[The Imperial Palace — Hall of the Golden Sun — Evening]
"Oh? Is this the rumored daughter of House Veyrath?"
The noblewoman’s smile widened when Ravian stopped in his tracks. She appeared thoroughly pleased by his reaction, as though his discomfort were a gift she had been hoping to receive.
Seyra looked up at her curiously.
The woman had pale yellow eyes, delicate features, and an elaborate gown woven from expensive silk. Gold ornaments adorned her hair, neck, and wrists, while precious stones glittered against her bodice. She wore so much gold that Seyra briefly wondered whether noblewomen were secretly required to carry their entire family treasury on their bodies.
If so, this woman appeared to be fulfilling her duty exceptionally well.
Her name was Tazira Qaran, heiress of House Qaran and daughter of Veyar (Viscount) Marekh Qaran. She possessed the power of Light, though her elemental spirit was of only moderate strength.
In a society where magical power often determined one’s worth, that might have been a disadvantage for another noblewoman.
Tazira, however, had discovered that a sharp tongue and a powerful family could accomplish what magic could not.
She was famous throughout the imperial court for her poisonous temperament.
Tazira enjoyed reminding those she considered beneath her of their place in the world. Servants, lesser nobles, and anyone unfortunate enough to attract her displeasure had learned to recognize the particular sweetness of her smile. The more humiliating her words, the more pleasant her expression became.
Yet her reputation rested on something far more significant than her cruelty.
Tazira Qaran had once been chosen to become the next Malika of Eshkaran.
Before his death, the previous Malik had selected her as the future bride of his successor, believing her cunning and ambition would make her a suitable empress. For a time, House Qaran had basked in the promise of imperial favour, already imagining the influence it would wield once its daughter ascended the throne.
Then Zayrakh became Malik.
The moment his predecessor was dead and the imperial crown rested upon his head, Zayrakh discarded the arrangement without the slightest hesitation. The decision humiliated House Qaran before the entire empire, reducing its carefully cultivated ambitions to a matter of court gossip.
But the insult that followed proved even worse.
Rumors spread that the new Malik’s interest lay not in taking a bride, but in one particular man.
Azram Vaerun Veyrath.
For House Qaran, the revelation was an unbearable humiliation. Its daughter had been rejected as a future Malika, while the man who had supposedly captured the Malik’s attention belonged to a house that had never shown the slightest interest in pleasing the Qaran family.
Since then, House Qaran had regarded House Veyrath as an enemy, and now, standing before Tazira, was the little girl whom Vaerun had unexpectedly accepted as his daughter and heir.
Tazira’s pale yellow eyes travelled over Seyra’s violet gaze, her crescent ornament, and the silver emblem embroidered upon her cloak. Her smile remained perfectly composed, but the contempt in her eyes was unmistakable.
She looked at Seyra as though the child were an insect that had wandered onto the polished floor of a nobleman’s residence.
Seyra noticed.
She might have been four years old, but she had spent enough time being looked down upon in her previous life to recognize that particular expression. It was the face of someone who believed the world had been arranged for their convenience and everyone else had simply failed to understand their assigned place.
Seyra resisted the urge to sigh.
She had barely entered the Imperial Palace, and already someone was looking at her as though she had personally offended the ancestors of seven generations.
Was this how noble society worked? Did they hand out golden ornaments, expensive silk, and a complimentary superiority complex when someone was born into a noble house?
She would have to ask Papa about it later.
If she remembered, because right now, she had a much more important objective.
Malik Zayrakh Azrath.
Her favorite villain.
The beautiful, terrifying, utterly unreasonable man whose fictional existence had once made her question her own taste in men.
She is here to meet him again, and she refused to let a woman with an impressive jewelry collection ruin the occasion.
She kept her little hands folded before her and maintained the sweetest smile she could manage.
’Just a little longer, be patient, Seyra. Meet your handsome villain first. Then you can decide whether this palace needs a complaint box.’
Tazira tilted her head, studying the child with an expression of exaggerated fondness.
"How adorable, the little child is. I must say, the Azram has surprised us all. Who would have imagined that the Silent Tempest, a man known for his impeccable judgement, would one day take such a personal interest in a little girl from the streets?"
Her voice was warm enough to pass for a compliment; even her smile seemed perfectly gracious.
Only the words carried a different meaning.
"House Veyrath has always been rather difficult to understand," she continued. "Most noble families spend generations ensuring that their bloodline remains distinguished. Yet the Azram appears to have decided that lineage is a matter of little importance."
She gave a delicate laugh.
"How wonderfully unconventional."
. . .
. . .
Ravian’s expression tightened. Ishtar remained still, though her eyes had grown noticeably colder.
Seyra, meanwhile, blinked at the noblewoman.
Tazira crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to Seyra’s height. The movement might have appeared affectionate to anyone watching from a distance, but her pale yellow eyes held no warmth.
"Tell me, little one, have you grown accustomed to life in House Veyrath already? The fine chambers, the servants, the beautiful clothes?"
Seyra nodded, holding her patience.
"Yes!"
"How fortunate." Tazira smiled. "Such things must seem quite extraordinary to someone who has spent her early years without them."
She glanced at Seyra’s violet gown, lingering on the delicate embroidery.
"I imagine there is much to learn. The customs of noble houses can be rather complicated for those who have not been raised among them. Which spoon to use, how to greet a lord, when to speak, and when to remain silent. One would hate for the Azram’s new daughter to embarrass herself before the imperial court."
Her voice softened further.
"But children learn quickly, do they not? With enough patience, even the roughest stone may be polished into something presentable."
Ravian’s jaw tightened.
The insult was carefully wrapped in courtesy. Tazira had not called Seyra a beggar, nor had she openly questioned Vaerun’s decision. Instead, she had compared the child to an unpolished stone, suggesting that House Veyrath had acquired something crude and was now expected to make it suitable for noble society.
And she had delivered the insult with a smile sweet enough to fool anyone who did not know her reputation.
Seyra looked at Tazira.
"Do you mean I have to learn lots of things?"
Tazira’s smile brightened.
"Indeed, little one. The noble world has its own standards. Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born knowing them."
. . .
. . .
Seyra stared at Tazira with a patience that was beginning to resemble a miracle.
She had folded her little hands before her and maintained the sweetest smile she could manage, though her violet eyes had grown noticeably colder.
"That sounds tiring," she replied in her small, innocent voice. "Papa says I should ask when I don’t know something. He says pretending to know everything is foolish."
Ravian lowered his eyes, concealing the faintest flicker of satisfaction.
’Well answered, my lady.’
For a brief moment, Tazira’s smile disappeared. It was a tiny crack in her carefully maintained composure, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. But Seyra noticed it, and the sight brought her a small measure of satisfaction.
Tazira tilted her head and let out a delicate laugh.
"Hoho... the child is rather sharp, isn’t she?"
Her pale yellow eyes swept over Seyra’s little figure before settling on the silver emblem of House Veyrath.
"Let us hope House Veyrath possesses enough patience to make up for the many shortcomings its newest addition must inevitably bring."
The words were sweet; the meaning was not.
Ravian’s hand tightened into a fist at his side. Ishtar’s fingers closed around the hilt of her curved sword, her instincts urging her to silence the woman before she could utter another insult, but they were standing within the Imperial Palace, and their Azram was far away in the desert.
Without Vaerun’s presence, they could not afford to turn a petty insult into a political incident.
So they held their tongues, but Seyra, however, was fighting a considerably more violent battle.
’DOES THIS WOMAN HAVE A DEATH WISH? I WANT TO SEPARATE THAT TONGUE OF HERS AND FEED IT TO THE CROWS!’
Her fingers curled into her palms.
’OR PERHAPS SHE WANTS TO BE ROASTED ALIVE. I HAVE HEARD THAT THE DESERT SUN IS VERY GOOD AT COOKING THINGS.’
She took a slow breath; her smile returned, although it had become suspiciously rigid.
’You came here to meet your favorite villain. Your handsome, dangerous, morally questionable favourite villain. Do not forget that!’
She took another breath.
’You cannot decide now whether this woman deserves to be fed to birds or bugs.’
Seyra nodded faintly to herself; a perfectly reasonable plan, but unfortunately, none of them noticed what had appeared behind her.
A large elemental spirit tiger stood behind her.
Its enormous body was formed from brilliant crimson light, its fur rippling like living flames. Golden markings ran along its muscular shoulders, and its eyes burned with a fierce, almost sentient fury. The air around its paws shimmered with heat, though the polished stone beneath them remained untouched.
The spirit’s gaze was fixed entirely on Tazira. Its lips drew back, revealing long, incandescent fangs.
And looks like great red tiger appeared to have very little patience for such behaviour, yet Seyra remained unaware of its presence, too occupied with imagining the many uses of a complaint box.
Meanwhile Lady Tazira was preparing another remark when a calm voice sounded from the opposite end of the corridor.
"Lady Seyra."
The words were neither loud nor hurried.
They did not need to be.
Every attendant in the hallway immediately straightened. The imperial guards struck their fists against their chests, and the servants lowered their heads as the atmosphere shifted with the arrival of someone whose authority required no announcement.
Seyra turned and forgot how to breathe.
At the far end of the corridor stood Malik Zayrakh Azrath but his amber eyes, however, held no warmth and the entire palace seemed to remember its place.
Seyra stared at him as her Malik Zayrakh Azrath stood before her, radiating imperial authority and an alarming amount of beauty and behind her, the red tiger spirit vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.
The moment Seyra saw Zayrakh, every thought of murder, crows, and roasted noblewomen disappeared from her mind.
There was only one thing left to do. Meet her favourite villain. Tazira, meanwhile, had gone pale, she hurriedly bowed, her cheeks flushing crimson.
"M-Malik! I was just—"
Zayrakh did not even look at her.
He walked past the heiress of House Qaran as though she were no more significant than a decorative pillar, his robes sweeping over the polished stone. Tazira remained bent in her bow for a moment longer than necessary, her unfinished words dying in her throat.
The Malik stopped before Seyra, his shadow fell across her little figure, and when he looked down at her, his expression remained cold and unreadable and then he spoke.
"Do you intend to make the Malik of Eshkaran wait any longer?"
The corridor became utterly silent. Raviel lowered his head at once. Ishtar bowed, her posture perfectly disciplined.
Seyra, however, beamed, and she immediately spread her little arms away from her sides and bowed as elegantly as a four-year-old could manage.
"Greetings, Malik!"
Zayrakh looked down at her, for a moment, his expression did not change. Then he extended his hand, his long fingers adorned with a golden ring bearing the imperial seal.
"Come...I have been waiting for you."
Seyra’s eyes sparkled, she placed her tiny hand in his. "Me too! I was excited to meet you again!"
Ravian nearly stumbled.
Ishtar’s gaze flickered toward Seyra, but she wisely kept her expression neutral. One did not usually tell the most powerful man in the empire that one had been excited to meet him as though he were a long-awaited guest at a birthday celebration.
Then again, Seyra had never been particularly skilled at behaving like a normal child.
Zayrakh glanced down at her joined hand. His fingers easily enclosed hers, and he began walking toward the inner palace, matching his long strides to her short, hurried steps.
"Is that so?" he asked.
"Yes!" Seyra looked up at him with unrestrained delight. "You are very handsome!"
Silence fell over the corridor once more.
Ravian’s soul briefly left his body. Ishtar stared straight ahead with the determination of a knight who had decided that acknowledging the conversation would be a grave professional mistake.
The imperial attendant behind Zayrakh lowered his head so quickly that his golden collar nearly struck his chin.
The Malik, however, stopped for half a heartbeat.
Then he turned his amber eyes toward the little girl walking beside him.
"Handsome?"
Seyra nodded vigorously.
"Very handsome!"
Then something faint stirred in Zayrakh’s expression. It was not quite a smile nut it was close enough to make the imperial knight beside him wonder whether he had witnessed a rare celestial event.
"Then," Zayrakh murmured, resuming his steps, "I shall endeavour not to disappoint you."
Seyra practically floated beside him, she squeezed his hand, entirely unaware that the adults following them were struggling to comprehend what they were witnessing.
The Malik of Eshkaran, the man whose displeasure had brought noble houses to ruin, whose commands could determine the fate of entire provinces, and whose attention was feared almost as much as it was coveted, was personally escorting a four-year-old girl through his palace.
Behind them, Ravian and Ishtar hurried to catch up.
Tazira remained beneath the sandstone archway, her hands clenched within the folds of her expensive silk gown.
She had spent years preparing to become Malika. She had endured the humiliation of Zayrakh’s rejection and watched her family’s standing suffer because of it and now the same Malik had walked past her without so much as a glance.
For a begger child.
Tazira’s nails dug into her palms, her gaze followed the pair until they disappeared beyond the golden doors. The humiliation burned more fiercely than she cared to admit but Tazira Qaran had not survived the imperial court by forgetting an insult.
She would remember this one.
Meanwhile, Seyra was happily walking beside the most dangerous man in Eshkaran, swinging their joined hands as though she had known him all her life.
And as Malik Zayrakh Azrath led her toward the Hall of the Golden Sun, his amber gaze lowered briefly to the little girl beside him, he had summoned her because she was Vaerun Veyrath’s daughter.
But the child was already proving far more interesting than he had anticipated.
And Malik wondered whether inviting Seyra to his palace had been a mistake, or the beginning of something he would never willingly let go.