Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal

Chapter 1 - Part 4

RAFFE remained acutely aware of the scrutiny directed toward their table, noting the inquisitive glances from both the nobles and faie nearby.

After their rather scandalous scene in front of everybody, High King Alizade smoothed things over by apologizing to their Idana guests—as if it was all Raffe's fault— then ordered everyone to resume the party and Thar Mal openly chided his son for repeating his mistake all those years ago. And Soren, proving to be the bane of Raffe's life, mockingly bowed his head to him and apologized. Raffe did not see a tiny speck of sincerity from him and of course, he also did not miss the way a smug quirk tugged at the corner of nitwit's lips from time to time and the glint of his amused mocking eyes veered at Raffe's direction when no one seemed to be looking.

They were currently in the biggest round table at the center of the garden shared with Thar Mal's sons and daughters.

The sweet fragrance of the tea and the rich scent of cinnamon and butter from the loaves and cakes, elegantly arranged on the table before him, failed to soothe his vexation. Though accustomed to garnering stares, the heightened curiosity and attention from the murmuring courtiers nearby were particularly bothersome for him.

Raffe's heart sank when he realized that the arrangement must mean his future spouse was going to be Soren's sister. And that also meant Soren was going to be his brother-in-law. Now that he spotted his cousin Jadel standing not far from them and was obviously glancing at their table, his theory was proven correct.

He inwardly groaned at the horrible thought.

Raffe observed their esteemed guests with a keen eye. Thar Mal, seated to his father's left, exuded an aristocratic air, his golden locks framing his face elegantly. By his side, Elefa, his eldest daughter, possessed an assertive demeanor, her short straight hair mirroring the gold hue of her father's, and her deep blue eyes reminiscent of the River Tolien's deepest depths. Alongside her sat Aliya, a petite yet resilient figure with dual braids framing her face and a sprinkle of freckles adorning her nose. Raffe, inquisitively noticing her odd-eyed feature—her left iris a slightly deeper shade of blue than the right—recognized it as a symbol of fortune in Ruemri.

As for Malin, Aliya's twin brother, he too bore odd-colored eyes, but the darker hue adorned his left rather than his right. Raffe found this intriguing, so much so that he deliberately refrained from turning his gaze toward the individual seated on his right, the very menace that caught his attention.

He could tell at a single glance that, of course, nitwit was Thar Mal's youngest. Proud, sharp-tongued, and spoiled all bundled into a single hazardous entity. Raffe couldn't shake the irritation whenever their eyes locked, and it wasn't merely due to Soren having broken his nose a decade ago during their initial encounter, which had sent him sprawling backward. It was the frustrating faie with their uncanny abilities that added to his vexation.

He was chewing on a buttered bread when his father spoke.

"I can't believe you two reunited in the exact same situation at the exact same place," High King Alizade spoke softly, savoring the words as it rolled on his tongue. "Such is fate, I guess."

Raffe looked skeptical at his tone and turned to look at his father, but it was Soren who eagerly responded.

"Do not worry, Your Majesty," he said as he absently caressed the deer's antlers whose head was laid on his lap. By the obvious mirth on his tone, Raffe could tell he was fighting off a grin. And then softly this time, he muttered, "I have no desire to break His Highness' nose a second time. That would be awfully rude."

Raffe's head whipped towards him and scowled, High King Alizade laughed, Thar Mal was having a sudden coughing fit, and Soren's siblings intentionally kept dabbing napkins in their mouths to hide their snickers. Jadel, who obviously heard Soren, looked at Raffe with pure amusement and curiosity, promising him that he was not going to let Raffe escape until he heard the whole fucking story.

"That works well, I suppose," Raffe said, composing himself and faced the menace at his side. He offered him a smile that often sent new soldier recruits to a run and said, voice soft, low, "Because I hate punching snotty arrogant brats who dared fight a battle they obviously can't win."

Soren backed away and looked at him incredulously, his hand on his chest. "Was it a punch back then? I remembered it was kind of ticklish."

"Yeah. I assumed you remembered there was some blood, too."

"Of course, I remember, silly," he said, playfully smacking Raffe's shoulder like they were that close. "Especially since more of it came out from your nose."

Before Raffe could say a retort to that—in fact, he would gladly hurl the nitwit across the garden rather than retort—High King Alizade cleared his throat. Raffe turned to him and witnessed how amusement and a smug satisfaction overtook his father's face.

"I'm glad you two are getting along so well," he commented.

"Right," Raffe said flatly, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

"Yes, it is a good thing, indeed," the High King agreed and smiled fondly. "Especially since both of you must foster a strong relationship to govern this empire together," he happily declared and Raffe almost fell off his chair.