A Dance of Dragons: Series Starter Bundle (2 page)

But…
Leena pushed her morose thoughts
aside and smiled at her brother.
Finally my kingdom has a
son.
A son who was turning five, a son with a birthday to
celebrate.

Despite looking exactly like the king,
Prince Haydar had a warm spot in Leena's heart. Perhaps it was his
innocence, perhaps his jovial smile, his carefree attitude, his
young defiance. Whatever the cause, she loved him.

Biting her lip to keep back a giggle, Leena
watched as he walked forward—three steps for every one of the
king's. His eyes furrowed in concentration, his small lips
resolutely firm yet raised just slightly with a smile. He looked
straight ahead, marching as he was taught, but still a boy,
thankfully. He was not yet the man her father was pushing him to
become.

Nonetheless, Leena saw a difference in him.
Like a ghost before her eyes, memories flashed. Her brother at the
age of four, of three, of two, of one. A baby with wide eyes, a
toddler with an untamable laugh. He used to run wild through the
halls. He used to visit her to play. He used to talk to everyone he
met regardless of their tattoos.

But now, he was starting to learn the rules.
Nod to the nobles. Do not speak with the servants. Never look down.
Show no mercy. All laws of a future king.

Leena shivered.

It hurt her soul to watch him grow up, to
watch the bars slowly build around him, a gilded cage. A cage
invisible to everyone it seemed except her. But it was there.

Even in this ballroom, wide and open, she
saw the bars. Columns built of stone lined the floor, surrounded
its occupants—wide and immobile. The exits were plentiful but all
guarded with soldiers. More displays of wealth and power. But
everyone smiled except her, the only frown in the room. Luckily,
her veil mostly hid her expression from the guests.

The royal family reached their seats,
settling in. Her father paused for a moment, letting the tension in
the room build as it always did before his speeches—a little knot
of angst he loved to hold onto if just for an instant. No one was
ever sure what would come out of his mouth, what new command he
might speak, but that was how her father liked it. He thrived on
their uncertainty, on their fear.

"Today we celebrate the fifth birthday of
our most honored son, Prince Haydar," he began. Leena tuned him
out, refused to give him her fear. But his voice, like always,
seemed to drown her, to suffocate her.

So she searched for her solace.

There was a reason Leena was known as the
court flirt. The more men she talked to, the fewer she was tied to.
The more flirtatious she was, the less anyone thought she held a
secret. It was a display, just like those she had learned from her
father—a pretty front hiding a darker truth.

Hiding a forbidden love.

As slowly as she could manage, Leena let her
gaze pass over the crowd. She continued to smile at a few boys, to
meet their eager glances, to make them feel special for a quick
second before releasing their hold. But all the while, her eyes
were moving imperceptibly further away from the guests, closer to
the shadows in the back of the ballroom, until finally her eyes met
the one gaze they were meant for.

Beside the column, second to the left from
the center, in his spot so Leena could easily find him, stood
Mikzahooq—soldier, honored personal guard, true love. If the palace
was her cage, he was her trapdoor, her little glimpse of freedom.
And the ache in her chest instantly released as he grinned
slightly, letting her know he had caught her staring.

You were staring first
, she thought,
fighting back a smile. Then again, he was her personal bodyguard—it
was his job to stare. But Leena knew the deeper meaning in his
eyes. He watched because he wanted to, because he could not look
away.

Leena could not look away either.

In his formal garb, chest encased with
gleaming armor, arms firm and strong as they held a curved sword at
the ready before his eyes, Mikza was so beautiful—a perfect statue.
But knowing the gentle soul hidden inside those hard muscles made
him all the more handsome. The deep rumble of his laughter echoed
in her ears, a memory, a weapon to block out her father's
voice.

But even Mikza could not block out the
collective gasp of a hundred noblemen or the clang of a sword
slamming on stone. Leena's head jerked to the noise as her mind
fought to piece together what had happened.

A servant was splayed across the floor, head
bowed down against the stone, his entire body trembling. A few feet
before him rested an amethyst silk pillow, wrinkled from the fall.
Before that, a sword, curved like the sun, inlaid with rubies,
flickering with reflections of candlelight. A sword too small for a
grown man but perfect for a little boy.

Leena closed her eyes slowly, taking a deep
breath, dreading what would come next. It was Haydar's present. It
had to be.

Now, instead of a sword, her brother would
be given a new weapon. Power. Authority. This offense was not
something her father would dismiss with the wave of his hand, not
in front of the entire court, and not on a day meant to honor his
only son.

Leena looked closer at the man, still
shaking against the cold stone. His tattoos were gone, as she
expected. In place of ink rested mangled flesh where his skin had
been cut off, forcibly removed. An unmarked. A slave.

He would not be easily forgiven.

Her father stood quickly. The metal trinkets
dangling from his ceremonial robes clanged together, oddly musical
in the tense silence. Without a word, he stepped down from the
royal platform until he was level with the crowd, closer to the
unmarked man. He stopped before her brother's sword.

"Pick it up," the king growled, kicking the
sword by the hilt so it spun in circles closer to the servant.

The man did not move a muscle even as the
newly sharpened blade smacked into his arm, drawing a thin line of
blood. Only when the sword came to a complete stop did he place his
fingers underneath it and rise slowly, eyes focused on the ground,
hands raised above his head, presenting it as worth more than he.
And to her father, it was.

The unmarked man was unflinching as he
waited with one knee on the ground and head bent, following orders
as he had been taught. But his breath came quickly, giving his fear
away.

"Prince Haydar, retrieve your present," the
king commanded.

Her brother eased off his throne, still too
large for his tiny legs, which dropped almost soundlessly to the
ground. But the light click of his boots was unmistakable against
the utter silence. He shuffled down the steps, unsure, but needing
to please his father.

Leena licked her lips, forcing her eyes to
remain open even though she wished to look away, to find Mikza, to
escape.

Please
, she thought,
he is just a
boy. Please do not make him a man, not at only five years
old.

But the hope was futile and she knew it. Her
father often spoke of his childhood, of the lessons he learned from
the former king—one more harsh ruler in the long line of Ourthuri
royalty. He had only been seven the first time he killed a man—an
unmarked he caught trying to escape the palace grounds.

It was difficult to imagine her father as an
innocent boy, but it was more difficult now to watch her brother's
innocence fade away, to watch his eyes harden and his tiny fingers
wrap around the hilt of a sword, to watch him raise it and wait for
a command.

"What punishment do you think befits this
crime?" Her father asked, loud enough for all to hear but directed
at the little prince.

Haydar scrunched his lips, flicking his eyes
around the room in search of the correct answer. "I don't know,
Father." He spoke slowly, unsure of himself.

The king knelt beside his son, dropping his
weighty arm over Haydar's shoulder and pulling him in closer. A
loving gesture. A twisted one too.

From the back of the room, two soldiers
stepped forward, making their way through the crowd. Her father's
personal guards. They knew what was coming next.

"He dropped your birthday present, our fine
gift to you. And look," he said, gently pulling the sword closer,
inspecting it, "we think there is a scratch, right there on the
hilt."

"I see it," Haydar agreed, but his brows
knotted together. There was no mark.

"He was clumsy."

Haydar nodded.

"He ruined our celebrations."

The guards reached the unmarked and forced
him down on the ground, bending him so his forehead pressed harshly
against the floor. His arms extended to either side, held down by
their knees.

"He dishonored us."

King Razzaq hugged Haydar closer, brows
raised, waiting for a proclamation of punishment. Her brother
squeezed the grip on the sword, eyes still clouded with confusion,
growing clearer by the second. The entire room stared, wondering
what sort of man their future king might be, expecting very little
change.

And Leena held her breath, clenching her
fists, waiting, hoping his gentle mind could not put the pieces
together. Hoping everyone was wrong.

"He will…" Her brother paused, looking up at
their father's face, searching for the right words. "He will lose
one hand?"

Leena's heart dropped.

The king smiled.

"A good choice."

One of the guards holding the man down
reached for his weapon, but the king raised his palm. Leena
gasped.

He couldn't mean to…

Not at his birthday celebration…

"But a king must do more than just proclaim
his punishment," King Razzaq continued, standing slowly.
"Sometimes, he must carry it out as well."

And with that, he nudged Haydar forward.

The boy stepped cautiously toward the
unmarked, whose scars were like a perfect target, circling his
wrists. He tightened his hold and raised the sword above his head,
tiny arms shaking with exertion, ready to draw his first blood.

Leena looked away, not caring if anyone saw
how fast she turned her head or how quickly her eyes focused on the
back of the room.

Mikza.

He was watching her, eyes saddened but not
surprised. He had been waiting for her, and she needed his
strength.

Leena tightened her grip on the throne,
digging her fingers into its golden arms to keep from running
across the ballroom. In her mind, she felt Mikza's arms surround
her, felt him caress her hair and bring her head to rest in the
nook below his shoulder, a spot that seemed perfectly designed just
for her. He was holding her, protecting her, but also stopping her.
Saving her from the thought of what she might do with her brother's
sword, given the chance.

Blinking back blurry tears, she gritted her
teeth, letting the pain take away the defeat, the hurt. Her father
had won, as he always did.

Leena did not see Haydar's blade fall but
she did not have to. The cries of pain were enough to make her
flinch as they echoed around the room, as they were dragged farther
and farther away, made fainter and fainter, until a full silence
hung in the air.

And then clapping. The celebration of her
brother finally becoming a man, becoming a prince worthy of being
King of Ourthuro.

Leena never let go of Mikza's eyes, worried
what she might do if she did.

TWO

Leena sat under the deep water of her private pool,
safe in the muffled silence, letting the gentle hum ease away her
fears, her worries. Looking up through the glittering shafts of
light floating and filtering through the cool blue, the world felt
miles away. Anger still clenched her fists, sorrow still gripped
her heart, but here under the surface, drenched in sapphire, she
could hide away for a little while.

It had been a long night of pretending, of
smiling, of hiding everything she truly wanted to say. After her
brother's performance, Leena had done her duties as a princess.
Dancing and making conversation, then leaving as early as was
politely possible for a princess to do, keeping the tears to
herself until she was hidden behind the thick walls of her
suite.

Mikza would find her, he always did. He
always came to comfort her, to kiss her. At that moment, she knew
he waited outside her doors, guarding the entrance as was expected,
waiting until it was dark and the halls were empty before slipping
inside.

But she wanted him now.

Usually the water was enough of an embrace
to calm her rushing pulse. Not tonight. Not when it felt as though
someone she loved had died, or worse, disappeared before her very
eyes as though he had never existed. Perhaps her brother had always
been vicious, like their father. Perhaps she had misled herself,
believing he could be different, thinking that someday things might
be different.