Page 41 of Draekora

“I mean,” Kyia went on, not noticing the princes’ expressions, “I know she said all our names earlier today, so someone obviously must have told her who we are or what we look like or whatever, but I still feel like a proper introduction is important. Don’t you agree?”

Roka cleared his throat and turned to Alex with apologetic eyes. Switching to her language, he said, “I’m terribly sorry,LasaAeylia. We’ve been speaking amongst ourselves all this time without including you. Our behaviour has been deplorable and we would beg your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Alex reassured, marvelling at his rather poncy words. While Aven in the future still tended to be somewhat formal in his speech patterns, Roka had always seemed more casual. That said, given that he’d learned her language in a single week, he’d surely be able to relax into it with very little effort. Perhaps that was something she could help him with.

“I believe you already know who we are, but just to be sure, I am Prince Roka Dalmarta, firstborn son to King Astophe and Queen Niida, heir to the Meyarin throne.” He quirked his lips up in a smile and said, “But I insist you call me Roka. I’m not a fan of formalities.”

Alex bit her cheek to conceal her grin, since he’d said theexactsame thing to her once before.

“This is my brother, Prince Aven Dalmarta.” Roka clapped a hand on Aven’s shoulder and then gestured towards Kyia to finish, “And our final companion isLasaKyia Tarennia. I speak for all of us when I say we are very much looking forward to getting to know you.”

“And I you, Roka,” Alex returned, sending him a small smile in return and doing her best to keep it on her face as she offered it to both Kyia… and Aven. “You’re very kind to take me in and teach me the ways of your—our—people.”

Alex winced internally at her near stuff up. She would have to be more careful.

“The pleasure is ours, let me assure you,” Roka said, still looking at her warmly. “My brother and I will now leave you in Kyia’s safe hands and she will walk you downstairs when you’re ready to join us.”

After Roka turned to his brother and Kyia to translate his words, Aven nodded and smiled at Alex before leaving the room with Roka.

“Sure, leave me alone with the draekon girl who can’t understand me,” Kyia muttered in Meyarin, apparently not having expected the princes to take off without her. She moved towards the large walk-in wardrobe at the side of the room and continued under her breath, “Because that makesloadsof sense.”

Alex almost felt sorry for her—but she also couldn’t help feeling amused by her future friend’s grumblings.

After changing into a figure-hugging tunic and knee-high boots over the Meyarin equivalent of tights, Kyia escorted Alex back down to the dining hall entrance.

“Go on in,” Kyia said, making a shooing gesture with her hands to supplement Alex’s supposed lack of understanding.

When Alex didn’t move, mostly because the idea of walking into the dining hall again was enough to cause her to break out in hives, Kyia placed her hands on Alex’s shoulders and literally pushed her inside. It was a gentle push, sure, but a push all the same. Apparently it was Kyia’s mode of communication when words failed her, and it certainly worked because every eye in the hall instantly came to rest on Alex—the piercing golden gaze of Aven amongst the avid stares.

Her first reaction was to run. She wasn’t sure she could handle this. In fact, she was certain she couldn’t. But before she could convince her frozen legs to move, Kyia gave her another ‘gentle’ nudge forward and promptly closed the doors between them.

Fourteen

To Alex’s relief, dinner wasn’t the nightmareshe feared it would be. There were so many Meyarins in attendance that, even after her awkward entrance, none of them were able to keep their attention on her for long with all the conversations breaking out around the table.

Roka had kindly insisted that Alex sit by him so she would have someone to converse with, but barely five minutes into the meal he and the king were called away on urgent business, leaving Alex to fend for herself. Or at least that was the case until Aven swapped seats, moving into the one his brother had vacated.

Every muscle in Alex’s body tensed, but he did nothing other than smile kindly and continue eating his meal. He didn’t try speaking to her, likely presuming she wouldn’t understand anyway. He seemed happy to simply keep her company, as if to make her feel she wasn’t alone in the crowded room. His actions truly baffled her. She honestly couldn’t reconcilethisAven to the one she knew in her time. How was it possible that the simple matter of him taking offence to the inferior trade dealings of a few humans could turn him into the Aven of the future? It just didn’t make any sense.

Just after the last course was served, Roka returned to the dining hall, but Astophe wasn’t with him. The prince strode directly over to where Aven and Alex sat, his face tight and his tone grim. “Father would like a word.”

Aven’s expression turned concerned. “Is everything all right?”

“He’s in the reception hall,” was all Roka would say. “You’d better not keep him waiting.”

At that, Aven’s lips quirked up in a grin. “At least he’s not in the throne room. That’s where he orders me to meet him when I’m inrealtrouble. Things can’t be as bad as your face claims, Ro.”

Roka relaxed his furrowed brow, shaking his head in what looked like resigned amusement. “You’re impossible, Aven. Please do us all a favour and start choosing your friends more wisely.”

“Ahh.” Aven stood to his feet. “I have a feeling I know what this might be about. But fear not, brother, I’ll have it all sorted before you can say ‘disinherited’.”

Alex jolted, but quickly covered her reaction by reaching for her goblet, downing the remainder of the beverage in a few large gulps as Aven confidently ambled from the room. Whatever his father had to speak to him about wasn’t causing him any anxiety, that much she could clearly see.

“Are you finished,LasaAeylia?” Roka asked Alex, switching to the common tongue.

“Please, Roka,” she said, standing to her feet in confirmation. “Call me Aeylia. Like you, I’m not big on formalities.” Plus, she didn’t like the way the presumed title reminded her of the snottyLasaRiza of the future.

“‘Lasa’ is merely a gesture of respect,” Roka told her, leading the way from the room. “As is ‘Loro’ for the males. The terms don’t imply any kind of formal nobility, they’re more like the common tongue equivalent for ‘sir’ and ‘madam’.”

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