A Princess for the Witch Doctor (Legends of Rahasia Book 3)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

"Stop the performance. The dancers and the music." A gasp as, brashly as if I were Empress already, I skip the formal pleasantries. "Show me your true face, Sultan Raharjo."

Silence descends as he holds his hand up. Even Mawar freezes, Zahra with one hand near her weapons, shielded from view.

The air decompresses again as the Sultan laughs, a deep, belly-aching laugh of sincere mirth. Or perhaps, a little madness.

The illusion dissipates and before me, there isn't a giant or a fearsome godlike warrior anymore. Sultan Raharjo is closer to my age and faces me as a regular mortal, albeit, a handsome one. A curtain of long, black hair past his shoulders, gold hoops through his ears. Burning, dark eyes hover over high cheekbones, a sharp nose and lips twisted into a grin. A lean, brown-skinned figure hidden beneath swathes of traditionalbatik cloth tied at his waist, a vest and countless ornaments covering his bare arms and wrists.

Most striking of all, it's the birthmark that crests over half his face, covering even the lid of his eye. A birthmark that looks like a burning handprint. I've heard rumors of the sultan touched by the gods, but I never thought this is what they meant.

Gods dammit. I curse, appraising. Zahra watches him closely, her careful expression unwavering. "Everything they told me of you is true, putri. You're the one who trapped the witch doctor who changes blood to gold." He laughs, the court laughing alongside him. "And you're the one who risks death if you do not find his name." He copies a flawless Rahasian court bow, and I note with great jealousy that his attempt at my custom far outweighed mine. I really should've paid closer attention to Ryu's etiquette lessons. "I knew only a true warrior could bring down the dukun terror of our kingdom. I never would have expected a Champion from our neighbors in Rahasia to be the one to do so."

"As for the matter between our kingdoms..." I begin, tentative.

"Please," he bows again, all the finery he wears jangling and making me feel inadequately dressed in my traveler's attire. "We will discuss business matters over dinner. For now, you are our guest." He bows deeply, almost as though begging. It's a shocking move. More whispers sound from the gathered court. "I apologize, amira, for hiding my true face from you. I put you to the test before you'd even had a chance to be acquainted with our ways."

"That's okay." Another gasp as I speak so familiarly. Dammit, I'm messing up left and right. "I mean to say, that is fair of you... for, um, testing me. And besides, I'd say I passed with flying colors. Wouldn't you agree?"

Whispers again, and my ears burn. Damn, why can't things just be solved by smashing people's faces in?

How arrogant!

Wow, but she's so pretty though. A political match would make up for her lack of grace.

Did she just speak to the Sultan as though they are friends?

"Yes," his expression is more than a little bemused as Mawar takes up at our side to escort us to our chambers. "Yes, amira, you've passed that test and more." I sputter, traveler's exhaustion overtaking me. I just want to leave or hit something. Or both. "Dinner appeases you?"

I bow and mutter some pleasantries, hastily scurrying out with Zahra and Mawar in tow. If manners are to be my downfall, then dinner is sure to be the battlefield on which I perish.

***

Readers,

Oh gods, what does everyone think of Sultan Raharjo? Arni's court etiquette can be summed up by: awkward.

-Sophia