Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

23.1 - Two Idiots

Compared to Faisuri, Meara's face was an open book.

Daud had to commend her for the effort, but he'd learnt from the best of liars. He'd spotted quickly the slight tremble of her lower lip as she repressed a scowl, the small twitch between her brows as she attempted to keep the facade of serenity. There was the shadow of sullenness that hung across her demure face like the wings of a vulture circling over her head. All this, coupled with her reticence in his company, gave him the distinct impression that she might have disliked him.

It was awkward, to say the least.

He felt less the Sword of the King and more like a pack mule as he pushed through the crowd milling about cramped stalls with bags in his hands. Truth be told, he was not a stranger to such a duty. It was, for him, a mark of gallantry to offer his service to a lady — no matter how inconsequential such service may be.

Still, he'd at least appreciate it if Meara would talk to him. Faisuri gave him twice the load he was carrying, but she kept him entertained.

"Milady," he piped up, the moment the crowd dispersed to give him a leeway to the queen-to-be. "May I ask what has been bothering you?"

Meara stiffened. She gracefully turned her head, painting a smile over her delicate features. "Why, what do you mean?" she asked.

Daud smiled, wryly. "Let's not feign ignorance, milady. It's fairly obvious that something is wrong."

The lady's mask of sweet calmness crumbled in an instant, exposing the gloom that had dwelled behind it. It almost surprised Daud how easily it shattered, considering that he'd usually need a lot more poking to get Faisuri to reveal her cards. Perhaps Meara was designed to express her innermost feelings on her face.

Not that he minded — having to guess got tiring really fast.

"It's... nothing," she mumbled, quickly averting her face from him. "I- I should not burden you with my personal concerns."

Daud almost laughed. He opted to shake his head instead. "Milady, Faisuri, His Highness, Jonathan... you really are all of the same breed — always putting up a strong front for others." He sighed. "You should let out those pent-up concerns of yours every now and then. I'm here to lend an ear to your concerns... even if said concerns happen to stem from my company."

"Ah, no, it's not your fault," Meara hastily denied. She pursed her lips and allowed her chin to drop. "It's my father," she mumbled, sullenly.

Had others not affirmed the lord's identity upon his introduction, Daud would not have thought he was Meara's father. The man, who had come to the palace to discuss matters with the former king Reghan and the new king, bore a tall, slender silhouette. He'd always kept his broad shoulders back, his hard-set jaw angled slightly upwards, boasting an aura of cold authority.

If Meara was like the delicate flowers that grew in Solium Lucior, home of the faeries, Lord Friell was the mountains of Djarnfell — frigid and unyielding.

"I can't believe he would demand me be escorted everywhere I go," Meara continued, her fingers clutching at her gown furiously. Hot red frustration tinted her face. "What does he take me for — a helpless child? Even when he sent me to be married?"

"I understand your frustration, but there may be those who wish to see you harmed, milady. I think he's only concerned about your safety," Daud explained, in as gentle a tone as he could muster. He certainly did not want to get on the future queen's bad side.

"Yes, but... forcing the Sword of the King to accompany me to the marketplace?"

"Don't underestimate the lengths people would go to seize power. Those too drunk on the prospect of authority would not spare even a child if it would give them the throne." He thought of young Faisuri, on the night she was brought to his estate, in bloody tatters. Even now, the memory sent a chill through his veins.