Féidhlim
I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window in the parlour, my gaze glued onto the gardens, where the four white stallions patiently wait by the carriage that brought us here only a mere half an hour ago. A silent sigh escapes my lips and I force my muscles to relax, hoping no one notices my lack of composure and fidgety hands.
I have come to Reunion Island for one reason, and one reason only: To convince Princess Juliette, the eldest daughter of the Rivière royal family—one of the most venerable families of witches in the world—to accept my marriage proposal. While love is a matter of the heart, power is purely political. And if what I heard is correct, the Rivières are in dire need of a strong international alliance to secure their position amongst larger magical nations who have been threatening an invasion. In all honesty, it is a miracle the island has managed to remain independent for so long considering its size; a mere dot in the Indian Ocean.
I lean against the windowsill behind me, my arms crossing over my chest as I glance around the white-sage-incensed room. My two rivals, Prince Elmas and Prince Kai, are here, too. I only met them a couple of times in the past at galas and charity events, but I think I have them figured out already.
Prince Elmas stays away from the window, preferring the artificial light from the chandelier to the soft rays of the natural sun, despite the enchanted family heirloom wrapped around his little finger that allows him to walk in broad daylight. I suppose I wouldn’t want to risk it either if I were a vampire.
Prince Elmas is a direct descendant of King Vilius of Lithuania himself, which makes him a legacy vampire. His vampiric bloodline extends through at least seven generations if my source is correct. Their paranormal skills sharpen with age and their political alliances expand beyond the vampiric community. But if the rumours I have heard are true, Prince Elmas has been living a life of debauchery ever since he became old enough to understand the meaning of the word.
I hide a smirk behind the pad of my thumb as Prince Elmas nervously runs the flat of his hand along his black suit jacket, brushing away invisible creases. I doubt he is here of his own volition… Did King Vilius have enough of his protégé’s objectionable behaviour? I wonder if he forced Prince Elmas to contribute to the welfare of their kingdom by securing a magical union, too.
“Dude, those little rings are so good!” Prince Kai cries, interrupting my train of thought, his pink tongue generously licking his sticky fingers where the snacks left a thin veil of honey behind. He turns to the guards by the door. “What are they called?” he queries, pointing at the golden tray on the sideboard along the back wall, his index finger only an inch away from the ring pastry filled with liquid honey.
My gaze jumps from the guards, who don’t react, to Prince Elmas, who rolls his eyes at the plastered ceiling that reminds me of a wedding cake with Spanish influence.
“I don’t suppose you know their name?” Prince Kai asks me next, not in the least vexed by the guards ghosting him, a childish smile painting his suntanned face.
“No, sorry…” I shrug.
“Want one?” Prince Kai gets a hold of the tray to wave it in my direction.
“No, thank you,” I decline politely, although, truth be told, I have been eyeing these little honey rings for a while, too.
“What about you?” He turns around and gestures toward Prince Elmas before pausing abruptly. “Oh… can vampires eat normal food?”
Prince Elmas’ brows arch, a stark expression hardening the features of his face.
“Normal food?” he repeats in a slow voice, his tone sharper than Kai’s axe.
Prince Kai swallows, awkwardness making his movements falter as he places the tray back down on the sideboard.
“Nah, buddy, I didn’t mean it like that—”
“Then, what did you mean exactly?” Prince Elmas asks, the grey of his eyes darkening as he squints.
But to Prince Kai’s relief, a throat clear echoes through the room, and the herald—most aware of his courtroom-formality duties—marches in. He taps the bottom of his wooden staff against the shiny white tiles, ready to speak up.
“Their Majesties, King Daniyal and Queen Blanche,” the herald announces, his loud voice bouncing off the walls.
I swiftly turn around, watching as a short male in a white cotton tunic and matching bottoms walks in, the soles of his leather ankle sandals quiet as a mouse against the floor. King Daniyal’s head bows slowly and he turns around, his arm extended to welcome his marital partner—his mate—Queen Blanche. The female joins him, eager, a wide smile stretched across her face. Her jade-green eyes skim across the room and I feel them invade my soul the second they land on me; my insides twist at the intrusion.
Thump.
Thump.
The herald’s staff hits the tiles once again.
“Princess Juliette and her brother, Prince Léopold,” he announces as the king and queen settle down on one of the divans facing us.
I hold my breath, apprehensive to meet the person who will determine the fate of my kingdom at last.
Princess Juliette steps in, her white satin gown flowing around her golden figure, her hips swaying from side to side as she makes her way to the second divan, her brother following her closely. She sits down without saying a word, her hands wrapping over her knees. A soft smile spreads across her face, lighting up her innocent features, as she and Prince Léo share a silent thought.
When Princess Juliette looks away and her almond eyes rest on me, piercing and mysterious while they take me in, my heart somersaults in its cavity. A delightful spark pinches the bottom of my spine, goosebumps rippling over my alabaster skin in an unexpected, yet delicious, wave of electricity.
So this is the female I have been sent to seduce, huh?
“Welcome!” King Daniyal starts, getting back to his feet, his arms opening wide.
He twirls slowly, like a peacock proud of his feathers, making sure to lock eyes with each one of us.
“This is my daughter, Princess Juliette,” he says next, the guttural sound of his Rs gritting my ears.
While English is universally spoken, being the political language of choice, King Daniyal seems to be reluctant to use it. But I am glad he makes the effort to do so anyway because my Reunionese isn’t as sharp as I wish it were.
The flat of King Daniyal’s hand points at his daughter across the room. She smiles shyly but stays put.
“Please, come forward and introduce yourselves,” King Daniyal encourages, nodding at us before regaining his seat.
Prince Kai’s hand rises like a schoolboy seeking permission to speak as he clears his throat.
“Uhm, should we introduce ourselves to you, Your Maj, or you, pretty lady?” he asks, his puzzled gaze flickering from the king to the princess. “I mean, I think you have my CV, no?”
King Daniyal winces at the question but his daughter’s lips roll into a thin line to hold in a giggle. My stomach twiddles with disgust; if she likes jokesters, then it seems Prince Kai will have no problem scoring points.
“Introduce yourself to my daughter,” King Daniyal blurts out, arms crossing over his chest, unimpressed with the prince’s display.
“Alright!” Prince Kai chirps, not in the least fazed.
He takes a step forward, his muscular fingers running through his ponytail to tame the wild strands of black hair.
“Wasup.” He arches an eyebrow at Princess Juliette, a charming smirk lifting the right corner of his lips, his head bobbing slightly. “I’m Prince Kai but my friends call me K, like the letter, you know?”
I suppress a wince at the lack of need to shorten a name that is already monosyllabic.
“Nice meeting you… K,” Princess Juliette greets in a composed fashion, extending a hand out to him.
K cocks his head, his eyes resting on her delicate fingers for a second. His large hand wraps around hers but, against all odds, he urges her fingers to close so that they can fist-bump each other. She bursts out laughing, taken aback by the informality of the gesture, while King Daniyal snorts with sheer disgust, eyes rolling to the ceiling.
“Next!” the king exclaims, head shaking at the childishness of the prince before his daughter.
“If I may,” Prince Elmas voices from his corner of the room, his eyes locking with mine.
I nod politely so he quietly makes his way to Princess Juliette, the soles of his Derby shoes moving slowly like he was gliding along the polished flooring.
“Your Royal Highness, it is an absolute pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” He gently brings the back of her hand to his lips. “I am Prince Elmas of Lithuania.”
She smiles, their eyes meeting, and I frown, remembering how the tabloids like to depict Prince Elmas as Lithuania’s modern-day Don Juan.
“You are even more beautiful in person.” He kisses her hand again, her cheeks flushing magenta under his gaze.
My jaw clenches, anger simmering in my insides at my direct competition. Why the hell did I let him go first? I curse under my breath.
“Enough touching!” King Daniyal groans at his daughter, aversion rendering his stare icy. “Next!”
My heart thuds in my chest as Prince Elmas takes a step back and retreats to the bright shadows of the room. It is now my turn to finally meet Princess Juliette. I have one chance, and one chance only, at making a great first impression on her.
The pressure is on.
My feet begin to move, my spine straight and my head high, my body exuding confidence but my ears buzzing with anxiety. Anxiety that I don’t allow to transpire, however, because I would rather fake it until I make it.
“Princess Juliette,” I rasp, kneeling in front of her, my head bowing low in respect. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Féidhlim of Éire. It is an absolute honour to make your acquaintance.”
I dare to look up, my gaze snapping straight to hers… and she is breathtaking. Big brown almond eyes and warm honey skin framed by bouncy dark curls. And Gods, I don’t know how long I stare at her but she cracks me the sweetest of smiles, her naturally rosy lips stretching wide across her round face.
“The honour is mine, Prince Féidhlim,” she tells me, never breaking eye contact. “I have read a great deal about Éire. Is it true what they say about the rain?”
“I’m afraid so…” I confess, my muscles relaxing. “You’re very lucky to have grown up in such a hot nation.”
“Am I?” She cocks her head, staring out the window behind me.
I watch as her smile drops but before I have time to respond, the herald’s staff strikes the floor once again and we are prompted to the dining room.
