Prophecy Bound: The Lightbringer Chronicles

A Different Heat

What are you staring at? I silently challenge him.

He continues to watch me; his expression is annoyingly unreadable. Unease prickles my spine. It takes me a second to realise that the man I am challenging is probably Prince Lycur, heir to the Lupinel throne.

The silent glares between us are highly inappropriate diplomatic behaviour — I force myself to look away from watching him from my periphery. His nostrils flare as he inhales, and his eyes widen with an expression I can only describe as recognition, and I can’t look away.

It’s getting worse by the second. I’m certain he witnessed my reaction to the Queen’s behaviour. He knows that I don’t approve, and it’s enough to force me to calm myself. I take a deep breath and chance a look at Mother to see if she has noticed our challenge. I will be in for a long lecture if she has. Thankfully, her attention is focused on the girl, Princess Lyva.

She is eight or nine years old, I estimate, small, by Lupinel standards, but her long limbs hint at a coming growth spurt. She stands twirling her skirt from side to side, her hand clasped trustingly in her big brothers. But it’s the way her eyes dart about in intelligent observation, never resting on one spot for too long, that catches my attention.

“Welcome King Lyall and Queen Malvina, you are our most honoured guests.” Mothers voice is clear and warm as she finally greets them formally. She lets go of Lyall’s hands, and in spite of Malvina’s discourteous greeting, she curtsies respectfully. I can’t hide my grin when I realise, she has not offered her hand, a slight rebuke.

“That’s how it’s done Mother.” I send the comment to her mind directly, knowing she can’t respond. Then attempt to hide my triumphant smile as Malvina’s face turns a darker shade in undisguised anger. I chance a look at Prince Lycur, ready to goad him but he is hiding the curve on his lips by rubbing his hand across his mouth.

“Saoirse.” This time Father’s voice is more of a frustrated sigh in my head. I’m definitely in trouble now. I see a week of lectures on protocol from him in my very near future.

“Sorry.” I venture, trying to catch his eye in his castigation. I’m not sorry, but there’s no point in arguing.

Mother turns to Father, giving me a sneaky wink as he steps forward to stand by her side and offers his arm as support. “Allow me to introduce you to my consort and War Chief, Lothair of the Avarian nations.”

“Lothair, it’s good to see you again, and under less volatile circumstances this time.” King Lyall says as he smiles in welcome; his bushy red beard reveals a flash of strong white canine incisors and offers his full arm for Lothair to take. Interesting.

Lothair bows his head respectfully to Malvina but does not offer his hand; it is inappropriate to touch a Queen unless you are offered the opportunity first. Her form of revenge for mother’s slight. She is smug as she eyes him and keeps her hands clasped together.

“Keep your fists clenched and your eyes forward, Saoirse.” Father warns, knowing my temper has raised its head again. I hold my breath and count to ten waiting for my fire to extinguish.

“Queen Evadne, I would like you to meet my son and heir, Lycur. He will be taking the next War Chief trials as part of his royal training.” Lyall’s deep voice echoes through the room. He turns to pat Lycur on the sleeve forcefully and with pride and affection. His thick arm is full of power, but Lycur barely seems aware of the powerful blow as he bows respectfully to Mother, taking her offered hand. Then to my horror, he turns to give me a pointed look, his right brow arches in silent question.

Is that to your satisfaction? His eyes seem to say.

My heat spreads through me quickly, as my temper rises with alarming speed. Great, as if I’m not in enough trouble already and now he goes and completely drops me in it. I give him the most unimpressed expression I can muster and turn my attention back to King Lyall.

Mother witnesses our interaction with a look that could freeze water – even though technically she can’t. The King pulls Lyva in front of him with equal affection, both hands secured on her shoulders to keep her still.

“And this young Lady is my daughter Lyva. Now curtsy the way I showed you sweetheart.” The last request is whispered loudly in her ear as he leans down to her. She looks very serious all of a sudden, her little pink tongue pokes out for a second as she concentrates on lowering herself to the floor in the appropriate manner. Her body looks stiff, awkward in an unpractised pose. I hide a smile.

Mother claps her hands with soft encouragement and then curtsies back, a look of delight on her face. She turns, her arm stretches out beckoning me over, but her eyes are full of warning.

“Don’t worry mother, I have this.” I send directly to her again. I lift my skirts and join to standing between my parents, my back straight and my best cordial expression pasted on my face. I wait for my introduction.

“King Lyall, may I present my daughter, Princess Saoirse.” I curtsey gracefully to the floor, my head bowed dramatically, with my right arm place over my breast in exaggerated humility. Father sighs aloud this time, not bothering to censure me silently or hide his frustration, knowing it will do no good.

As I rise, a look of innocence firmly placed on my face, King Lyall holds his hands out to me, his teeth flash again beneath his beard and his golden eyes shine with humour. His large hands envelope mine easily, I feel the calluses on his palms as he gives a friendly squeeze all King cuddly.

If he feels the heat surging from my body he gives no indication, his eyes watch me astutely, assessing me just like his son. He nods once as if coming to a decision for a question no one asked. I try to remain impassive, but a small frown of confusion appears, and he smiles in response.

“What was that about?” I ask father. I try to remain impassive, but I know I have a small frown of confusion because he gives my hands a final squeeze in response before letting got.

“Nothing to be worried about, he’s just trying to assess your strength and has decided you are worthy.” Father replies and I can’t help but wonder, what I am meant to be worthy of.

Taking a deep breath, I turn to Queen Malvina, the heat flares again as her eyes narrow at me. I fall dramatically to the floor in curtsey before her again. I’m already in trouble; I may as well enjoy myself now.

Rising slowly, I let her feel the heat wave wash off me and guide it over her. I want her to feel the essence of my power. Her face remains blank, but a small line of sweat appears above her lip. I’m satisfied she understands me now and pull it back again.

“My son Lycur.” Lyall gestures to his son and he steps lithely forward for our formal introduction. He’s taller up close and I have to lift my chin to meet his eyes. I don’t like the mischievous grin that is on his face – it’s too smug.

I lower to the floor again; head bowed; I gather my composure to rise but he reaches down and grabs my hand to help me up, a smirk on his lips and mockery written in his dark eyes daring me to pull back.

Oh boy – you really want to go there? My expression conveys to him, as I look up sharply and let him appear to gallant in his assist. Flames lick at me and heat flushes around me in warning and response to his proximity.

“Careful Saoirse. I won’t warn you again!” Lothair orders, his mental voice is controlled but firm. Lycur bows cordially, slightly lower than necessary, before holding both his hands, palms up, a single wiggle of one black brow taunting me to refuse him.

I know everyone saw him do it and I find it hard to swallow.

“Don’t do it, Saoirse.”

I peek at my parents, have never been able to back down from a challenge and they know it.

“Don’t do it!”

Even as I take his hands and let the small hot flame burst briefly between our touching palms, I know it is a mistake, but I can’t help it. Something in me refuses to let his challenge go.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” He holds my gaze, smirk still in place, but his hands clutch mine tighter as the flame I quickly emit burns his skin, a scorched scent lightly fills the air.

He says nothing, his expression gives nothing away, simply bows his head again. He is a better diplomat than I am. As he leans his head down over our hands, I feel the cool brush of his lips on my hot knuckles, and a shiver runs down my spine, sparking a different heat in me.