Blood of Azura

SINS OF CALATE: EXCERPT

The chill crept under the skirt of the tent and danced lightly about her ankles. It was colder here. Here on the boundary where her father's stolen land met her future husband's realm. It was colder than it had been under Azura's sun. Than it was under Zybar's eye. Calate's lands were vast and lush, mountainous forests and deep green lakes which stretched to the very edge of Ethis, but a darkness clung to it. She could feel it. Maybe it was but a realm in mourning, the thick mist which hovered just above the trees a burial shroud.

She saw and felt the sadness from those she had seen, grief for their dead princess etched into the whites of their eyes. How strange the wheels of fortune turned. Fara of Calate had replaced her in Galyn' s marriage bed and now she would replace her as Calate's princess. Except she'd be more than a princess, more than Fara had been — she'd be their queen.

Outside, the noises of men at play went on. War, for a time, halted. New pacts forged, new peace treaties made, new betrothals promised. But war was merely a great beast at rest, gathering strength for what would come. Zybar's weapons pointed toward Leoth now when such a short time ago they had struck Azura's heart as one.

The minds and hearts of men were fickle, she knew this better than most. Her mother had always told her it was so, and now she had seen it for herself.

In the mirror, she cursed what she saw, as she always did. She wondered which of her imperfections was to blame for Galyn of Azura's fickle heart. Which would repulse Valdr of Calate the most? Skin pale and freckled and unable to brown. Eyes the colour of wet sand. Nose over long.  Mouth too quiet and too small.

There were some things she possessed which would not repulse a male: her skin was smooth as a babe's and silken soft. Her curves and breasts tempting and full for her frame. Her hair lustrous and thick, great waves of reddened-gold.

The sound of males laughing outside did not torment her as it once did. For she was certain they no longer laughed at her. Certain too that they would not laugh at her again. Galyn of Azura had made her the mocked fool of Ethis when he had broken their betrothal. But now her father would make her a Queen, and no one laughed at a Queen.

The entrance of the tent opening interrupted her thoughts.

'Forgive me, Your highness,' said Daegar. His large body was reigned in tight, his gaze lowering with respect as he came toward her. She turned on the stool to face him and stood. 'Your bid me warn you when your father approaches.'

'He is alone?'

'Yes.'

A note of anxiousness crept down her spine. In her mind, she imagined he came to tell her that the King of Calate had changed his mind. She had prepared for such an outcome. Men could be so fickle after all. She had also prepared for the wrath which would follow it.

Zhoron had always born most of their father's wrath. When battles went badly. When the princess had not been found within the city. When the Leoth commander had defied him before his war council — but this would be her fault alone. As Galyn's fickle heart had been her fault.

'The king!' his guard announced outside and Daegar moved back by to stand by the entrance. She dropped into a low curtsey just as her father pushed through the flap of the tent. She did not meet his eye until he commanded her.

'Yes, daughter, yes,' he waved her formality away with thick impatient hands. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright from wine but he did not wobble which was of some comfort. For his drunken wrath was always far worse.

'Father, I am honoured by your presence,' she said, gracious.

When he smiled it almost looked like pride. He drew his wrinkled gaze over her hair and gown and nodded, pleased. Her women had done well — she'd never match her mother's beauty or that of Calate's dead princess — but she had been polished and preened as a queen should be.