick up a new melody and everyone straightens from their bows and curtsies.

So odd to see them again, after all this time. They used to visit the royal children’s rooms from time to time. They were younger then.

So was I. Sometimes I feel as if many lives have passed since then.

The colorful crowd starts swirling again, mingling, talking. Soon the dance will begin, I think, and I wonder where the exalted royal guest is.

Right on cue, another blast of the trumpets sounds and we all turn toward the imperial staircase, a new hush falling over the ballroom.

It seems that the royal guest has just landed. Dressed in royal red, a slender golden crown on his blond head, he descends the stairs with a lady on his arm, and I can imagine the disappointment of my cousins the princesses, as well as of the king and queen, if he already has a sweetheart.

Behind him follow a few aristocratic men dressed in pale orange with swords worn at their sides. He comes with a retinue, it appears, and these men are probably his elite guard. Our king has one, too, chosen from the aristocratic families in town.

The men follow the guest down and then spread out, two to flank him and his lady, and two behind him. The crowd parts and they cross the room to the dais with the thrones. They all bow, and then the king and the queen rise, their long purple mantles draping heavily over the dais.

“Honorable Prince Elyar of Sothia.” King Pyram receives his guest and they grab forearms as if they’re generals meeting in battle, not soft aristocrats meeting in an opulent palace. “I bid you welcome in Kyrene. Are you traveling with family?”

“My sister.” He gestures at the woman who arrived with him and the ladies around me titter in pleasure.

Not taken, then. Still a bachelor.

“Well.” The king also sounds pleased. “We hope to make your stay here agreeable and restful, to restore you and replenish your energy, so that you can ride out on the dangerous task of double-locking the gates to the accursed Otherland and succeed in your mission.” He chuckles. “Put a padlock on them from me, I say!”

The crowd applauds.

“I shall endeavor my best.” The prince bows and his sister curtsies prettily in her red dress that looks like a freshly-plucked rose.

“Please, partake of the refreshments. We are honored to have you dine with us.” The king gestures at the long tables. “Afterward we can speak of serious matters.”

“And we can present you our beautiful granddaughters,” the queen pipes up.

“Of course, with great pleasure,” the prince replies.

I watch him and his sister step away, followed by their guards, and—

“Ash?”

The voice is so familiar and so out of place in this fantastically decorated ballroom that it takes me a long moment to place it. I glance around but can’t locate its source, neither do I find anyone looking at me.

“Ash! Look up!”

“Are you serious?” I look up and turn to find him in an alcove where an urn had probably stood once upon a time. “Pete? What are you doing here?”

“Me? What about you? And why in all the Gods’ names are you dressed like this? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

I swallow hard, glance around, hoping nobody is listening in. “I’m only… checking out the ball.”

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