Page 7 of Beast and Remedy
The chant is repeated as everyone follows their king, taking a sip of their wine as the music resumes.
Marian squeezes my hand twice. She turns, and I squeeze hers in return as more staff enter the ballroom, carrying trays of precut cakes sprinkled with sugar and cream.
Papa spins to us, beaming and clasping our shoulders, pushing us together. He kisses our cheeks as his laugh vibrates in my ears. “My girls.”
He drags us against his tan velvet vest, smelling of wine, sweat, and light cologne.
We break apart as his two friends step forward.
Gone is the hint of amusement in Pierre’s blue irises, vanished faster than it appeared and replaced with the mask of an advisor as his husband, Jean, smiles sweetly.
“Happy name day, Princesses,” Jean chimes in a kind voice, offering us each a piece of cake.
“Thank you.” I take the plate and help myself to a small, appropriate bite, Marian echoing her gratitude as noblemen and women converse and dance.
“Remember to socialize, Vi,” Pierre murmurs.
Jean elbows him. “Don’t scold her too much today. It is her name day, after all.”
Pierre grunts as my father laughs through a mouthful of food. “Jean is right. We should count ourselves lucky she hasn’t asked to leave yet.”
I choke on my food.
So much for that idea.
I cough a few times as Marian pats my back. Nodding my thanks, I clear my throat. “I have danced with a few noblemen. That counts as socializing.”
Pierre hardens his gaze. He’s the reason Papa has been pressuring me and Marian into finding husbands these last three years. He vocalizes his old beliefs, saying the two of us at our age should be settling down and furthering the family line.
An eye roll of a statement.
He is not Yeva, the Deity of Life, so he cannot force my womb to grow of its own accord. And he cannot force me into an arranged marriage when he and Jean had the chance to fall in love. As did my father.
Papa tries to advocate for us, but I think, deep down, he knows his time is running out. Hence his pushingagainthis evening.
My own stare matches Pierre’s steeled expression, daring him to see what will happen if he keeps pushing me.
“King Vinzent! An honor!”
My father’s voice addressing new guests forces our masks into place.
It’s Marian’s turn to cough.
We dip into perfect curtsies as the King of Northtry and a younger man step forward.
King Vinzent is a stark contrast to Papa. With a shorter stature, his onyx crown rests on his matching black hair, giving him a few inches to appear more intimidating. His brows are furrowed, reducing the size of his brown eyes observing each of us, a mustache enhancing his smug expression.
“King Bernard, it is a pleasure. So rare are occasions that grant Northtry time to visit our allies,” King Vinzent the Bold says, voice low and raspy.
Rumor has it the nickname he coined was due to climbing through the military and social ladder of Northtry. Known across all Draymenk for being the best swordsman, a dual wielder, and his strategic background, one would believe he was granted gifts from the Makers.
But his wife, Queen Zarina, now deceased, was also rumored to have magic, so it’s uncertain if power passed to her heir or has been with her husband due to the one rule we’ve all been taught from birth.
Do not share your abilities with neighboring kingdoms.
The commandment was set by the Makers when they appointed six bloodlines to carry a fraction of their magic. For Belmur, Mama was the descendant, and even though she has passed and transferred her gifts to me, her next heir, Papa, remains king until his death to help maintain the secrecy we’ve all been sworn to. It ensured each ruler would be mindful and grateful for their territory, their ability, and keep the power equally divided amongst the six—five now—regions.
“Right you are, Vinzent!” my father chimes. “I’m sure you can relate when I say children’s name days are a perfect reason for a gathering.”
