Nia, a tiny thing with olive skin, curtsied to me and led me to the parlor where Dorian and I had first chatted. I couldn’t see what she did, but her fingers worked as deftly and intricately in my hair as Dorian did when tying the cords around me. I’d only once had my hair done by a stylist, and it had been for a wedding in which a cruel friend had required me to wear orange taffeta. The event still woke me with nightmares.
A slight tingle occasionally brushed my skin as Nia worked, and I realized she used magic in the styling. I supposed it was handier than a curling iron, but geez. What a disappointment to discover you had the magical equivalent of cosmetology when other gentry got healing and the ability to tear buildings apart.
“There you are, my lady.”
She took me to a mirror, nervously assessing my reaction. Scattered braids ran toward the back of my head where the rest of my hair had been gathered up into a high ponytail. She’d smoothed and curled most of that hanging hair, but a few tiny braids hung in it here and there. Long, smooth locks framed my face, curled slightly at their ends. Violets and dark ivory sweetheart roses adorned some of the braids.
“Wow,” I said.
Nia wrung her hands. “My lady likes?”
“Very much.”
She beamed. With her petite frame and smooth face, she looked about sixteen but could probably actually boast a century. “I didn’t know how humans wore it.”
I smiled and gave her arm a small pat. “It’s wonderful.”
She looked ready to swoon with joy, and I recalled how eagerly Dorian’s staff always jumped to obey his commands. Was I inspiring that kind of loyalty? Or fear?
Dorian swept into the room then, resplendent in a forest green robe made of silk. The edging contained an intricate pattern of ivory, russet, and gold, set off by the black slacks and ivory shirt underneath.
“Much better,” he said, taking my hand. “Come, we’re late.”
Muran and a few others followed as we headed for the throne room. Dorian didn’t actually run, but an urgency underscored his movement.
“Why the rush?” I asked. “Don’t they wait on your every pleasure?”
“Certainly. But I have to be in there before the other monarchs arrive, or we’ll create a complication of etiquette. Everyone will bow when we enter, but the other monarchs don’t have to. If they’re in there before me, it’ll be awkward.”
“What do you mean by ‘bow’? Does that mean-”
A herald hurled open the double doors and announced in a booming voice: “His royal majesty, King Dorian of the House of Arkady, caller of Earth, protector of the Oak Land, blessed of the gods.”
“Whoa,” I breathed. Dorian squeezed my hand.
“-with Eugenie Markham, called Odile Dark Swan, daughter of Tirigan the Storm King.”
I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being titled, but my astonishment over that faded compared to what happened next. Everyone in the room turned toward us and fell to their knees, heads bowed. Dead silence followed. Slowly, almost in a glide step, we walked down the center aisle, and I tried to look straight ahead and not at the sea of obeisance.
Civilizations rose and fell in the time it took us to reach the throne. When we did, Dorian turned us around to face the assembly and made a small, nondescript gesture. I don’t know how the others saw it with their heads so low, but they all rose and the drone of life and music promptly returned. People moved again, mingling and laughing. Servants scurried to and fro with drinks and trays. It could have been any human party, save for the occasional troll and wraith sipping wine. The men dressed in variations of the Renaissance look Dorian seemed to favor, but the women’s gowns ran the gamut of bell sleeves and velvet to Grecian wraps and gauze.
“And now, my dear, we must part ways.”
I jerked my gaze away from the assembled throng. “What are you talking about?”
He waved his hand. “These are the greatest nobles in my kingdom, not to mention the other kingdoms. I must mingle, listen to their simpering, act like I care. You know how it is.”
Panic seized me as I looked back at all those gentry faces. “Why can’t I go with you? I mean, we coordinate and everything.”
“Because if I keep you on my arm all night, I’ll look possessive and insecure. Leaving you on your own shows I have absolute confidence that you’ll leave with me tonight, regardless of other solicitations.”
“Oh, my God…I’m going to be hit on all night.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s all they’ll do-unless you wish otherwise. Anyone who touches you against your will would incur the wrath of my entire guard, not to mention most of the guests. It would be a shocking insult.”
“And yet I could apparently go off with anyone if I wanted to.”
“Of course. You’re free to choose as you like.”
“Wouldn’t that be an insult to your manhood or something?”
“A bit. But then I’d just take five or so women to my bed and redeem myself fairly quickly.”
“Whoa. I feel like I’ll be holding you back.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll recover once you’re gone tomorrow.”
I swallowed and looked around, the jokes unable to allay my anxiety. “I don’t even know anybody.”
He turned me to him and gave me a soft kiss on the lips. I had to consciously work to keep my body relaxed. It was still a shock each time he did that.
“You’ll just have to meet them, then,” he said.
He strolled off toward the first group of people he saw, and I heard a flurry of exuberant greetings at his approach. Feeling stupid and awkward, I wondered where I should go and whom I should talk to. I didn’t really do big parties. Too much of my time was spent in solitude to really know how to interact in a group like this. That wasn’t even taking into account that these were all Otherworldly residents. Two of my deepest phobias combined into one long evening.
“Wine?” asked a servant who had suddenly appeared at my side.
“Yes, please.”
I seized one of the goblets from her proffered tray and took a hasty gulp of a sweet, fruity red. Picking a direction at random, I took five steps and was immediately intercepted by a tall gentry in scarlet velvet. He had black hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
“Lady Markham,” he oozed, taking my free hand and kissing it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. I am Marcus, lord of Danzia in the Rowan Land.”
“Hi,” I said, knowing I would never again remember his name once he left.
He kept holding my hand and let his eyes run over me from head to toe. I suddenly wished the dress wasn’t so tight or the neckline so low.
“I must say,” he murmured, “I’d heard reports of your beauty, but they are paltry things compared to the reality.”
“Thanks.”
I tried to take back my hand, but he held on to it.
“My family’s nobility extends all the way back to the migration to this world. We are renowned for our fierce warriors. Magic runs strong in our blood, usually calling to one of the elements. My own inclinations run toward control of the air.”
As if to emphasize the point, I suddenly felt the slightest of breezes blow against my arms.
“My heirs will inherit a vast estate. My house has always served in an advisory capacity to royalty. Even now, I am a close personal friend of Katrice, the Rowan Queen. She is a powerful ally.”
I realized then he was laying out his pedigree for me, quickly and efficiently, much as a breeder might show off a prize dog’s papers. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him I wasn’t interested, but he just kept going.
“Some men would fear having a warrior consort. They would seek to control you and seize the power for their own uses.” He inclined his head ever so suggestively toward where Dorian conversed with a tall, dark-skinned woman. “Not me. I would not use you to further my own ends. You would rule by my side as an equal, sharing in the guidance of our children.”
Yikes. This wasn’t even our first date. I managed to break my hand free of his. “Thank you, but this is all kind of sudden. It’s been really great talking to you, though.”
