Page 11 of Heir Of Sun And Moon
A man walks up next, his black hair perfectly pulled back into a low ponytail. His clothes are nicely pressed, no wrinkles or dishevelment like the woman before him. He bows in front of my parents before beginning to speak.
Daje nudges me in the arm. “Come on, let’s go get some food.”
I start to follow him out of the room when I hear the tail end of the man’s sentence to my parents. “—near the border. I want to know what you can do to help there? Loss of magic is worsening more quickly than here in the capital.” I stop in my tracks, turning to look over at the mage. My father’s face is a careful mask of consideration.
“I understand your unease, and as you are surely aware, this is an issue beyond what even a king can fix.” My mother nods next to him, looking sympathetic. “Though, our princess has been working on finding a solution.” My father’s eyes flick to mine as he gives me a soft smile.
A knot of emotion works its way up my throat at him publicly acknowledging my work. It’s quickly shoved back down by the look on the man’s face as his eyes roam over me dismissively. “Yes, yet it would appear she has been unsuccessful. Perhaps onewithmagic might want to be tasked with taking over?”
Subtle.I return his slight scowl with a sarcastically sweet smile of my own.
“You think it is a good decision to question the intelligence of your princess in front of her parents, sir?” My head snaps to Daje as he folds his arms over his chest.
“Of course not,” the man replies smoothly, “but why not bring in more minds? Why not let someone else try?”
“I have offered everything at our kingdom’s disposal to anyone who is willing to help. There have been few who have taken up the offer,” my father chides. His voice is even, but there is no mistaking the undercurrent of power that radiates from him.
“Let’s go,” Daje rumbles under his breath as his fingers close around my elbow.
A spark of irritation flares through me at the touch, at his assumption that leaving is what I want to do, but I bite it down. I don’t hear the man’s response as we walk through the doors and I remove my elbow from his grasp. We silently move to the kitchen to request lunch, my long green skirt swishing with my determined steps. My flats tap on the stone with each movement as I fight to cool the anger slowly boiling up.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his hands clasped behind his back, spine straight as he walks next to me. No, he is partiallyaheadof me. Like he is trying to place himself in front of me to protect me from some invisible enemy—something he’s done our whole lives. Iknowit comes from a place of fondness, of friendship—Fuck.I recognize there is more there too, but I push that knowledge out of my mind.
“Of course,” I answer, purposely lengthening my stride so I’m back to walking in line with him. “You, of all people, know that I am not bothered by the words of others regarding my lack of magic.”
“You don’tseemlike you’re not bothered,” he counters, looking down at me from the corners of his eyes.
“Oh I’m bothered, but not by what that man said.” The swinging wooden door to the kitchen comes into view and I stop, placing a hand on Daje’s forearm. “We aren’t children anymore, Daje,” I start, sharper than I intend. Blowing out a breath, I remove my hand from his arm. “I don’t need you to step in for me.”
“Call it a force of habit then,” he says, taking a small step towards me. “It’s like second nature for me now.”
“But it shouldn’t be,” I counter, staring at him before shaking my head. “I don’t need you to save me, not like that.” It’s something I’ve told him before, that the need for him to step in and protect me from all manner of things he views as threats isn’t whatIneed anymore, that I don’twantthat from him.
“But if I want to?” he asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Daje, it only helpsyouin those moments. It makesmeappear weak. Please, do not step in like that again,” I warn, my voice low.
“I doubt anything could make you appear weak, Bahira.”
Sometimes I feel like I’m talking in circles with him. Can he not see that despite the façade I put up, despite the healthy dose of bravado, there’s still a part of me that feels small and insignificant when someone points out how I’m different? That ithurts morewhen he steps in than it does when strangers speak poorly of me, because he is supposed toknowme.
“Enough talk, let’s eat,” he gestures towards the door.
Even though I’d definitely like to continue this conversation, to truly get him to see what I’m trying to say, I don’t want to fight with him. So I nod my head and join him for lunch. We let the kitchen know our orders and then head to a small dining area outside on the lowest level balcony. Just enough sunlight bathes the table and chairs that they are warm when we sit. I let out a sigh as I tilt my head back and close my eyes—just letting myself soak in the sun’s heat.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asks.
“Heading back to my workshop,” I answer, bringing my head forward again. “I need to check some things—” My voice halts at the look on his face. “What?”
“Your workshopagain?” he mutters, a near-annoyed flair to his voice.
My eyes narrow as I cock my head to the side. “Yes, it’s where I like to get work done, as you may recall.”
“It’s just that I thought after yesterday maybe you’d want a break.” His voice falters, but he keeps his gaze steady on me. His eyes catch in the light, gleaming like sapphires.
“What are you talking about?” I question, genuinely puzzled by his response.
“I could tell by the look on your face yesterday that the experiment didn’t go as planned,” he says carefully, slowly. Like he’s bracing for a fight.
