Page 11 of Water Dragon
“My lady,” Ewan greeted.
“My prince, may I have the honor of introducing Lady Shannon,” Malcolm said.
“Oh, you may,” Ewan smiled, his dimples creating deep ridges in either cheek that were as charming as anything the lady could throw at him.
Malcolm glanced at her, but she seemed unimpressed. There was no light flush in her cheek or waver in her smile, no down turning of her gaze or even a pause as she said to Malcolm, “Indeed, highness. Introductions are your forte, are they not?”
He could hear the twang in her question, the slap on the wrist he was still receiving for Iona’s presence the day prior. The lady could slap all she wished. Iona was non-negotiable and the sooner she could accept that, the sooner he could begin to seriously consider her for a mate.
And he truly wanted to consider her.
“Am I the first to arrive?” Ewan asked, then pointed to the horses that had been prepared and brought down from the stables. “Is one of those for me? I recall there being issues with riding a carriage up these winding streets of yours. Will you join me, my lady, and show me the way? I’ve not been here for half an age and I’m certain to get hopelessly lost otherwise.”
Malcolm almost rolled his eyes at the display, both he and the lady fully aware that Ewan would find his way perfectly well on his own. Still, Lady Shannon’s face split in a charming smile. Was it because she was being addressed by a prince or because she was enjoying the flirtation? It was impossible to tell.
“Of course, your highness,” she replied to Ewan’s question, hoisting her skirts up to turn back to the horses. “In fact, that is why I am here. To provide a more agreeable escort than what the king first suggested.”
“Oh?” Ewan asked, reaching out an arm for her to place her hand on, the gesture stating that no matter how much of a guide the lady might see herself as, she should still be supported to her mare. “And what escort did the king suggest?” Ewan added.
“Why, prince Malcolm, of course,” she said, directing a blistering smile at Malcolm that made him feel dizzy at the attention. She rarely teased, but when she did it always made him feel as though they were speaking a secret language that only they could understand. She was the only one who would ever dare speak about him in such a way.
Well, except for Iona.
“Come,” Lady Shannon said, encouraging prince Ewan to lead her to the horses. “Let me take you on a tour of our beautiful citadel and make certain you’re made quite comfortable in your allotted rooms at the castle.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Ewan smiled, giving Malcolm a brief raise of his eyebrows to tell his friend he was quite impressed with the welcome.
Malcolm shook his head at him, watching them walk away, thinking their matching outfits made them look like quite the pair. For a moment this concerned him, but he let it go. He didn’t know much about love or attraction or any such thing, but he did feel a bond formed between himself and the lady. They had known each other for well over fifty years, ever since she joined his court. At first, he had, on the basis of his title, hoped that such a beautiful woman might find herself drawn to him, but with her teasing smiles and easy commentary of his person he now thought that perhaps there was even more there. Perhaps she liked his company because she liked him, not just his crown.
He'd come close to asking Iona about it a few times but hadn’t been able to bring the words onto his tongue for some reason.
He turned his gaze from his friends and to the bay, where another royal tender was being slowly rowed across the water. The flag at the stern told him this would be King Hugh and Queen Blair arriving. He had only met them once and very briefly. He straightened his back and put on a smile to ready himself for the coming pleasantries.
***
Three hours later, when the sun was highest in the sky and the people of the citadel hid away in their houses to escape it, Malcolm walked into his father’s chambers. He had been summoned, which was a truly rare occurrence. Typically, king Morton would be patient enough to wait until whichever hour of the day he was certain to see his son, be it for council meetings or an afternoon flight or dinner, but apparently whatever it was he needed to say could not wait.
Or, Malcolm thought,he wishes for absolute privacy. No prying eyes, no eavesdropping ears.
Which was even rarer and made Malcolm’s skin prickle with misgivings.
His father’s chambers had no windows and sat at the very heart of the castle. The vaulted ceilings were high, with thick and oiled beams crisscrossing in fantastical patterns below them, making the ceiling feel lower than had there only been the vaults above. His father preferred it this way.
The place smelled of rosemary, which had been Malcolm’s mother’s favored scent. She had been gone for over a century and it had been almost as long since Malcolm set foot in this part of the castle. He was surprised, and a little moved, that it still should smell like her.
“There you are,” king Morton boomed, seated in one of the chairs by the cold fireplace. His lunch was still on platters on the table before him and he was munching on a piece of chicken. “Come, come,” he encouraged with a wave.
Malcolm approached, still hesitant, still unsure.
King Morton noticed. “Oh, wipe that look off your face, son,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite. “It is nothing quite as dire as whatever your mind has thought up. I wish to speak to you of… well, perhaps it will seem dire to you if you are not as ready as I believe you to be but… never mind that. I have good reason to ask you here—would you like to hear that reason?”
Malcolm had sunk down in the waved-to chair and could do nothing but stare at the man. He had no crown on his head and yet he never failed to look like the ruler that he was. There was certainty and confidence in every movement, every look. It brokered no argument.
“Yes, father, I came here to hear what you have to say to me, and so I would like to hear it,” Malcolm said, even though he would really rather not.
The king had clearly read this truth in his expression or he wouldn’t have prompted his acceptance of whatever it was before it had even been spoken.
I’m to be sent away, Malcolm’s mind whispered.I’m to train in the recluse fortress of Minertha and I’m not to return until they’ve made a proper warrior out of me. The tournament is my first test. The journey there will be my second. And…
