"RAFFE, SOREN," they both looked up and stood, then bowed politely to High King Alizade, who was accompanied by Duke Orwell and Lady Ceska from Essem. "I'm happy I found you two together. I thought you sneaked out. Well, never mind that. Lords and ladies are asking why they haven't seen you two in the dance hall tonight, and I was wondering the same." He narrowed his eyes. "It would be a shame not to dance in the ball thrown in honor of your engagement, isn't that right, son?"
His father's grin became predatory, and Raffe knew he was trapped. He forced a smile. "Of course, My King. I was just about to ask my lovely fiancé for a dance. May I?" He offered his hand, palm up, and Soren raised an eyebrow but thought wisely because he grasped his hand.
The High King smiled smugly.
"I remember your mother, Lassen, kicking me in the shin when I first asked her to dance. She said I was too damn late." He chuckled. "Lucky you, Raffe, Soren's too modest for kicking tonight. Now off with you, lads." He pushed them slightly towards the crowd of dancers and Raffe heard the two nobles giggling behind them.
The other dancers instinctively cleared a path as they approached. Raffe briefly scanned the faces around him, catching sight of his cousins clustered at a table near the dais reserved for the High King. They were sipping wine and sending him knowing looks that hinted at forthcoming teasing and jests.
They know his disdain towards the prospect of marriage so Raffe was certain that there was going to be a lot of teasing and harassing from now on. Raffe tipped his head in their direction and was given nods in return as an acknowledgment.
Feeling the weight of everyone's curious gazes fixed upon them, Raffe gently encircled his hands around Soren's slender waist, maintaining a respectful distance between them, while Soren's fingers naturally curled around his neck
Taking the lead in the dance, Raffe guided their movements in time with the slow rhythm of the music. It's for the sake of the empire, he reminded himself inwardly.
Feeling the playful twist of fingers in his hair, Raffe looked at Soren and immediately felt lost—lost in the blazing icy-blue of his eyes. It felt like looking at the summer sky—serene and unblemished with clouds. But he also felt the tingling sensation that underneath the serene blue were flames, dormant flames, just waiting for the perfect moment to explode—fierce and bold and very unpredictable. With their bodies lightly pressed against each other, Raffe cannot help but inhale the scent of fresh apples and minty forestland. And that just got him more distracted.
Raffe did not realize he was looking at him intently until Soren said, "You're staring."
Trying to sound offended, he grumbled, "Where do you want me to look, then? Your forehead?"
"Just admit that you think my eyes are pretty."
Raffe scoffed and turned his gaze away. "You flatter yourself too much, High Consort Presumptive."
"I'm Consort Presumptive now?" Raffe turned to look at his face again because Soren sounded genuinely confused.
"The High King just made it all official by having this ball, so, yes. It was only a matter of time. There are still some official documents to be drawn. Still, technically you're a prince starting today," he answered, sounding exactly the same way when he talked about business and foreign issues with their court officials.
"Huh. Well, there's no going back now, I guess," Soren mumbled. "Hey, so, if I'm High Consort Presumptive, can I still take the exam to be a Court Healer? I can, right? You'll allow me?" he bit his bottom lip. "I mean, it wasn't mentioned in the treaty that I can't pursue something that I want once I married you," he said, like he was convincing himself rather than making a point.
Raffe's eyebrows arched. Why did he still want to be a Court Healer if he was going to be the second most powerful man in the empire after I was crowned High King?
Before he could answer, the music slowed to a stop and everybody turned to look at the raised dais where High King Alizade stood up and regarded the audience with a pair of bright, victorious eyes. When his gaze found Soren and Raffe, he beckoned them to join him on the dais and started his speech, officially announcing and approving the betrothal. Raffe shared a moment of embarrassment with Soren, whose cheeks were flushed as his, when everyone applauded them, accompanied by murmurs of compliments and congratulations.
It was not, however, where the torture of discomfiture ended. High King Alizade decided to end his speech with a fucking flourish, clearly to remind Raffe why it was always a bad idea to antagonize his king.
Folding his hands over his belly and flashing a wide smile, he said, "To seal their engagement, our princes, High Crown Prince Raffelar zan Andalva and High Consort Presumptive Soren ver Idana, will exchange a kiss."
Raffe's only comfort was that Soren looked as horrified as he felt.
The two of them stood frozen in front of the whole crowd of human nobles and faie alike and neither of them looked ready to move an inch. The king kept torturing them, though, as he boomed cheerfully, "Take each other's hands, good princes. Yes, this is a pledge of loyalty to love and duty, so look up. That's right. Let your eyes meet and let us be witnesses to the sealing of this happy celebration."
All his life, Raffe had never kissed anyone who looked quite murderous. Soren's icy-blue eyes turned frosty and fierce in a very distinct contrast to the sweet curve that tugged the corners of his mouth.
Raffe could really sympathize.
When they stepped closer to each other, the High King quietly leaned toward them enough that only the two of them could hear, and whispered, "Plenty of tongue, lads. Make it good."
Regicide had never been so tempting.
Soren who had clearly had enough, leaned forward before Raffe could react and pressed their lips together. His lips tasted like the sweet wine they had earlier, pressed unbelievably soft and warm against Raffe's mouth. Heat suddenly prickled underneath his skin and he fought the urge to shiver when a soft, delicate tongue shyly licked his lower lip. Then, with a little shaky breath of relief, Soren pulled back and turned to face the applauding crowd, leaving Raffe blinking and mouth slightly open.
What the flying fuck just happened?
He felt like he tasted his first kiss all over again.
Only a little bit sweeter this time.
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Royals of Ruemri Book I: Betrothal
الخيال (فانتازيا)A story about a prince and his pretty consort presumptive. Crown Prince Raffe, as the only son of High King Alizade and sole heir to the High Throne of the Ruemri Empire, is bound to fulfill one important duty for the crown. Even if that duty involv...
