Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) (20 page)

“Oh?” Aniri asked, encouraging Nisha and enjoying the grim look on the prince’s face. “And what effect do I have on Jungali’s future king?”

“Well…” Nisha dropped her voice so the drifting noble from the Bajiran court wouldn’t overhear. “Those dreadful melancholy walks around the perimeter of the estate have stopped. And I hear he has given up reading poetry altogether.”

“That’s a complete fabrication,” the prince objected.

Aniri kept her voice conspiratorial as well. “In fairness, I did take one of his poetry tomes. I believe it was the one with the ancient Jungali love poems.”

She had read it through twice in the time she had been sequestered in her room. It had a soulful beauty that was entirely unexpected, and she flushed with the memory of how wrong her preconceptions had been about the Jungali people. Her uncharitable thoughts were proven even more wrong by Nisha’s embrace, not to mention the prince himself and his noble acts.

“Have you now?” Nisha’s almond-shaped eyes went round, and Aniri was sure she mistook the heat in her face for something else entirely. Then Nisha gave the prince a look that was both teasing and gleeful with this new information.

“Tell me,” she said, returning her gaze to Aniri, “did he show you his favorites?”

Nisha could give Priya serious competition in her fascination with all things romantic.

“I think we’re quite done discussing poetry,” the prince cut in, taking Aniri by the elbow and steering her toward the head table. “And I believe the party awaits us.”

Nisha grinned her goodbye and swept her skirts to take her place at the head table. It was slightly elevated from the others and arranged at one end of the hall. The prince and Aniri sat in the middle, side by side, with Nisha on his left and Janak already settled on her right. Priya bounced slightly, barely able to contain her joy at filling out the remaining head table seat, while to Nisha’s left was another woman who could easily be her sister, with the same stunning Jungali beauty.

Once they were seated, the prince leaned over to whisper, “I’m sorry about Nisha.”

“Sorry about what?” Aniri asked, grinning. “I thought she was quite charming. Although I am now extremely curious as to your favorite poems, Prince Malik.”

He shook his head and returned his attention to the table and gathered guests. The head table was arranged with more platters of food than needed to feed all the people in attendance twice over, but there was a complete absence of forks or spoons and only the occasional knife for cutting meat. Aniri hoped she could negotiate it. The small dishes of some kind of sauce did not look promising. Perhaps she would forgo eating.

The wide center of the ballroom was left clear, with tables lining the sides. Music swelled up from the alcoves behind the guest tables. It was lively and fresh, and the spirits of the room seemed to lift right out of the heavy chairs. Aniri had never heard Jungali music before, and maybe this was only reserved for celebrations like royal engagements, but it was so full of life that she couldn’t help but tap her feet under the brocade blanketed table. Voices joined the strings and horns and made a sensual sound that made her almost embarrassed by the grin it brought to her face. Then she turned to Prince Malik, and he wore a grin so broad, she felt instantly at ease, as if nothing could make her uncomfortable when the earnestness he normally wore could be wiped away by this lively celebration.

Then the dancers came out.

They flooded the floor with whirling blue dresses, flowing the Jungali colors like an ocean coming in for tide. Bare arms and feet flashed and pounded the air and floor tiles, floating and beating with the tempo of the music. A dizzying flurry of voices seemed to come from every crevice of the room. The dancers moved with sinuous, rhythmic motions, synchronized with the singers so that each movement felt like a reverberation of the music now pumping through Aniri’s entire body. Then their voices rose with the music, the flicking of their hands serving as punctuation for words that slipped one past the other. The language was beautiful, but she couldn’t make sense of it.

She leaned over to the prince and asked, “What are they saying?”

He tucked his head to the side, so his lips were near her ear. “It’s an ancient Jungali tongue. They are saying the wind sings of our love, the flowers bursting with joy.”

She smiled and pulled back, struck by the loveliness of it all. One of the dancers swept forward, carrying two tiny white blossoms, one in each hand. She wove a story in the air with them, then presented them to Aniri and Ash, arms outstretched across the head table, her head bent until her blue-black hair cascaded in front and obscured her face. Ash reached out to take his, so Aniri did the same. He turned to her, flower in hand, a sly smile on his face. While looking deep in her eyes, he gently cupped her hand with the flower and brought it to his face. Before she realized what he intended, he had snatched the delicate flower from her palm with his lips and drawn it into his mouth. Aniri gaped.

He was eating a
flower
.

A smirk grew while he chewed. She felt the heat of every pair of eyes in the room as he raised his flower to her lips. She struggled to keep her face neutral, afraid the blossom would be horrid, but she opened her mouth and let him feed it to her. It was delicate and sweet, slightly waxy but reminding her of spicy tea and honey. She managed to chew with some small amount of dignity, and when she swallowed, the prince, whose eyes had never left hers, gave her a wide smile that made her blush.

Meanwhile, the rhythm of the music picked up, beating faster and faster and drawing her back. The colors and arms and bejeweled feet whirled quicker, the singers’ words taking on new urgency, whatever their meaning. Just when she thought she might be compelled to sweep out of her seat to join them, the music shifted to a more base, almost guttural, pounding of drums and deeper stamping of feet. The female dancers parted and a tumble of male dancers stomped their way to the center. Their flowing pants legs and tight bronze-buttoned vests, with bared arms and naked feet, virtually screamed masculinity, as if the music and muscular beat didn’t pulse it loud enough.

Aniri’s mouth hung open as they leaped and clapped and generally made her forget to breathe. Their shoulders slinked up and down, undulating with the music. They touched their chests, then threw out their hands as if casting their hearts to the head table, then jumped one after another, hands in the air, their moves showing every muscle straining with their acrobatics. Aniri closed her gaping mouth and stole a look at Prince Malik. He was watching her with no small amount of mirth on his face, but she found it impossible to be embarrassed, so she grinned right back, and he laughed, a sound that was lost in the music still climbing to the highest corners of the ceiling.

She was captivated by the dancers right up to the moment they finished with a flurry and a held pose that seemed to defy gravity.

A thunderous snapping of fingers filled the air, the guests showing their appreciation, and Aniri joined right in, following the prince’s move. As the dancers bowed and slowly backed out, taking their leave, the snapping of fingers faded into a tinkling sound of a thousand glasses clinking. Confused, Aniri looked to the guests to find them all facing the head table, tapping small sticks against their cups. Aniri looked to Prince Malik—his eyes had gone wide, and he wasn’t smiling anymore. For a moment, she was afraid something had gone wrong. The prince turned to her, looked at her for a brief moment, then leaned over to speak into her ear.

“I forgot about this part. They expect the engaged couple to kiss after the nuptial dance. We don’t have to, if you don’t—”

Aniri cut off his words by pulling back, then brought her hand to the prince’s smooth-shaven cheek. Before he could say anything more, she leaned forward and kissed him.

Maybe it was the thrum of the music still echoing through her body, or the demands of their audience, or simply that she wanted to maintain the ruse which allowed her to stay in Jungali a while longer, but she didn’t find it anywhere near as difficult to kiss the prince this time. Her lips pressed urgently to his, and a half heartbeat later he responded just as strongly, his hand finding the back of her head to pull her closer. He tasted of honey flower. His thumb trailed across her cheek. A warmth surged through her that could have been wine… if she had been drinking any. It rushed through her body and settled to her toes, making them buzz.

The clinking of glasses turned to a snapping of fingers, and the prince pulled away, hesitating for a brief second to look her in the eyes. Then he ducked his head away, releasing her completely to face the expectant guests. A smile was back on his face, and he waved to them. She tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her, so she turned to smile at the crowd as well, with a small uncertain wave.

Her hand still tingled from its brief encounter with the prince’s cheek. That kiss didn’t make her lose her breath entirely, the way the first had in a thin-air induced panic on the balcony, but it left her... more affected than it should. She blinked and tried to catch the prince’s eye again, but he was busy having a whispered conversation with Nisha over the still fading noise of snapping fingers and calls of good-natured appreciation.

Aniri swallowed and scanned the faces around the expanse of the curved table, wondering once again what she had gotten herself into. Then she froze. A familiar form leaned against a pillar behind the farthest table, cool dark eyes staring at her and capturing her gaze even from across the room.

Devesh.

Aniri nearly bolted up from her seat, but shock kept her muscles from responding to her body’s alarm. What was Devesh doing in Jungali? At the prince’s engagement party, no less. The room was suddenly too hot, and the bustle of dresses and conversation faded from her mind, leaving only Devesh’s silent gaze locked with hers. His arms were crossed, his face frozen, but it was clear: he had seen everything. He held her with a heart-stabbing look, then unfolded his arms and slipped around the column he had been leaning against, disappearing from view.

Aniri had an urgent need to run: chase after him, explain that it was all a ruse, that it meant nothing. She stopped half way out of her chair. She needed some kind of excuse. She couldn’t simply flee the party.

Prince Malik turned to her. A frown appeared on his face once he saw the panic in hers. Had she already given it away?

“Is there something you need, Princess?” His voice was flat, and she couldn’t imagine what he was thinking.

She floundered for a reason to leave. “I just need a visit to the privy.”

His face relaxed, still unsmiling, but calmed. He signaled a guard from the small battalion stationed around the perimeter of the room. When he arrived, imposingly tall in his royal uniform, Prince Malik said to him, “Please escort the princess.” The prince turned away as Aniri finished rising out of her seat, but Priya popped up from hers, and Janak’s eyes were narrowed, already taking in the scene.

She tipped her head to Janak. “Just tending to a lady’s business.” She hoped that excuse, plus Prince Malik’s guard, would keep him from insisting on coming. His eyebrows rose in suspicion, but he didn’t object.

“My lady?” Priya asked. “Do you need me to accompany you?”

Aniri motioned her to stay. “I can manage on my own.” Which was, of course, ridiculous—navigating her dress would take two at least—but Aniri shook her head slightly in warning. Priya frowned, and before she could object further, Aniri quickly lifted her skirts free of the chair and worked her way toward the door to the chamber. How would she find Devesh, much less meet with him privately, with Prince Malik’s guard in tow?

Out in the hallway, the bulky guard kept to her side, marching so close he narrowly missed stepping on her skirts. For such a large man, he had a skittish look about him, like he thought she might disappear into smoke if he took his eyes off her. When they arrived at the privy, he reached for the door, as if he would come inside with her. Aniri gave him a withering glare, and he snapped to attention, hands tucked behind his back. She pushed through the heavy door alone.

Once inside, she leaned against the cool, tiled wall next to the door. The privy was spacious, an entire room with a washbin, sitting area, and a toilet. Aniri ignored all of it and tapped her head gently against the wall. How was she going to meet with Devesh? And how on earth did he get here? Clearly, he had escaped Dharia without capture. But why was he
here
?

Voices sounded outside the door, one deep and serious, the other friendly and light-hearted. She tensed as she recognized Devesh’s smooth voice, the one he used to court her, only now he had added a manly undertone in his banter with the guard. What was he thinking? That he would talk his way into the privy? No, he was waiting for her to come out. But they could hardly talk in front of the guard. Maybe she could insist he give them some privacy, as long as she was still within eyesight.

She took a breath and pulled open the door.