Bolin
Once the papers rested on the table with some semblance of organization, I made my way to the sparring yard. We were close to completing the volume on Celestia. Patrick and I needed to hand write three manuscripts for the reputable intellectuals we hoped would endorse it, plus another for ourselves to keep. Once we had support, we’d send it to the printing press. We might have a hardbound book in the next six months if the print maker wasn’t busy with a large order.
When I entered the ring, Stella already knelt before the guard, green and gold light illuminating her features. My heart swelled. Her healing power was incredible to watch, even though the memory of it knitting my bones back together made my knees weak.
The prince had been gone for two months, and Stella bloomed in his absence. She met Princess Valeria, progressed in Astralini, and assisted with my Celestia manuscript.
Her light faded as she completed healing the guard. A sigh escaped my lips. She deserved better than this. In all this time, no family stepped forward to claim her. Aside from me, Patrick, and a couple of friendly female servants, the woman had no one. I made a mental note to discuss this with my husband. Perhaps with the success of our volume, Stella might be allowed more freedom.
I laughed at my wishful thinking. King Sartorius would never let her off the grounds. Speaking of which, our royal majesty abandoned the yard as soon as the healing finished.
“Get back to your responsibilities,” the head guard ordered.
Men retrieved their sparring swords and spears while Stella stood in the middle, staring at the sentry she’d mended.
I raised my hand so she could see me behind the taller individuals.
“Stella!” I called.
Both jerked toward me. My spine stiffened. That man. I knew him.
Prince Fernando
King Pitcairn kept his word and introduced me to a young woman right before dinner. She wore a light gray dress draped over her shoulders and falling in swathes at her feet. Dozens of silver bracelets adorned her slender wrists while dangling pearl earrings with delicate metallic swirls framed her face and contrasted with her waist-length red hair.
Rouge highlighted her cheekbones and brightened her pale complexion. Kohl lined her blue eyes, though they were a darker shade than Stella’s ocean-gray irises. Despite the cosmetics, she appeared prepubescent with a flat chest and narrow hips.
“Prince Sartorius, this is my daughter, Princess Diedre.”
I bowed, took her fragile hand, and pressed a kiss to her cool knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you.”
She blinked up at me and tilted her head, then a soft smile spread over her features.
“The honor is mine, Your Highness. We are pleased you deigned to grace us with your presence.” Her wispy voice held no strength, as if speaking took all her energy.
I nodded with a pleasant expression, though concern pricked my awareness. “As am I.”
The king then introduced two youths as his sons, Michael and Norton. Both had strawberry blond hair, freckles, and deep blue eyes. They appeared to be in their lower teens.
“Come. Let us discuss the arrangements over dinner.”
My men remained in their quarters. Only Rocco joined the king’s guards to watch over me. With his air wielding, he was all I needed, provided the northern soldiers were not gifted with the elements.
King Pitcairn placed his daughter to my right while taking the head of the dining table. The younger prince, Norton, sat across from us. I guessed him to be perhaps twelve. Micheal settled at the end of the table, and I assumed he was maybe fifteen.
The moment we took our places, servants poured glasses of red wine. Princess Diedre sipped and grimaced. She didn’t enjoy it or she’d never tried it.
This girl had sweet round cheeks, like my sister, and a body with no curves. She was beautiful, but not attractive. Had I met her bare faced and in a regular dress, I might have been able to tell her age better.
“Don’t like it?” I asked, as I tasted the wine. Its strong, peppery flavor coated my tongue.
She peeked at me over her thin shoulder. “It’s good.”
I set my glass down, leaned closer to the princess, and whispered, “how many years are you?”
“She’s of age,” the king answered for her, his eyes narrowing in my direction.
“Yes,” she said in a weak tone, nodding her head. “I’m eighteen.”
I grinned to hide my apprehension.
Plates filled with meat, barley, and root vegetables were set before us. I stuffed a large turnip piece into my mouth as I considered how to backtrack without offending King Pitcairn.
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