Page 3 of The Stallion & The Tigress
“Three days hence the races will begin,” herfather announced.“The first will be one league for a purse ofthree gold pieces, the second will be three leagues for a purse ofthirty gold pieces, and the third and last will be one hundredleagues for a purse of one hundred gold pieces and breeding rightsto any stallion or broodmare in my stables, with the exception ofStorm Chaser and Cloud Dancer.”
The gathering clapped, the twenty and one menlined up to ride in the races puffed out their chests and jostledtheir neighbors, and Aleksandr glared accusingly at Sahar.Sheglared right back.If he truly thought he ever had a chance ofbreeding rights to Lasair, then that was his mistake.
“And now,” her father said, “the riders’introductions.”
Her parents took their seats and the firstrider stepped forward, a swarthy desert tribesman dressed in a robeof black linen and leather sandals, his waist blade’s hilt embeddedwith rubies and onyx.
“I am Saqr, the Falcon, second son of theGrebe, King of the Marsh Lands.”He bowed to the king, and then toSahar.“I will win these races in your name and honor, PrincessSahar.”
She nodded her acknowledgment and the Falconstepped back as the next man stepped forward and bowed.
“I am Feroz, eldest son of the merchantGaspar.I will win these races in your name and glory, PrincessSahar.”
And on it went, at least every third mandeclaring their intent to win for her glory until a man dressed ina fine robe of red linen, its hems of black worm weave richlyembroidered with threads of red, gold, and green, stepped forward.Tall, though not as tall as Aleksandr, who stood to his right, hewas a man built straight up and down with a neatly cropped beard asblack as his hair, which he wore tied back, accentuating his highcheekbones and hooked nose, keeping his face on the masculine sideof pretty.His skin was not as swarthy as a southern tribesman’s oras fair as a Northerner’s, and his eyes shone dark and bright asthey beaded in on the king.
“I am Yago the Wolf, third son of the Ox,King of the Eastern Grasslands, and eldest son of the Fox, eldestdaughter of the Jackal.”
A collective gasp filled the courtyard, andSahar’s mother calmly placed her hand over her father’s, which wasfisted on the table.
The tale of the Lion and the Swan, Sahar’sparents, was known far and wide.Her father, Asad, the Black Mane,was eldest son and heir to the Panther’s throne, and her mother,Oona, the Swan, a slave when they first met.In truth, the nightthey met, the Swan and her sister, Lyrra, the Dove, were to begiven as dowry for the Fox’s betrothal to the Black Mane.The Swan,desperate to keep her sister from becoming a Pleasure Woman in thePanther’s palace, had publicly proposed marriage to the Black Mane.Though he could not accept then without starting a war between thetribes, he secretly vowed to help the sisters escape his father anda life of slavery.The Fox, jealous of the Swan, had attempted tohave her killed, twice, and the Ox had been her accomplice.Hisface still bore the scar of the Black Mane’s blade for his actions.And now their son stood before her parents.
“Why are you here?”her father asked.
“I am here to win the races,” Yago answered.“For I am but a third son and so must make my own way andfortune.”
“The Leopard is a third son,” King Asad saidof his younger half-brother, who had become heir to the Panther’sthrone after his two older brothers married and went into exile.“Yet, he has become king of the Great Valley.You are still aprince, eldest son of the Ox and Fox, and I have not heard of anydiscord between you and your parents.”
“There is no discord, though they wereneither of them pleased that I chose to come and compete in theraces.”
“And so I ask again, why are you here?”
Yago the Wolf smiled and held his hands out,palms up.“I am here to see for myself this city you have built,King Black Mane.To see how a city raised on the idea of freedomand self-merit works.To be judged only on my own worth, not myfamily’s, something I thought you of all men would understand.Ihave been told that you once said a son should not be heldaccountable for his father’s actions.”
The king chuffed.“I have also said that aman should and will be judged on his own words and deeds.”
“Just so, King Black Mane,” Yago the Wolfsaid, dipping his head and stepping back into line.“Just so.”
His dark gaze flicked over Sahar, and besideher, her mother stiffened.
Aleksi rarely disliked a person on sight, buthe was going to make an exception for this Prince Yago.The man’sstated intentions were as real as the kohled black of his hair, andas oily.Who did he think he was ogling Princess Sahar?Why wereher beautiful green eyes not blazing back at him as they had atAleksi earlier today, but coolly taking in this Prince Yago?
An elbow jabbed him in his right side, andAleksi stopped glaring at the prince to his left long enough torealize he was next in line and that the entire gathering waswaiting for his introduction.
He stepped forward and winked at Sahar, whoseeyes blazed instantly.“I am Aleksandr—”
“Bastard son of King Maksimillian,” a high,feminine voice shrilled out, “and a lowly whore of a kitchenmaid.”
Aleksi grit his teeth.He would recognizethat shrewish voice anywhere.It had plagued his ears his entirelife.The firstborn son of King Maksimillian, he had been raised asa prince in his youth, though he was a bastard and his mother akitchen maid.Proud of his son’s size and prowess, his father hadprovided Aleksi with the best tutors and sword masters coin couldbuy.His last tutor, a kindly old grey beard who had oftendespaired over Aleksi’s preference for riding and fighting over thestudying of figures and governing, had grudgingly admitted that theboy’s mind was as strong and fit as his body, if only he wouldapply it.
Aleksi had been a boy without a care in theworld, except for his father’s first wife, Queen Theodesia, and hertwo daughters, Gertruda and Anastasia.Older than Aleksi by severalyears, they were jealous of their father’s favorite, and had beenencouraged in their hate and spite by their mother, who had beenunable to give her husband a male heir.Aleksi had never known hisown mother, for she had abandoned him only a day after his birth,but he had known his father’s love and protection up until thesummer he had turned ten and two, the summer his father’s new,young, second wife gave him a son and legitimate heir.The summerAleksi had gone from prince to stable boy.
A sea of heads turned toward a still handsomewoman of thirty years, her fair hair piled high and glittering withjeweled combs, sitting at a table two rings behind the royalfamilies.Widowed three years ago by her elderly husband, andchildless, there could only be one reason she was here.
“Anastasia.”Aleksandr dipped his head toher.“Sister,” he added to anger her.
“Half-sister,” she spat, “and full andrightful daughter to our father, King Maksimillian, and QueenTheodesia.”
“Is this to be your introduction to themarriage market, sister, or is it mine as a competitor in theraces?”
