Zaketa presents a carefully crafted mask to the world; one of sharp edges, privilege, and bravado. Only those closest to her, her most loyal guards, know the real Zaketa. And she is so much more than what her warlord father has crafted her to be.
In...
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Six men, the youngest just barely into his twenties, to a battle scarred man nearly old enough to be Zaketa's father took their turn attempting to charm the princess. Zaketa made little effort to hide her disgust at the entire affair. Between the hagarred war general and Lord Thorely, Zaketa was nearly at her wit's end. How her father had ever thought she could spend her life with these men baffled her.
The Appatian prince was by far the most interesting. His name was Beau, and it suited him fairly well. He was pale and freckled, his hair thin and almost silvery in color, a rare sight in her lands. He had an almost angelic look, the way his hair haloed his angular features. Yet what she liked most was that he was almost as uninterested in the game of courtship as she was.
"Our fathers seem to think that our union would benefit their respective kingdoms," he told her. "I'd prefer not to leave my home, but I'm a second son, and it would seem it would be my duty."
This honesty drew a smile from Zaketa. "As it is my duty to continue my line," she replied. "It is unfortunate we must be forced to make such choices when our hearts pull us in other directions."
He took her hand then, giving it a gentle squeeze. His hand was long fingered, calloused and work roughened. Yet another endearing feature. "And where does your heart pull you, Zaketa?"
She furrowed her brow, wondering if this was an attempt at charming her. She considered her response carefully, her father's presence beside her looming large despite his thinly veiled attempt to appear preoccupied by a conversation with the Appatian king. Zaketa sighed, considering her words carefully.
"I feel my focus should be on serving my people," she said haltingly. "I have much to learn about ruling a country. I can't help but think that marriage and motherhood would be a distraction. Besides," she laughed airily, an attempt at nonchalance, "I'm far too young. Yesterday I was still a child myself!"
The young prince, six years her senior and yet the closest to her age among her suitors, nodded. He gave her hand another squeeze before releasing it. His gaze bore into her with such understanding and compassion, she felt a chill run down her spine. "I had thought much the same. Yet, here we are."
"Here we are," Zaketa replied. "You have traveled so far," she quickly added. "I hope you don't find me ungrateful."
"No," he shook his head. "Far from it." He glanced at their fathers, and Zaketa noted the same wariness she often felt herself in him. He leaned in close to her then, his voice low. "I noticed you on the dance floor earlier." His gaze flicked to Rhys, standing statuesquely still behind them. "You seemed uninterested in humoring suitors then," he added. "I don't blame you. I'd prefer to be free from such pressures myself."
There was so much unsaid, and yet, in that moment, she felt seen by this young man. Understood. "Was I that obvious?" she laughed, an attempt at nonchalance. If he'd noticed, then surely others had. Zaketa only hoped that no one else read into her fondness for Rhys. That her guard hadn't placed a target on her back by simply providing the distraction that Zaketa had needed.
Soon, Beau's turn was up, the next of her suitors waiting in line at the stair of the dias. She couldn't help but follow him as he and his father wove into the crowd. Her father leaned in close. "That went well," the Wolf noted.
