The King Trials by D L Sims

Author:D L Sims [Sims, D L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Diondra Sims
Published: 2020-01-06T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter

Thirteen

The string quartet played a slow waltz, and the room was lit with bright laughter and conversation. Everyone from Oszerack to Alithane had been invited to the Champions’ Ball, and they had turned up in their finest dresses and coats. Women’s faces were painted with rouge and kohl, enhancing their delicate features. Couples danced to the music, and servants wound through them, carrying trays of food and wine.

Grant, dressed in a sapphire velvet coat with silver buttons and black pants with new leather boots, twirled his sister around the floor; their laughter bounced off the walls as they spun. Mikhial danced with the Vintner’s daughter, Hanali Nihat. And their father had found the company of a Palman school teacher, an elegant woman with graying brown hair.

Grant had not seen Lonis since the previous day. He had been avoiding his old friend, which had not been difficult given the Manor was rather large, but Lonis was somewhere in the ballroom. Grant could feel his friend was close. Lonis' presence was like his heart beating in his chest, pumping in the rhythm in which he breathed. Lonis would always be an extension of his heart, no matter how much that pained him.

The quartet changed songs, easily bleeding from one to the next, and Milden appeared next to him, dressed in a gown that seemed to reflect the lights from the candelabras. She smiled, her brown eyes sparkling with joy. “May I cut in?”

Grant set Ralsair on her feet and held his hand out to Milden. He smiled down at his sister. “Save me a dance for later, Ral.”

She laughed, yelling, “I will!” as she scampered off towards Kal, who was stuffing his face full of bread and grapes. He blushed as Ral came close and pulled him to the dance floor.

Grant turned, sweeping Milden into his arms, and twirled her into the middle of the floor. She giggled, throwing her head back as her small chuckle turned into a laugh, reminding him of their time together: the many afternoons they spent by the river, the kisses they stole behind buildings in the town square, and the first time they had made love. The memories washed over him in a wave, overshadowing the heartbreak when she had refused his hand and left Oszerack and him behind.

They swayed in time to the music, her head coming to rest on the lapel of his coat. “Did you not have a date?” he asked. “I’m sure you would have had many men asking you to the ball.”

“And you would be correct,” she replied. “None that I enjoyed the company of beyond their skills in bed.”

“Not even Yvney?”

“Yvney asked Sherideen Closs.”

“He’s a fool.” He chuckled. “Someday one will capture your heart. I just hope it’s not Yvney.”

“And they’ll want to cage me,” she said, her tone put out.

He thought of the words she had spoken years ago: I am a dove, Grant. I long to be free, to feel the wind upon my wings. I can’t be a dove if I am married; wedding bonds are a cage I will never be captured in.

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