Candidate (The Black Mage #3)

The nearest girl, Celine, a young thing with long, brown tresses, helped dress me in one of the many gowns the king had commissioned for my stay. As the other styled my hair, Celine was quick to note that my first responsibility would be to visit the palace seamstress the following morning. I was in need of a whole new wardrobe. The beautiful clothes I had wouldn’t begin to cover my appearances in court. Not of a princess-to-be. Even one who spent most of her time as a warrior mage.

I spent some more time taking in my surroundings: the flowery design adorning the walls, the delicate lace covering of a bed made of cherry wood, even the tiny nightstand with its golden vase of gently dried flowers—a bit of cheer in the midst of a white winter.

Like Darren’s, the cold marble floor of my chamber was covered in luxurious fur rugs, thick and dense and seeping in warmth. I had to keep myself from cooing as I touched my toes to the ground. It felt so nice after a two-week’s journey in nothing but soggy boots and on splintery inns’ wood.

It was paradise.

Like all wonderful things, however, the charm did not last. And for me that was the moment I stepped outside the door, bidding my ladies to their own devices, and saw who stood outside it.

“Now, that is much better. Who knew you were capable of such contradictions?”

I braced myself immediately. Blayne was leaning on the wall just outside my chamber, and his stance made it clear it wasn’t coincidence. “What do you want Blayne?”

“You, of course.”

Panic slammed my ribs, and the prince’s eyes narrowed in amusement. He laughed, a harsh, empty sound, and then continued.

“I wanted to talk to you, Ryiah. We’ve never had what one might call pleasant relations. I would like to start anew.”

I was instantly suspicious. “Why?” Not only had he gone out of his way to threaten me during my time as an apprentice, he had also tried to rape my best friend. Prince Blayne of Jerar, first in line to the throne, was the last person I would trust. I already knew exactly what kind of person he was, and I had no intentions of “starting anew.”

I was about to tell him as much, but a moment of clarity hit me. It would be reckless to alienate the heir, no matter how little I thought of him, and reckless was never a good move. Especially where Blayne was concerned.

Still, I doubted the prince would trust me if I acquiesced too easily. He knew we shared a mutual dislike. “Give me a reason I should believe a word you say.”

He considered my question.

“Because one day I’m going to be your king, Ryiah, and I will be the last person you want as an enemy.”

He didn’t even bother to veil the threat. Well. I could play along. I didn’t trust the heir’s offer for a second. But I couldn’t very well refuse.

“What do you say? Friends?” The boy held out his hand expectantly. It was pale. The pallor of a palace recluse. One who preferred darkness to light.

I made myself smile; praying the heir to the kingdom didn’t notice how my eyes didn’t match my words. “Of course.”

I didn’t know his end game, but there was one thing I knew for certain: whatever Blayne planned, it wasn’t good for me.

****

The heir to the kingdom escorted me to the king’s dining hall, the very same room that had changed my life during the ascension just six months before. Without the bustle of fifteen mages and the Council filling its seats the room was decidedly quieter. It was also more intimidating.

Now only the very end of the great table was set—enough for three persons. Two of the seats were already taken.

King Lucius sat at the end drinking from a heavy goblet of gold. His stark white hair pressed close to the skull and the trim of his mustache was barely more than a whisper, yet it framed the length of his hard face perfectly.

Our history told of kings that smiled and kings that conquered. He was the latter.

Darren sat at his father’s right. He had changed into a crimson jacket and brown breeches that seemed at odds with the bejeweled velvet and heavy robes of his father. He was busy pushing a piece of cooked rabbit back and forth across his plate. He didn’t notice when we entered.

Blayne wasted no time in taking the other chair. Then I was left standing, clutching my arms to keep from trembling as I waited for someone to tell me what to do. Did proper etiquette dictate I interrupt the king with a greeting, or simply stand and wait for him to acknowledge my presence first? I couldn’t remember. I had spent so little time in court, and that short week of lessons before I had left for Ferren’s Keep had slipped from my mind.

I wished Darren would look up and realize I was here.

The king finally spotted me. He watched me as the seconds passed, not a word was spoken.

Blayne cleared his throat. “Father, I invited Lady Ryiah to join us.”

The non-heir looked up, startled. The king’s gaze narrowed into two small pins.

What do I do?

Darren’s eyes met mine, and he coughed loudly, making a quick gesture with his hand.

Memory returned and embarrassment flooded my cheeks. I dipped into a steep curtsy with a softly mumbled, “My liege.”

The king’s gaze fell from mine, and I was released from his spell.

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