The Starriest Summer (The Cycle of the Six Moons, #1)

Chapter Thirteen: Royal Strife

I burst out laughing, and I can tell that Gare is glaring at me behind his goggles.

"Didn't you know, Mirra?" Simmy asks.

"You don't mean that—"

"Prince Jaysonn is the reincarnation of King Cyal." She prods the tele-sphere and we reappear in the corridor leading to my room. "Could you not tell? The tell-tale signs of his healing abilities."

I still can't believe that Jayse is destined to fall in love with me—like we're supposed to have the greatest love story of all time. That's the stuff of Shakespeare.

I'm still snickering when I say, "Wait, wait a minute. Who is King Cyal?"

"Our very first king, the one after whom Arriscyal is named. He and Goddess Saei were lovers."

I laugh again at the word she uses—like the tarot cards or something.

They lead me into my room, sighing over fated romance, but I don't buy into any of it, especially since it's concerning me. I don't want to fall in love because of some old legend. I'm barely old enough to even have kids. Plus I don't want anyone forcing Jayse to fall in love with me, of all people, just because his past incarnation fell in love with mine.

Sure, he is really hot—and I like the attention he gives me, and he's nice to me, and he actually seems genuinely interested in me, but... But I can say the same about Gediyon, so there.

I'm still smirking about it when they lead me to the bath, when they must understand that I think it's a joke, because they stop talking about it.

Well, with their change of topic, maybe I prefer the forced romance, because they give me a list of requests for Goddess's help: a broken windmill, barren farmland, inefficient furnaces... I groan as I keep listening to the mundane list. Why don't they involve killing zombies—or more relevantly—fending off Taesmal mutants? At least then, Jayse can show me how he swings a sword, or Gediyon could roast the mutants for a feast.

After my bath, my maids spray me with all kinds of pretty-smelling liquids. Before they start on my makeup, I take out my music player and simply ask for something upbeat. It starts playing a song I've never heard before, but hey, it works.

They seem far too excited to do my makeup, but I'm sure whatever they do to me, it'll be better than what I can do to myself, as long as they don't make me look like a clown.

I sit with my eyes closed and hands clutching the arms of a plush chair. Canaria prods at my face with pointy and fluffy brushes. The powders she uses smell like candy. Mirra tugs on my hair as she tries to figure out what to do with it, but there isn't much length to do anything. Simmy prepares my dress, shoes, and accessories.

And to think I'm only dressing for dinner.

Once they finish with my hair and face, they keep me away from the mirror and force me into a pink dress. It's the same dress Simmy took out the last time I was here, and I guess it's fitting for a royal banquet, even though it's too pretty, and all I want to do is stuff my face.

It's a flashy princess dress. The fabric feels wonderfully smooth—and expensive—and in different angles of light, the pink turns to peach and then gold. The hem is embroidered with fine gold lace and pearly beads. It feels far too heavy when they lace it up in the back, and I'm afraid I'll trip over it walking to the dinner table, but Mirra whips some air in her hands and blasts it underneath my skirt. The hem floats outward, and I feel cool wind around my ankles.

A petticoat made out of air! This is awesome. Not only does it cool me down, but also spreads out the skirt enough so I can walk without tripping.