Prophecy Bound: The Lightbringer Chronicles

The wild-tempered

Suddenly, my stomach rolls with nausea, an icy cold breeze hits the back of my neck. It’s a cold that burns and I know my mother is now annoyed.

Her use of her element on me is the equivalent of a smack to the back of the head. I let go of Prince Lycur's hands quickly, trying not to rub them on my skirts.

Next, Lyva quickly steps up and I curtsey low to the ground, so we are at eye level and to avoid her brother. I give her an encouraging wink. It produces a mischievously dimpled smile and an unsuccessful attempt at a wink in response. Adorably, both her eyes blink at the same time. She reminds me of myself, full of barely concealed mischief.

I feel Lycur’s eyes watch me as I take my place by Mother’s side again; the shiver hits me again. His attention is definitely having an effect on my senses – and not in a good way.

“Shall we all retire to the Banquet Hall to refresh ourselves?” She poses the request as a question, but everyone knows that it is not. Lyall offers her his arm, then allows her to lead him to the other chamber.

I watch Father give Queen Malvina his arm, and she promptly refuses it. Another insult. Heat rises swiftly and hot. “It’s fine Saoirse, she doesn’t hold the power and is trying to overcompensate.”

I’m still seething when Lycur clears his throat beside me. I look at him and then his arm with doubt. It has to be a trap, but I don’t have a choice. If I don’t take it I’m no better than her. I grab his arm, then hold my other hand out to Lyva, hoping to use her a shield.

But I don’t have that luck. She gets shy and clings to her brother’s leg on the other side of him. I lead him into the hall in silence; I don’t want to give him the opportunity to provoke me further.

By the time we catch up, King Lyall sits to the right of Mother, Father is on the left, and Queen Malvina is placed on the other side of the King, leaving me to sit between Father and Prince Lycur.

Scowling with frustration, I move to the dais. Are they insane? Are they trying to set me off? I give my father a beseeching look: “Whose bright idea was this?”

“Your Mother’s, now stop acting like a child and be good No more theatrics, I know what you did back there.” He responds as we get to our chairs.

“Allow me.” Lycur says, and steps forward gallantly, holding mine out, that daring look in his eye again, and I want to smack him. He just keeps the pose, waiting for me to sit, that stupid smirk in his eyes. I don’t understand why he is determined to bait me, but I need to keep my cool.

“Thank you.” I mutter and take my seat. He holds his sister's chair out for her, then takes his own, seemingly at ease as every instinct tells me to shift away from him. I’m very aware of him; of his every movement, his observation of me. It’s as if being close to him is a threat in itself.

The servants begin to pour the wine and the entertainment starts. A troupe of Elemental dancers takes to the floor; their hips move in time to the rhythmic music. Normally, I’d love to watch them, but I’m too distracted today.

Lycur is still watching meand it’s really starting to tick me off. I take a sip of wine, to avoid having to say anything. Father shoots me another warning look. It seems conversation is going to be unavoidable.

“I … trust your journey was … pleasant.” I turn to Lycur, offering the question with what I assume is a sincere smile. He sips his wine, holding his cup comfortably in his large hand, his eyes watch me attentively, his expression completely unreadable.

“It was …interesting. I found the scenery was more... wild-tempered … than I was expecting.” He smiles arrogantly, taking another long swallow of wine. I feel the criticism keenly. He thinks he’s being clever.

Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe he didn’t mean it the way it sounded? I glance at his profile. He’s smirking. Heat roars in my head and my chest, at alarming speed, begging for release. Instead, I clear my throat.

“Really?” I try to keep my voice even. “I thought you would be used to the wild tempered, having recently witnessed some of your…uncivilised scenery myself.” It isn’t as smooth as his comment, but I don’t care.

He smiles wryly, glancing down the other end of the table at his mother, Malvina his expression closes, then back at me. “Only a true Lupinel of Royal blood can appreciate the difference between wild-tempered and uncivilised.”

My brows shoot up to my hairline with surprise. I’m speechless. He’s talking about his mother, to a stranger, someone from a different kingdom. Fortunately, Lyva has gotten over her shyness. She climbs across her brother’s lap to talk to me, pushing his arm out of the way to get to me. More proof she has the potential to wreak havoc without intention.

“I like your dress. What’s it made of? How did you get your hair to go so many different colours? How old are you?” The questions roll out of her with breakneck speed. Her soft liquid brown eyes look into mine without guile, and her head c***s to the side in contemplation waiting for answers.

“Thank you, Princess Lyva, I like your dress too. This one is made out of silk and dyed different colours. I’m eighteen and I was born with my hair like this. My mother says that the colours are inherited from one of my ancestors; she had the same powers that I do. She says they are a warning sign not to anger me.” I answer her questions, one at a time, hoping that her brother will take heed of my warning.

She leans forward, precariously perched on his lap, so that she can get a good look at all the different shades. I feel her fingers reach out slowly and touch the strands carefully. “I want hair like yours, not boring brown.”

She pulls on her lush dark brown hair with enough force that I’m afraid she’ll pull it out. I reach out a hand to stop her, a worried expression evident on my face. Lycur shakes his head and chuckles under his breath, he hands moving to hold her stable.

“You have beautiful hair, Lyva. It’s such a pretty colour, like rich chocolate, and so shiny. My hair never does what it’s told, and it also means that I have a bad temper. You don’t want that.” I frown to demonstrate my point, and she flashes me another dimpled smile, hugging closer to Lycur, her head on his shoulder.

“So that’s what you call it?” Lycur’s deep voice is so quiet, only I hear his comment. I glance up quickly, catching the look of amusement on his face as he brushes Lyva’s hair behind her ear.

Further down the table, Mother and King Lyall are watching us as they make pleasant conversation. Their previous alliances over the last fifteen years have helped to build their comfort with each other. She’s never spoken about what forced her to gain King Lyall’s help.

Queen Malvina sits beside the King, still stony faced and sullen, refusing to engage with anyone. Her expression makes me think about Lycurs’ comment about true Lupinels of Royal blood. Is he implying that she is only half Lupinel? There is something that I am missing.

My thoughts are interrupted by a soft tug on my sleeve. Lyva’s hand clutches my dress, and her eyes shine with excitement. I wait expectantly for her to speak; she smiles at me cheekily and then, before he can react, she wriggles out of her brother’s embrace, depositing herself on my lap. The conversation around us stops and I freeze.