Three

Volas advanced cautiously, not wanting to seem overeager, asking the only question that came to mind, “You hunt?” 

“I hunt, your Highness.” Her eyes were a golden amber that distracted him from her words. Marravae extended her hand and he realized she’d spoken of his dagger. Volas drew it to allow her to look at it, offering it to her hilt first.

When Myrin began to laugh at him, he realized he’d betrayed his distraction. 

“You were meant to kiss her hand.”

Before he could speak out of his discomposure, Marravae calmly chided, “I’m amazed no one has told you not to laugh at an Arek who has a blade drawn, Prince Myrin.” It was almost a threat and coupled with the way her delicate hands held his dagger, he found he wanted the chance to kiss those hands. “It has a beautiful edge, and I can see it’s well-used, your Highness. Thank you.” She handed it back carefully without using his name.

Volas studied her soft features, “You don’t use my name? Have I offended you?”

“We haven’t been properly introduced.” The way her full lips curved and her smile touched her golden eyes almost distracted him again.

Stepping closer, he sheathed his blade and took her hand bringing it to his lips, eager to introduce himself, “Volas, son of Varas, son of-” 

“If you give her the list we’ll be standing here all night.” Myrin snapped. “Princess Marravae I have to insist-”

“I want her to stay.” Gaeleath spoke up, earning his gratitude, “Marravae is the only one likely to regale us with tales of the hunt, and if no one does that we could have just stayed in the garden.”

“Agreed.” Volas bridled slightly at the dig. “I can be persuaded to trade tales with a huntress.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Volas.” The warmth of her smile and the sound of his name on her lips was like basking in the summer sun.

“Have you brought your own tent?” Myrin moved closer, extending his hand. “If you’ll be staying… you’re welcome to my tent.”

“I’ll be in my brother’s tent. Despite the arrangement, it would be inappropriate, your Highness.”

“I meant I would give you my tent, your Highness. Your brother might consider sharing with me to give you the luxury you deserve.” Watching him take her arm and lead her away toward the tents, a hard ball began to form in his belly.

Turning to Gaeleath he inquired quietly, “Arrangement?”

“Marravae is arranged to Myrin. Our fathers felt it would help secure the peace for more generations, it worked well with your house and mine in the past.”

“It did.” Volas’ hand itched to reach for his dagger. Their royal houses had intermarried several times in the past, there had been occasional tensions since, but no open war. “However, Myrin isn’t worthy of such a consideration.”

“Better stock can only improve his line.” Gaeleath sounded as though he were repeating something he’d been told.

“You had objections as well?” He noticed the slight falter in the Cemiri Prince’s step as they began to follow.

“I did.” There was a slight pause, “I do. My sister loathes court intrigue, I’m afraid she won’t do well here.” Gaeleath stopped and lifted his hand. “Weren’t you intended to marry Myrae?”

“The arrangement could not be agreed upon.” Both of them had flatly refused. He because she was a sickly, pale, unpleasant creature who would be incapable of strengthening the tree of his family. She because she was afraid of going to the Reaches with a man as dark and dour as Volas.

“I don’t think either of them are thrilled with their match either.” Gaeleath rubbed his temple as they rounded the tents to see Myrin ordering Marravae’s things into his own tent and some of his clothes into Gaeleath’s.

It was impossible not to notice the annoyed look Marravae shot to her brother. “You’re close?”

“Father says we might as well have been twins, Marravae chased me out of the womb less than a year later.” The Cemiri Prince gave him a faint smile, “We’ve been nearly inseparable all our lives.”

He stood next to Gaeleath watching Myrin take Marravae into the tent alone.