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Jon chuckled. “You got it, Captain.”
The gifts the envoy had brought from the Mor had been picked out, and packed, personally by their queen’s adviser, Caziel, so Fadon hadn’t a clue as to what they were giving the Constant and his daughter. Speaking of, Fadon leaned back and spotted the girl. He had yet to hear her speak, but based on her looks alone, the Owl had chosen well. The woman-child was appealing.
A little too much, Fadon thought, with her mass of golden hair, dewy rose-petal complexion, and large seductive eyes. Her posture and bearing were that of a queen’s. No trace of arrogance—or boredom—as he would expect from a high-society daughter. Nor did she seem terrified like the other younger women he’d spied earlier. She was quiet, if not a little overwhelmed, if her fidgeting with the stem of her wineglass was any indication. But would she do for Prince Lysander of House Trajan?
She’d need steel in her veins if she was to survive the Mor’s court.
Fadon heard his name and broke from his reverie as Jon nudged him with his boot. Yorkus had arrived, along with his twin brother, Darius. The two brothers had been in service since Fadon’s father’s rule and were warriors of the best cut. Twins were an anomaly in the Ongahri, especially Alpha twins, but the brothers never let that fact fatten their heads. Modest and dependable to a fault, House Trajan held them in high esteem.
The twins stood before the table, waiting patiently. Fadon sighed. It was time to play the pretty.
From his seat, he held up a hand, signaling to Constant Linden that he was about to speak.
After the Constant nodded, Fadon said, “In honor of your hospitality and in the tradition of the Fealty, the Ongahri would like to present to you, Constant Linden, some gifts from our people. Yorkus?”
The older warrior dutifully laid down the bounty onto the now cleared table: three bundles wrapped in oil skin and tied with string. The crowd, quiet before, now murmured amongst themselves. The Constant bowed his head in thanks and began untying the contents.
“And for you, Lady Sierra, the Fealty Bride.” Fadon had fumbled over the name, putting more emphasis on the “see” sound. “To keep you warm on the Mor.” He motioned to Darius, who stood beside his brother, a thick furry coat draped over his forearms. This he presented to the bride-to-be. Fadon couldn’t see her face but saw her gently take the coat, her delicate hand petting the snowy fur.
“I am honored, my lord,” she said in a clear voice.
“How marvelous!” Constant Linden crowed at his gift. “We thank you, Captain Trajan.” The Constant held up a warrior mask, and in his jeweled hands it looked like a demonic relic for some ancient ritual. Fadon thought it was the appropriate gift for these pampered, simple people. The other gifts were more tame, one an ornate goblet fit for a king, the other a perfume bottle for Lady Linden, its spun glass the color of snow on Great Mountain.
Pleased that the offerings had been made and the pleasantries gone through, Fadon sat back and waited the appropriate amount of time before he and Jon could take their leave. All he wanted now was a soft bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.
“But that is what I wish,” Fadon demanded the following morning, reining in his irritation. “The Ongahri have no such custom. Bring her here, Servant. You may stand at the door outside. No harm will come to her.”
It was long past time to return to Goth Mor Helle, Fadon thought. One hour more in this place and he would crawl out of his skin.
“Very well, Captain.” Demos didn’t bow his head as he left the balcony outside Fadon’s room.
“Arrogant prick,” Fadon muttered. He was alone, Jon having been given the task of readying their men for their journey back home. Constant Linden would be disappointed that the Ongarhi had plans to stay only a few more hours rather than the three days they had spoken of before dinner last night. But by Ongar, Fadon was feeling keyed up.
When he had risen earlier this morning, his bones knew something was wrong. His instincts had always proved right. He needed to get home.
He leaned forward against the balcony’s stone banister and gazed at the sunrise. The smell of berries overripe on their vines assaulted his nose, the air slightly humid and carrying the scent of last night’s fires and traces of sweet-sickly mead.
Fadon hoped this itchy feeling tickling the back of his neck had nothing to do with sister Mari and her latest interest in Dega politics. Lucius of House Dega would eat Mari whole. She was a good queen, but she was untried and young. Besides, the Ongahri Alpha was rabid and made Mari look like a simpering maiden.
A knock interrupted Fadon’s musings. “Come,” he called, gaze still on the morning sky.
“My lord, you asked for me?” a young melodious voice replied behind him.
The sound affected him physically, like being pelted by heavy rain drops.
He turned and saw Ander’s betrothed standing at the threshold. Her gown was simple but well-made, a cream color that suited her. Like women of the Ongahri, her head was uncovered, and the long golden tresses fell softly in long curtains of silk. A pang of sympathy hit Fadon, something he rarely felt. The girl was like prey in a hunt. A bunny rabbit indeed.
“I did. Join me,” he said. “I’d like to speak with you without that meddlesome Owl Servant hovering.”
She stepped onto the balcony, and he gestured to one of the chairs around the iron table, where Fadon had had his breakfast just an hour ago. An untouched pot of tea and several cups had been set out. As the young woman sat down, Fadon poured them both a cup.
“Demos and your father have spoken highly of you,” he began. “Educated, well mannered, intelligent. The usual fare of attributes one expects someone promised to a prince to possess, I expect. But this is my brother you’re marrying—”
“Your brother?”
Fadon started. He wasn’t used to being interrupted—unless it was Mari. “Yes. My youngest and only brother. Lysander.”
He sipped his tea and studied her. She was indeed striking. He couldn’t put a name to the color of her large eyes. An outer ring of gray that blended with neither green nor blue, but a mixture of both, near the pupils, like a pool of water whose color changed depending on the sunlight.
