Defiant (Reign of Prophecy), page 1
Defiant
Reign of Prophecy
Kathryn Summers
Table of Content
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER 1
“Countess Pryline with her daughters Leana and Lucina.”
Standing in line to be pranced around for all to see for the hundredth time is a waste of a perfectly good evening. I would rather endure having my eyes slowly gouged from their sockets. Well, perhaps that’s a bit melodramatic.
“Lord Draim and Lady Jatte.”
Another less dramatic alternative would be to faint. The idea has merit as it would also relieve me out of having to dance.
“Sir Jarold accompanying Lady Trina.”
Then again, if a fainting spell were to occur I would probably be mauled by eligible men claiming concern for my well-being. Being surrounded by pushy narcissistic attendants ranks fairly low on how I wish to spend my time.
“Lady Margareta with her son, Lord Jayson.”
Or I could get physically sick. Though it would be a somewhat embarrassing spectacle and it would be a shame to ruin such a fine dress. There is the other small disadvantage that my father would have my head.
“Your highness,” Timber whispers, interrupting me from my thoughts, “we are next.”
Shuffling forward on the balcony my eyes roam the guests already enjoying themselves in the frivolity of the festivity.
“The Princess Arine of Rierard.”
Guests within earshot look our way as we descend the grand staircase. I can’t help but be impressed by the exquisitely decorated ballroom ornamented for the celebration of Prince Lox’s birthday. Herreth is a beautiful country, but no amount of gaiety and expense can mask the hidden agenda of a country seeking a marriage contract. Certain smiles are too bright, practically plastered into place as a strange mix of desperation and lilacs permeate the stifled air. Whenever a binding contract such as marriage is discussed my base instinct is to run the opposite direction. It is the main reason I dread attending these celebrations.
“Princess, we are honored you accepted our humble invitation,” the Duke of Herreth wheezes, introducing himself before guiding me through the parting throng of people toward a separate staircase. My once cemented smile starts to come loose as my mouth threatens to morph into a grimace. If the Grand Duke had not popped out from behind another guest this meeting could have been delayed for another half hour at best. And with Timber on my heels I can hardly slip away unnoticed. I have no doubt he was briefed on my past antics.
Reaching a high set balcony, I observe Herreth’s royalty. The proud family is seated in such a way to oversee what occurs in their ballroom while simultaneously proclaiming how much better they are than all others. No doubt it leaves Herreth’s citizens in wonder and awe of their rulers. And if not then they’ll have another revolution. Curtseying low I express Rierard’s gratitude in the invitation, playing the dutiful, charming princess from a foreign land.
Ignoring the pointed looks from the king to his son I quickly wrap up pleasantries and gravitate toward the ground floor, pausing several times to visit with important dignitaries or influential emissaries.
“One hour of our presence will suffice,” I instruct Timber, already debating how to spend my time. “After that we can head back to the transport station.”
“Yes, your highness,” Timber acquiesces with a frown before leaving to find a suitable spot to watch me from afar. The guard does his job well but is a stickler for my father’s rules meaning he thinks we should stay longer. This is not a bad thing as my father creates the laws of the land, though it is inconvenient when our opinions differ.
Taking a step away from the dancing couples I find myself face to face with a smiling young woman my age.
“Annabelle!” I exclaim, momentarily stunned to see her in the small country. Immediately my eyes search for the mop of curly blonde hair that is her other half. “Where is Francis?”
“He is at home, the poor dear,” she explains while placing her slender arm around mine as she has always done. “Far too much business to attend to. It is a shame that he’s missing such a beautiful evening.” Annabelle watches the graceful performers, her eyes shining with excitement as we meander gracefully around chatting individuals. She did always enjoy a good party. Women are meant to adore getting fancied up, and while I do enjoy the finished product I am not so keen on the final destination.
“Which means you must be here with your father,” I piece together easily. “No doubt King Wilhelm sent his finest negotiator.”
“Yes, my father is very good at what he does.”
I can only shake my head in agreement. Rierard recently reviewed our own trade agreements with New Freink and Lord Bryston is a wily one.
“Of course. I rarely have the chance to travel with him on business,” Annabelle reminisces, “not like the good old days.”
Unable to cover up a laugh I draw the attention of two gossiping hens. “Are you calling us old?”
“No, nothing of the sort!” she expresses adamantly, rejecting any notion of developing wrinkles. “This trip has been dreadfully boring, though I do enjoy travelling.” Stopping beneath a small alcove I watch a flurry of colorful fabric spin beneath twinkling lights. My own scarlet gown bears no extravagant ornaments compared to other pieces decorating the floor which is exactly what I had planned on.
“Kata, it has been far too long since we have seen each other,” Annabelle complains, moving a portion of luxurious blonde strands behind her shoulder. My mouth flickers at the abbreviated middle name my mother refuses to acknowledge.
“I saw you at your wedding,” I chuckle, knowing that her perception of time revolves around her own personal standards.
“That was months ago!” she protests. “The next time I see you won’t be until your own wedding which will be at least another year from now if you go to Demarde.”
“If that is the case I am hoping not to see you for many years to come.”
The day I received the invitation from Demarde to attend their prestigious academy was nearly perfect. Pursuing worthwhile topics such as weaponry, battle strategies, and the makings of a warrior is everything I want, but is something my parents need a little more persuasion in.
“What did your parents say when you asked them?” Annabelle enquires while taking an hors d’oeuve from a passing server.
“They didn’t outright reject the idea,” I hedge, remembering the rather explosive expletives spewing in an unqueenly fashion when I mentioned the program. It probably didn’t help the situation that I had just publicly rejected an influential duke, offending him, four generations of his family, his entire staff, and his favorite dog.
“To each their own I suppose. Why you would rather swing around a lump of metal instead of enjoying your life of luxury is beyond me.”
“A life of luxury has strings attached,” I remind her through nearly gritted teeth.
“Ah yes, of course. Your mother’s method. And how are the negotiations coming along on that front?”
Gesturing to the ensuing festivity I end the brief tour motioning toward Prince Lox who is currently flirting with a pretty brunette. “Splendid as you can see. If my parents stopped forcing me to attend every ball containing eligible bachelors, I may not be so averse to them.”
“If your parents did not force you to attend then I’m sure you would have suitors knocking down your door determined to court the Princess of Rierard. Better to meet them out in the open where you can plan a hasty retreat if needed.” Annabelle snickers from my side, no doubt imagining a horde of suitors invading Rierard. As she watches the dancers a playful gleam that I know all too well appears in her eyes. “There are plenty of eligible bachelor’s in attendance. I would be happy to introduce you—”
“Annabelle, I don’t know if you notice but those meetings always end in tears.”
“Then stop making them cry,” she whispers, nudging my elbow. “Really, you hardly give anyone a chance. There is more to you than your title. You simply need to stick around long enough for them to come to that realization.” Drawing my attention to a group of young men standing on the other side of the room she continues in her efforts. “There is a certain man here I think you would be quite interested in. He’s—”
“You’re doing it again,” I chuckle. “Restrain your matchmaking genes. At least for the next hour.”
“You’re such a spoilsport,” she grumbles. Pouting for only a moment I can almost see her mind scheming for another way to convince me that marriage is the way to go. “Though if all else fails I’m sure Laylen would be more than happy to take care of you.”
Scoffing at the comment leads me to a fanatical rant. “If he is the only candidate left on earth I will avow the life of a nun. Celibacy and a life of poverty would kee
“Liar.” Bursting into a grin I cannot help but agree with Annabelle’s statement. He would never survive the lifestyle. Thinking about my friend who has grown cold and distant the past few months shifts my mood. Noticing the sudden shift Annabelle changes the subject. “On a different topic, how are things in Rierard? Have you had any exciting adventures?”
“The only excitement I have had is tormenting Nikolas. That boy will think twice next time before putting a crab in my bed.”
“Your brother and his pranks,” Annabelle laughs, reminiscing about all the mischief which occurred over the years. “Although, he’s not so much a boy anymore. He’s almost sixteen.”
“No matter, it is not becoming of a future king.”
“We weren’t so innocent ourselves,” Annabelle teases.
Sudden silence descends upon the room as the king rises for a speech regaling Lox’s admirable qualities. The droning of such qualities is a perfect time to boast of accomplishments though I find the whole ordeal dull as no end is in sight. After several minutes the audience breaks into applause as music begins signifying the prince’s first dance. With no surprise he chooses the woman he had been flirting with minutes before.
Having the ill-conceived notion to admire the dancers skittering across the floor my gaze catches that of another individual. Before having the chance to escape behind a pillar the gentleman approaches our area to request a dance. Annabelle’s smirk nearly sends me running in the opposite direction. The girl is having far too good of a time at my expense.
It’s not that I am against dancing. I find it quite enjoyable when one’s partner is not potentially prone to boyish infatuations. Inwardly grumbling I accept the clammy hand offered with finesse, determined not to stoke Annabelle’s flame of finding me a match.
Rubbing shoulders with individuals from different countries is always an interesting experience, particularly when faced with varying customs which may not be exactly socially acceptable. Yelling to be heard over the music, for instance, is generally frowned upon. Stepping on the foot of your partner while blaming it on lack of room is, once again, looked down on. Herreth is a rather new trading partner, and one that comes merely through polite interaction.
Through some unknown grace the dance ends quickly, which is just as well as my right hand is covered in a thin layer of someone else’s sweat. Another wonderful perk of dancing at a ball. Politely withdrawing my hand I attempt to cross the floor only to be dragged into another dance.
As the bright music starts relief floods my body. The quick pace and change of partners makes it difficult to carry on a conversation. Perfect.
Curtseying to my middle-aged partner the music whisks us away in a flurry of fabric and movement with hundreds of other participants. After only a short time I spin under his arm and come face to face with my new partner.
Piercing dark green eyes look down to meet mine and I momentarily forget to breathe. Layers of deep emerald swirling around branches of bright jade captivates my full attention until I blush remembering where I am.
Inwardly chastising myself I think of all the attractive men I have met and deem this one no different. The better looking a man is the more egotistical and selfish he tends to act. No reason to succumb to such infatuation only to be disappointed, I instruct myself, aware of his close proximity. Ordering my heart to slow its rapid pulse I break the eye contact and place my left hand on his broad shoulder, completing the required moves for the dance.
Allowing the silence to stretch on and trying not to glance at his face again I study the rich navy-blue of his jacket. A bronze emblem with a detailed bear rests on his lapel signifying his rank as an ambassador from Demarde.
“Since it appears you are keen on silence while dancing I would have to advise you to stay away from Lord Draim,” he advises judiciously while inclining his head to the right. Unable to ignore the fact he is talking without seeming rude, I peer up through my lashes and notice a strong jaw and perfectly designed light brown hair. Of course the rich timbre of his voice would perfectly match his striking physical appearance. “The last woman to have danced with him fainted just to escape his incessant talking,” he exaggerates. Or at least I think he’s exaggerating.
Following his line of sight it doesn't take me long to locate the spry man. My dance partner wasn’t exaggerating. It looks like Draim is animatedly retelling a story without the consent of his own partner. The poor lady’s face is pinched from the unremitting chatter and she does in fact look close to fainting. Biting back a spurt of laughter I glance back to my partner whose own eyes are alight with amusement. “How does one find the energy?” I speculate, sparing one last glance toward the interesting duo.
“That, my lady, is a secret. The man has the vigor of a five-year-old and I find it somewhat of a challenge to keep up,” he smiles as he pulls me away from a lively elbow protruding in our direction.
If he has spent any additional time in Herreth it must mean Demarde is also reviewing their trade agreement. Instead of correcting my title and spurned by his playful attitude I offer sage advice. "Perhaps you should exercise more."
Entertained by the short but surprisingly painless interaction I find myself twirling under his arm and into the arms of my new partner. The small encounter is enough to bolster my spirits into completing the rest of the dance with a smile which slowly dims after each switch. By the end of the song I am reminded why I avoid such activities while visiting other nations.
Having played the dutiful princess I escape into an adjoining room partially hidden behind several tapestries. Latching the door behind me dulls the sounds of the party bringing a welcoming quiet. Turning to face the room I am surprised to find a small library. Nothing ostentatious but enough to keep one entertained for a short while.
Browsing the books by the soft glow of artificial light is therapeutic. Actual candles are rarely used in palaces which tend to rely on magical influences, a welcome change from the occasional tapestry catching on fire.
The opening of a door draws my attention as two giddy individuals enter what they believed to be an empty room. Startled by my presence Prince Lox and the pretty brunette hurriedly continue on their way toward the opposite door which must lead further into the palace. Not wishing to linger on the passionate couple my gaze returns to the collection of books.
Withdrawing a book on war I pick the most comfortable looking seat in the room to pass the time. Stepping out of my shoes is a blessing as the soft carpet encompasses the puffy looking appendages, swollen from being used as target practice.
Cracking open the book my eyes fall to the page in front of me, interested in Herreth’s interpretation of war and its most basic functions. The local author rambles on and on regarding the use of cloud readings in war time. Cloud readings? Like how the cloud looks will determine the outcome of a battle? It’s no wonder Rierard has only a small partnership with the country. Their bizarre philosophies would be the laughing stock during any real war council. Shutting the peculiar book my eyes roam the room, searching for another more pleasant manuscript to pass the time.
Music grows louder drawing my attention to the now open door where my green-eyed dance partner seems to be in search of something. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but did Prince Lox pass this way?”
“Ah, yes,” I say, thinking of the two startled individuals. “He passed right through there about ten minutes ago.” After indicating to the door across the room I reopen the book in my lap, searching for a flimsy distraction. The man’s long strides carry him deeper into the room where he pauses just above the top of the book, easily visible if I only look up.
“I find it curious that a woman such as yourself would prefer the company of a book over an evening of entertainment,” he comments bemused while observing the small reading room.
“I require quiet meditation in order to fully contemplate the thought-provoking conversations occurring in the ballroom. After all it is not an everyday occurrence to be honored with such dizzying intellect.” My innocuous delivery holds only a hint of irony. Glancing upward locks my eyes on his which have already been studying me. “I find it curious that an ambassador was sent to find the crown prince of Herreth. Is that not the duty of a guard or other native dignitary?”
