HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Emergence: Part I, Chapter 3

Imrath's great hall was remarkable for its ponderous majesty, which seemed to transcend the scope of understanding to awe the senses. Tall, ornate, alabaster pillars held up high ceilings that resembled the nave of a cathedral. Beams of pale moonlight streamed through large overhead windows, illuminating a dark red carpet that ran down the center of the mosaic floor from the entrance to the royal throne. Guttering candlelight fitfully illuminated twenty massive chairs, each signified by an emblem of nobility hanging on the wall above.

With cider in hand, Cecily moved through the hall virtually overlooked by ancient men, battle armor, and battered shields. From the passage there, she'd moved away from the aromas of a feast that threatened her stomach to revolt, and swayed between the couples that danced beneath a mural of stars like a lily, pure and light on her feet. And as she looked up, she witnessed something truly spectacular: the little orbs of light, twinkling against a cloud of midnight blue, began to move. It was like magic. With each footstep, she watched countless constellations forming in the hall's very own private universe.

She gaped in silent astonishment. Did magic affect time as well? Only two hours had passed since her arrival in Imrath, and yet so much had happened – she'd learned that magic was real, stepped through the door of a new kingdom, made a friend, and discovered what it was to be in the presence of immortals. Far too much had happened in such a short amount of time – two hours! Her world was spinning. The rules had been broken. Magic was real.

"Thank you."

Startled, she looked up to see that Daire Niadh had taken the last goblet of cider from her tray.

He glanced at her, his eyes unreadable in the dim candlelight, and she shivered, her skin warming. As if her body knew something she didn't. Heat lingered when he took a deep breath, lifted the goblet – his eyes still on her – and took a long, deep swallow of cider. He was so in control, bordering on the edge of deception, where the role envelopes the man, but he was never lost in it.

Her gaze wandered over the face she hadn't seen in several months since their meeting in her uncle's tailor shop, carefully etching every detail of his portrait in her mind. The broad lines of his face imposed an air of both power and willfulness. His high cheekbones and straight nose testified to his highborn heritage. As much as she marveled over the long, thick lashes that framed his green, almond-shaped eyes, she soon found herself tracing the laugh lines at the corners down to his lips. If she could recognize him so easily, perhaps he would recognize her, too.

It was certainly a childish presumption. Why would he recognize her? He was a prince, and she, his servant. Daire would not recognize her, nor would he even notice her presence. As her pulse throbbed in her neck, she reminded herself that she had to remain calm, composed, and focused to hold her emotions at bay. If something were to happen, it would ruin the possibility of building a new future in Imrath.

"Still not afraid of monsters, Raven?" He smiled, delighting in deviousness, and stood solemn and silent for her response, looking in every respect like a king, as one would conceive such a being to appear.

"It's too early to tell," she teased, pleased that he remembered her. "But I'm not afraid of you."

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, going over what she just said. I'm not afraid of you. It wasn't an idle statement.

As pleased as she was, seeing Daire again had torn the scab off a wound she'd held secret and thought had healed years ago. The moment he looked into her eyes, she instantly remembered all that had happened after she watched her mother die, each moment piled against the next – the crackling of the fire, the hammering against the door, and the screams. Then, when all was finally silent, only hushed whispers broke the heavy silence that hung like death over the hallowed halls of her mind. Why was the past invading her thoughts now? She'd foolishly ignored common sense and given into the pain of it. Cecily fought back the haunting memory – and won gallantly. There were other forces in play at the present.