Fireblood (Fireblood 1)
His lips purse and his eyebrows pull together. “It’s necessary,” he says to me, then into the circular device, “Devlan.”
Static hisses, and a deep voice booms over the transmission. “Princess Zara is needed in her chamber.” A beat. “Her maid is making preparations for tonight’s ceremony.”
“We’re coming now.” Devlan places the shiny device back inside his uniform.
I press harder against my chest, wishing I could reach inside and stop the pressure—stop my body from responding to the fear that overtakes me when Devlan announces, “It’s time.”
SIX
The hallway leading to my chamber is somehow colder, emptier, and shorter. It takes me far less time to reach my room than before. My mind fruitlessly
searches for a way to stall for time as Devlan walks silently behind me.
My stomach knots as understanding settles over me that I have no way out of the betrothal ceremony. For now, I must go through with it, and then plan an escape before the wedding.
I reach for the silver handle of my door, but Devlan’s hand gently grasps my wrist. My entire body freezes. Even my breath doesn’t dare stir the air.
He spins me toward him, his face a mask, unreadable. Turning my gauze-free hand over, he spreads my fingers open as he places something cool and heavy in my palm.
A communicator.
I look up questioningly as he retracts his hand, resting it on the pommel of his sword. “It’s set to my frequency,” he says. “If you should ever need anything, just press the button to summon me.”
“Sebastian fears for my safety this much?” I rotate the contraption and rub my thumb over its sleek silver.
He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he clears his throat and transfers his weight from one foot to the other. “Nay,” he finally says. “This is from me.” My eyes look up in time to catch him drive his hand through his tousled dark hair. “Just in case you should want for anything, and…it’s not much, but it’s my present to you. For your birthday.” His eyes shift, glancing around the corridor. Looking everywhere but at me. “What I have to offer you.”
With all of today’s happenings, I’d pushed the thought of my birthday far from my mind. A pang hits my chest as I realize the death of my father will forever taint the celebration of my birth.
As I continue to caress the device, heat builds in my core, spreading warmth throughout my body. Devlan is trying to salvage some small joy of this day. Mayhap there will be a time when the wound isn’t as fresh. “Thank you,” I say. “This is kind, Sir Devlan.”
He adjusts his stance again, looking uncomfortable. Then he nods a half-bow. “It will be an honor to serve you, Prin—” his lips curl into a rare smile “—Zara,” he finishes.
Before I have time to fully acknowledge the tingles prickling my skin, he turns on his heel and heads down the hallway. My stomach quivers, and I’m struck with the realization that his gift to me was not what I hold in my hand, but rather the flicker of emotion I saw in his eyes—my name on his lips. His offer of protection.
A slow smile sneaks onto my face as I slip the communicator beneath my dress, between my bodice and chest. I open the door. Madity is racing back and forth, gathering lace and ribbons. I sigh, my mood dimming. No, today’s not a celebration.
Sebastian needs to be recognized as a man before he takes the throne. This ceremony is a display—a show for his father and Karm. This is Sebastian’s proof he’s ready to rule despite his youth.
How old is Devlan? Is he younger or older than Sebastian? He seems too young to have obtained such a high station so quickly. But then, how old does the knight commander need to be in a world lacking outside threats?
“Princess,” Madity says, her breaths coming in pants. “What happened to your hands?”
I take in her panicked state and shrug. “Roses?”
She grimaces; a disbelieving look crosses her face. “We have much to do.” She drops the ribbons on the bed. Her weathered skin shines with sweat. “We have to prepare your bath of oils and potpourri. We have to pluck—”
“Absolutely no plucking, Madity,” I cut her off. “I’ll remove what hair I wish with a scrub.” Honestly, sometimes the era is just cruel.
She scrunches her face and points toward the bathing room. The line between her eyebrows deepens, and she purses her lips, daring me to argue with her no-nonsense task of readying me for the ceremony.
For her sake, I surrender. I don’t want to get her into trouble, or possibly punished for my stubbornness. I sigh and march into the bathing room. I’m in for a painful transformation.
* * *
The archway is dark. A curtain of midnight-blue velvet is the only thing separating me from the hall of citizens awaiting the betrothal of Prince Sebastian and his chosen princess.
My face flames. A mixture of anger and embarrassment causes my heart to beat faster, my blood rushing through my veins, as I think about meeting Sebastian at the altar. I’ve not heard from him since my display in the arcade. I’m sure he’s plenty vexed, but apparently not enough if I’m standing here now, readying myself to become his betrothed. I fear I’d have to humiliate him far worse for him to call off this engagement.