Torrent of Tears (Scourge Survivor Series Book 3)(20)
At first glance, he seemed a few years older than me with short dark hair and a stride which reminded me of what Jade and I called the Highborne prowl. Yep. When a man looked at you a certain way and strode with loose limbs of a jungle cat and confidence in his hips, there was nothing you could do but curl up and be his prey. And this guy had that. In spades.
“Alexannia Grace, birthed of the late breeder, Balor,” she paused mid-sentence, looking down to smooth the waist of her gown where it clung to her perfect figure. “May I present Lir-Zale, son of the seventh house, and your betrothed.”
At that moment, the world became a blur of WTF. “I’m sorry, my wha—”
The dark-haired Mc-dreamy kissed both my cheeks and whispered something about how lovely I was.
I pulled back, a whole lotta oh-no-you-don’t on the tip of my tongue.
Servants appeared in every direction with champagne flutes of sparkling blue liquid. The crowd gathered and before I could put the brakes on the celebration, Zale and I were swept into toasts and congratulations then seated across from each other at the right and left hand of the Queen.
“And so, as is customary,” the old priest-guy next to me said as the luncheon droned on, “the hand of the Eligible goes to a son of one of the Noble Houses. It was set in the stars the night you were born and now that you’ve returned to Attalos, you will be wed.”
I gave up picking at my lunch and took another long swallow of blue drink.
It was hard to argue with a priest. Probably, the reason he’d been chosen to sit next to me to explain this. Good strategy. I’d dreamed about having a mother my whole life but there was no way in hells I was marrying some guy just because my birthday was five days away and she wanted me to. I needed to speak to her alone . . . to explain that this arrangement was crazy. Marriage didn’t happen like this where I came from . . . but this was where I came from.
I upended my blue cocktail and set the empty glass back onto the silk tablecloth.
The priest patted my hand. He seemed harmless despite his nose being broken too many times to ever be straight and his fingers, which curled as if they too had been broken but hadn’t healed properly.
“Wow,” I said for what must’ve been the eleventy-millionth time. “But—”
“There are no buts in tradition, Princess,” he said, topping my glass with a sympathetic smile. “The laws of Attalos are absolute. All Eligibles must wed by their sixth celebration and yours is within the week. Thank the goddess Lir-Zale has been gracious enough to forgo the term of courting for the sake of time.”
“For Her Highness, it is my pleasure,” Zale said, bowing his head from across the table.
My mother patted the back of his hand where it lay on the golden silk. He was deliciously charming, but the thought of marrying the guy parked a Volkswagen squarely on my chest.
“Now,” he said, flashing me a conspiratorial wink, “if I might steal away my soon-to-be-bride, we have much to learn about each other.”
“Of course.” The Queen raised her hand and gestured that we were dismissed.
Zale strode down the length of the table and back up again on her side. I wondered why he didn’t just pass behind the Queen’s chair but then thought maybe that was a no-no. When he arrived at my side, he held out his hand. “Shall we, Princess?”
Somehow, I got my feet under me and stood. The dozen or more men at the table stood and bowed their heads. What was I supposed to do? Who the hell knew? I placed my napkin on my chair and curtsied. “Your majesty, gentlemen, ladies.”
When the clink and murmur of the royal luncheon faded behind us, I chanced a glance at my companion. He stood out in a well-groomed, polished sort of way. For some reason, I thought about Rowan. He was a looker too, but not as pretty. Rowan had a more chiseled ‘been-there-lived-through-it’ energy that showed in the clench of his jaw and the depths of his gaze.
“So that’s what all the Eligible stuff has been about? I’m eligible to get married?” The two of us walked along the side grounds of the palace. Terran followed just behind us, walking with a boy who accompanied Zale. The kid was a skinny little rake of a thing with a mop of ginger hair. “That seems a little anti-climactic. I was thinking it was going to be some sort of Hunger Games competition where we had to prove ourselves worthy. Maybe fight to the death to be named the top daughter. A real ‘there can be only one’ moment.”
Zale’s eyes widened, but quickly regained his air of perfection. “It is a betrothal. The Queen claims no daughter. Eligibles are merely offspring, nothing more.”
I managed not to curse out loud, though my gut clenched. I’d waited years to find my parents and now my mother was no more than a genetic donor who had my father executed and was pimping me off to one of her noble followers.
I’m not sure what my expression showed—anger and confusion at being denied after finally finding my mother, defiance of the whole death-do-you-part scenario being forced on me—but Zale smiled as if he understood. His dimples showed and reminded me of Tham.
Damn, how I ached to talk to Tham.
We continued to walk in the awkward silence of strangers until finally he took my hand and squeezed. “I realize this must be a shock for you. A mentor would have prepared you on what it means to be the wife of a noble. The realm is in the midst of chaos. We must ensure the continuation of the strength of our race.”