Jased liked to get boring and hard stuff done first, because then he'd be free to do whatever he wanted without a shred of guilt. Even his grandfather, a general in the US Marine Corps, couldn't bore down too hard with those 'devil eyes' if Jased told him that he'd already taken care of all his responsibilities for the day (or the week, maybe the month, depending). Most of the time Jased was smart enough to sneak off on his own and meet up with Connor Tarvy, his best friend, over at the local park between their houses.
This particular time Theodore 'Devil Eye' Ashworth definitely couldn't say no. Starting tomorrow Jased might never see his friends again.
Or friend. Singular. Jased had been born with something that might as well have been the old-fashioned Black Plague of ye olden days. It wasn't a disease or anything life-threatening...maybe...but people kept away from him just as much. The friends Jased had now were an exception because they all came from military families, went to the same school, and liked soccer as a hobby rather than a sport. It was more fun to go wild after the ball without having to worry about rules and a referee screaming at you while waving a red card.
Today only Connor was free. The rest had awkwardly given their good-byes at school.
“ You're leaving tomorrow?” Connor passed over the ball with an easy kick.
“ Yeah...” Without stopping the ball Jased scooped it into the air and sent it sailing back over to Connor with a bump from his knee. Connor grinned.
“ Well, don't look too happy, man,” he said. “ I'm way too jealous already.”
Well, not really. Connor was jealous that Jased was actually a Middle Eastern prince and being the only heir to the desert kingdom of Kyria made him all the more important. He was particularly jealous that Jased was so popular with the girls, being 'exotic' with his honey-gold skin, his bright amethyst purple eyes, and his special, all-natural blond hair that was the color of spun gold, kept long and woven in a traditional half-braid. (Being not too bad in looks to begin with was bad enough.)
But there was the other half of the story. Connor always breathed a sigh of relief whenever he came over to the Ashworth place and got a look at Jased's room. It wasn't a bedroom of a fifteen-year-old boy, it was a study with books and books everywhere and a schedule that made sure Jased thoroughly read through at least a dozen of them per day. If a prince meant having to know six langauges and politics by the time you were twelve, and being hounded all the time about 'etiquette', no thank you! It was even worse that Jased couldn't really have a girlfriend, making his popularity useless. According to Kyrian law, Jased couldn't marry until he was (1) the king and (2) twenty-five years old. As royalty every time Jased so much as looked at a girl he'd be in the tabloids. The boys saw that sort of thing on TV all the time with sports celebrities. It seemed pathetic to them because it seemed to happen to everyone. Was no sports idol pure?
Jased sighed heavily. It had to be the thousandth time he'd done that today.
“ Oh, I'm happy,” he muttered. “ I get to have people watching and criticizing every little thing I do 'cause the fate of an entire country's on the line. Bad news is, the fate of an entire country IS on the line. Do I need that kinda pressure?”
Connor shrugged. “ Don't look at me,” he said. “ But y'know, haven't you had that your entire life?”
“ Not really.” Jased grinned. His grandfather had shielded him pretty well. “ Who wants to go up against 'Devil Eye' Ashworth?”
“ Your gramps does have one hell of a glare, man. Almost as bad as my mom's, and nobody can outdo a mom when she's pissed 'cause you won't take out the trash.”
Jased groaned. “ It's gonna be soooo awkward,” he said. “ I've seen those documentaries and the news on TV and the stuff in history class. There's no way I'm just gonna smile and wave like Miss America. And speeches? How the hell do I stand in front of an entire country and give speeches? All speeches sound boring, no exception.”
“ Dude, they've been teaching you how to do that your entire life.”
“ What, sound boring?”
“ Well, that too.” Connor cackled. “ Man, I can't wait until you're in one of those Kyrian get-ups—No offense.”
Jased shrugged. Though well-versed in Kyrian culture, he was nearly as much an alien to it as Connor was. In his head Jased warily eyed the cloth trousers, the sandals, the choice between a robe that looked like a robe or a double layer of a long thin coat with wide sleeves, a keffe. Then there was the jewelry....
“ I'll be staking out Channel 5,” Connor vowed, “ and posting pics on Facebook. Oh, mind if I sell some stuff on eBay?”
Smirking, Jased replied, “ Opportunistic bastard.”
“ Now, now, that the way a princey-boy should be talking?”
“ I'm still a commoner in the States.”
“ 'Commoner'?” Connor hooted. “ Nice! You're already talking fancy.”
Silent, Jased stared off across the park. How different was the desert from this grassy green park with its pine trees and sand-covered playground?
“ Hey, Matt?” 'Matt' was short for Jased's American/middle name, Matthew.
“ Huh?”
“ You're not literally the only one, right?” said Connor. “ I mean, I've heard of all these laws and stuff that makes other people...unfit for the throne or whatever, like, illegal, but you've still got all these cousins and stuff, right?”
“ Yeah.”
“ Don't let anybody get to you,” Connor said soberly.
No. He didn't plan on letting anyone do that. Jased was thinking of the same thing Connor was thinking of right then: Political assassination.
Please. They had to be acting overly dramatic. It was probably the usual problem: They'd been watching too much TV!
***
The desert kingdom of Kyria was rich and powerful compared to others mainly because it was rich, rich in natural gold mines, oil sources, and a tiny bit of diamond deposits that, though pathetic compared to any other mine, was a welcome bonus. This wealth served as a shield so that Kyria could maintain a neutral position in the face of the war in Iraq, the country right on top of theirs on the Persian Gulf. As a country self-sufficient on its own crops and technology, Kyria had the money to be able to pick and choose who it did business with. No one could use the threat of imposed poverty on the Kyrian people by refusing to do business with them.
During the plane ride there had been nothing to see, other than smooth, endless dunes of sand and the occasional emerald green oasis. The cities looked very much like modern cities, their somewhat dusty look probably being due to being, well, in a desert. Jased stared at the more traditionally built buildings, smooth stone, clay, and plaster colored some graceful pastel color. They had a calming effect as compared to the temples that were more vividly colored and stood above every other building. Those were just...mystical.
During the car ride from the Rhen International Airport Jased had never stopped looking out the window. They passed by a pottery shop held shelves and rows of vases in every size, most of them made of earthy clay and others of pearl-white alabaster, black ebony, golden oak or marble, designs painted against their graceful necks. People that crowded the streets tended to look at them, admire them for a minute, then be swept vigorously away by the store of scents next door. Of all the bath and skin oils, rare balms, various lotions and powders, today the store owner had the rarest of items in the country: perfume made from the climbing vine flower of ardenia.
People tended to breathe a sigh of relief when they came to a perfume store. Besides the throngs of people sweating in the desert sun, going about their work, there were the animals being sold at market or used to pull things into market—goats, pigs, chickens, cattle, sheep, etc. There were also hidden traces of vegetables and fruit starting to rot, perhaps a metallic whiff from the meat stalls, and, gods forbid, the fish market at the wharfs! Cars and trucks were common in the streets but there wasn't a hint of oil and gas to be smelled anywhere. Modern stores were seen everywhere, but somehow they didn't stand out. They looked like they were part of the native décor.
Foreign tourists saw and smelled these things and didn't mind at all. It was part of Kyria's charm, they'd put it. Everyone liked to look among the people dressed in the long tunics cinched at the waists with sashes bound at the front, and play a Where's Waldo? kind of game by looking for someone in modern clothing. In Kyria modern clothes were simple, mostly T-shirts, jeans, sneakers, casual button shirts, and thick jackets in the winter.
People laughed and chattered loudly at the market stalls. Both sides spoke rapidly, trying to outdo the other so that someone would get confused and fall into the trap of accepting a price they did not want. Shopkeepers tried to outdo the smart housewives and servants, the most common trick being asking for a high price first, then bargaining down to the one they truly wanted. Of course, by now the women knew that trick too....
Sun-browned children played with a toy fashioned after the head of a Tabir river crocodile. In real life the creature was a monstrous thing, narrow from snout to tail and twice the length of a common fisherman's boat at adulthood. The one in a child's hands was barely a hand's length and fixed to the end of a stick. One and all, they gave ear-splitting shrieks. Jased smiled to hear them.
There were five official palaces in Kyria, the one in the center being the Sun Palace within the capital of Rhen. Jased been hustled through the press at the airport and been greeted by rows of bowing politicians at a vast courtyard inside the Sun Palace. Both times Jased hadn't the time or the opportunity to say a word, and for some reason that pissed him off. Eventually left alone to rest in his 'private rooms', he had no idea what to think.
The walls rose only halfway up on two sides of the bedchamber, leaving short columns to hold up the roof. Wind blew down in cool waves to make it a nice place to relax on cushions arranged neatly on the clean-swept floor. Jased looked at the large embroidered rug, the amber-colored desk and cushioned sofa instead of a wheeled desk chair, the golden dresser, the murals of birds and river reeds on the walls. He thought of the canopied bed that was now his, that room with the tall stained glass windows and the rich furniture...
Jased leaned out between the half columns, hands pressing down on the rail. He'd expected a dry place with only flower vines and palm trees by way of gardens, but the Sun Palace showed him how wrong he was. The buildings themselves had few curves but was a pleasing display of straight lines and geometric shapes, painted on with vibrant borders of red, gold, and blue to mimic the sky and the rays of the sun.
Buildings were separated by wide boulevards paved with stone and flanked on either side by slender fruit trees, the walls enclosing the gardens that were a brilliant green with early spring grass. Widening steps led down to the gardens that were always sunk half a foot or so, giving the impression that each garden was being 'presented'. Fountains burbled in a contented manner, usually placed at the center of a ground design set up by paved paths, grass, and flowers. The pools never varied from their rectangular shape, but they were cool, tranquil, and some were filled with colored fishes that swam above the flower designs carved into the bottom.
So far, so beautiful. Jased looked forward to seeing more of this country.
“ Pardon the intrusion, your Highness.”
Bit by bit, Jased was shortening the time it took for him to realize that by 'your Highness' people meant him. He turned to find a maid kneeling in the doorway. “ Uh...yes?”
“ The Royal Advisor is here to see you.”
“ Oh...” After waiting a few seconds it became evident that a certain something was needed. His permission. “ Let him in.”
An old man came in and bowed. Saimun was a squat, solidly built man with a neat gray hair, wide mustached face, and kindly eyes. He seemed more like a typical doting grandfather than the Royal Advisor of Kyria, or right hand man to the king. Saimun had been sent to the United States to accompany Jased to Kyria, and so far Jased liked him. The guy acted like a grandfather too, kind and loving but firm and sometimes fussy. It was an endearing difference to General Ashworth, Jased's maternal grandfather, who was straightforward, upright, and had only been able to watch Jased go with sad eyes and not a word to be said.
“ It's time to prepare for the official banquet, your Highness,” Saimun prompted. He peered at Jased suspiciously. “ Have you rested at all?”
Ridiculous question. Jased had actually arrived in Kyria the day before, but eveything had been put off so that everyone could celebrate his return at the same time. In any case he was too wired to take a nap. Smiling nervously, Jased answered, “ As much as I'll ever be.”
Saimun's eyes were softened by sympathy, but there was no time to waste. Clearing his throat the Royal Advisor stepped forward.
There was no point in telling him to hurry. Jased and Saimun spent a lot of time fussing and arguing. Saimun argued tradition but Jased refused to budge; he was NOT going to be bathed like a baby by a bunch of maids that were old enough to be committing statutory rape just by looking at him naked! And most certainly Jased could put on his own clothes. Kyrian clothing wasn't difficult to put on, but rather simple. Jased just needed help winding the sash around his waist along with slender woven cords and fixing the whole thing so that they were bound together neatly at his stomach, the ends of the cord hanging to his feet. Then there was a second sash that went diagonally across his chest and belted to his waist by the first sash, and this utterly complicated mix of some kind of bead and jewel drapery that went around his shoulders with a cloak thing that tied over one shoulder, or was it below the shoulder? Under the arm or at the chest over his heart? It was easier to put on the headcloth. Saimun helped him with all of it.
Dangling earrings (cuffs, not pierced) went on his ears, bands around his neck, his forearms, a few rings, and well out of sight was the single dog tag that had once belonged to General Ashworth, then to Jased's mother, and now Jased himself. Teeny-tiny jewels had been added to the outer black keffe, adding color to the simple, elegant design embroidered onto the hem in silver thread.
Fingering the embroidery, Jased looked up to meet Saimun's gaze with the eyes of misery.
“ You are not happy here?” Saimun said gently.
Here? Jased looked out one of the plane windows. The last time he had been in Kyria he had been three years old. When his mother had died the king of Kyria had agreed to send Jased to the United States to be raised by General Ashworth. A few months before he turned sixteen Jased would be returned to Kyria for good. That was the arrangement.
Some people, mostly the Western world, applauded this as proof that even royalty were human; with his only other blood relative dead General Ashworth only had Jased in the whole world. Kyrians, on the other hand, worried and prophesied disaster. Today they claimed that it was pointless to bring Jased back; he was already a foreigner in blood and now he was a foreigner in spirit. The king might as well place a Caucasian American boy not of any Kyrian blood at all to rule after him. Or just hand Kyria to America and ruin its prosperity and peace, the hardwon neutrality, completely.
Nice to know that I'm their coming of the Anti-Christ.
“ Pfft.” Jased turned to the person half-lounging in a reclining sofa. A young man smirked at him, his rough skin so burned that it glowed red whenever the light hit him. Thin but bound with compact muscle, two cream-colored scars slashing one cheek, imbued with reckless disrespect, everything about him screamed 'thief' or 'thug in disguise'. Still, Nakasha had been the king's choice in sending to protect Jased five years ago. Knowing of Nakasha's past, Jased didn't know why.
Not that he had a problem with it. He could always count on Nakasha to be so bluntly honest that a wound would bleed and a knife would appear stuck inside someone's chest.
“ You look ridiculous.”
See?
“ Nakasha!” Saimun scolded. Nakasha scoffed at him and took no notice of the reproach. Saimun shook his head. Sometimes he actutally doubted the king's choice in that man, too young, too rough, too independent and disobedient, so why him? Nakasha was the worst possible choice to place with the prince of Kyria!
Shaking his head, Saimun turned back to Jased. “ Your Highness, it is time.”
Time for what? To finally see the father who had sent gifts at holidays and birthdays, but hadn't so much as written a personal note or sent for him despite being in the same palace? To greet a people who stared at him with suspicion? Jased cringed as he tried to sort out the thoughts in his head.
“ Saimun...”
“ Yes, your Highness?”
“ Kyria's a country of tradition,” Jased started to say. He felt like he was reciting something from a textbook. “ I don't want to go against any of it.”
Saimun waited patiently.
Who will support me? Jased shook his head. He smiled at Saimun and said, “ Let's go.” Before I totally lose my nerve.
The Sun Palace was modern on the inside, but the outside had small unlit torches were bracketed to the walls. Long-leafed bushes waved until their green blades whispered in the wind. Jased tried not to make it look so obvious that he was trying to breathe normally in the hot, hot, hot (did he mention, 'hot'?) heat, feeling stifled in his clothes. The scent of flowers hung heavy in the air. Everyone they passed by bowed in homage to Jased.
In spite of himself he felt homesick for his grandfather's suburban setting house in Washington D.C. He was homesick for soccer and high school and friends and wearing clothes that didn't feel airy; Jased could swear he could feel every bump, twist, and weave of the woven cloth that kept swishing against his skin like tissue paper. Inside he was acutely miserable, and he dared not complain. People had been warning and preparing him for this for over a decade. He shouldn't be so miserable!
This is where I was meant to be.
Saimun led the way towards the front area of the palace, where Jased would be presented (What am I, a Christmas present?) at a balcony reserved for public occasions. He was surprised to find a small crowd already in the courtyard at the foot of the balcony stairs. At the head of them was a tall broad-shouldered man dressed in a smoky purple coat. Despite not having been on the same continent for thirteen years, Jased recognized his father easily. Like all leading royalty King Amendi of Kyria had appeared before on television monitors, his chiseled, granite-somber face as clear as day.
Jased came to a stop a few feet away. King and prince proceeded to stare at each other.
I must take after Mom. There seemed to be little resemblance between them. Amendi had salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard, skin like desert stone, the perpetual tan of a desert dweller, and though he had Jased's amethyst eyes Amendi's own were slim and appeared to be made of glass. In contrast Jased was all leanness and fluid movement. He honestly wondered if the Amendi before him wasn't actually an amazing stone replica.
Then the man blinked. Slowly. Jased was proved wrong.
He was painfully aware of everyone watching, staring, watching, staring, and all the while waiting. At this point whoever broke the ice, their words were either going to sound cold or stupid. Or both. Jased was open-minded.
Ahhh, hell with it. Cracking a grin, Jased heard himself say in Kyrian:
“ I'm back.”
Something shifted in Amendi's face. A smile? Something close to one? No, Jased thought, not a chance. He was sure that the king's features hadn't actually budged at all. On the other hand the air loosened. Congratulatory, happy murmurs rose from the surrounding audience. People seemed to feel relieved.
“ Yes,” Amendi said quietly. “ Welcome back.”
It was a relief to hear that, though it was also something of a shock to see the Amendi was most definitely not a stone statue. Revolving a bit, Amendi said:
“ There are people you should meet right away. These people are members of the Royal Priesthood.”
The Royal Priesthood of Kyria weren't clerics, exactly. They were more like protectors of the royal family selected from the brightest in the country, regardless of social class, said to be selected by the very gods that reigned in the country. It was their job to keep an eye on those who had power in Kyria and keep them in check accordingly, their ranks equal to that of the Parliament representatives, the General of the Kyrian Army, and Oracles (temple heads). Only Saimun, Amendi, the royalty that were not royalty, and now Jased stood above them.
The Royal Priesthood were chosen and trained since a young age, which was probably why only one out of four were in their mid to late twenties. Jased looked over each one of them, feeling that he had time to do nothing more than a basic study as they were introduced.
Ooh. Nekima was the only female in the Priesthood, and she was a lovely young woman whose quiet air and slim body probably fooled people into thinking she was just a weak female. Her large eyes were dark blue and calm. It would be a surprise to ever find her breaking apart from the inside out. Nekima was Miss Dependable.
Jased quirked up an eyebrow at Syte. Handsome and arrogant-looking with chocolate-brown hair, the young man oozed self-confidence. His paler blue eyes had the particular coldness of someone who usually thought that his actions always had a good reason to be carried out. Syte was likely someone who was completely unafraid to do the dirty work.
Dirty work. Would Jased have to do that sort of thing one day?
Makado looked vaguely familiar. The same age and height as Syte, he had dark brown eyes, a more fluid-looking body, and long hair tied in a slim ponytail underneath that headcloth. Makado gave the equally vague impression that he was constantly wavering between the utmost seriousness and mischief.
Lastly, Kinadin was the head of the Royal Priesthood, and he was as old as Saimun was, and more...worn. Kinadin had white hair and the look of someone who had been wrung through the worst in life. He was tall, thin, dark-skinned, and his wrinkles were like shriveled lines of skin. His eyes were dark, kindly, and grave. He bowed so slowly that Jased twitched with the urge to look at a watch.
“ Kyria is whole now that you have returned, your Highness,” said Kinadin. Jased squirmed inside. On the outside he managed to keep a straight face, but he didn't know what to say in response to that. He was glad that he had but to smile and nod at relatives he'd never met before; his aunt Mati who stared down at him past the length of her nose; her son Andiri, a darkly handsome and smirking youth just a year older than Jased; Mati's daughter Sena, an adorable round-faced little girl of six; his uncle Macha, a somber-faced man with a mustache and the position of Parliament representative; his cousins Ihan, a young man who looked like he was wilting, and Rumadi, who was of the same age with dark hair and bright eyes, and, er, definitely not giving the impression he was wilting like a overcooked noodle.
“ You must be quite happy to have returned, your Highness.” It was Mati, Jased's aunt, who spoke. Her eyes lingered on Jased's spun-gold hair. “ Providing, of course, that you remember. Forgive my boldness, but it is simply that you were rather young at the time of your...departure. I trust that the homeland of the late queen was lovely.”
Something was off. Jased answered noncomittedly, “ It is.”
With a laugh Mati uttered, “ Perhaps you have brought it with you, your Highness, if it is so lovely a country.”
“ Brought it with me?” Jased knew that in high society people rarely got straight to the point or even tried to speak plainly. It was like learning a foreign language, and this time he didn't understand. Behind Mati he saw Andiri smirk. Kajera made a small smile and gave her younger brother Rumadi a I-told-you-so kind of look. Rumadi frowned reproachfully back at her. Great. Was there some other 'foreign language' that he had to learn here?
“ The late queen had such revolutionary ideas in her time,” Mati quipped, acting like they were talking of something funny. “ One nearly feared that Kyria would become another America, and Queen...Holly would rule. My, we do fear diseases here. I suppose you've heard of the latest medical advancements? I hear that in places such as America they are quite advanced. That is why their techniques spread so far across the world.”
People nearby became a little subdued in volume. Their eyes flew to Jased, whose face was blank. He made no move, but his vision was swirling with the faces of people frowning at him and people staring at him with blank, expectant faces.
“ Enough, Lady Mati,” said Amendi. To Jased he summoned, “ Come. It is time to greet the people.”
Wordlessly Jased followed in his father's footsteps. The stairwell was shadowed. Emerging from it, Jased was wowed out of his internal numbness and confusion.
Below him hundreds, maybe even thousands, of faces stretched out before him in the same style of the vast ocean. He looked here, he looked there, so many people everywhere! Their faces blurred until they were more like one indistinct creature, and their cries were but one wordless roar. Jased was suddenly swept up in something he didn't understand.
Why are they here?
From a distance far away, King Amendi began to speak. The people quieted in order to him clearly as if the microphones fixed to the balcony's railing weren't enough. Surely the hundred speakers fixed throughout Rhen's central avenue was not enough.
To Jased it wasn't. He was too deep inside his own head to understand what Amendi was saying. Vaguely he wondered if it mattered. It was most likely just a introductory and celebratory speech. Was it important that he know? Jased felt panic rising up inside of him like a jet. Where was he? What was he doing? He'd been called the prince of Kyria all his life, so why did he feel as if his entire world was in the process of twisting itself into a desert version of Wonderland, forcing the role of Alice on top of him?
I know what I am, so why am I like this? Did people want him here? Jased felt humiliated, as if he were a pathetic little imposter that wasn't going to be fooling anyone. Who wanted him here? Everyone below had said that they were overjoyed to have him back, absolutely ecstatic, yet Jased thought they were wrong. He'd been three years old when he'd first left to live in the States. He might as well never been born in Kyria. He...
Why am I here? ...Better yet, why the heck am I only asking this kind of stuff now? Isn't it sort of too late? Jased blinked when roaring cheers and applause permeated the air. Amendi was no longer speaking. He was done, and now stood in a way that clearly said it was Jased's turn.
Would now be a good time to say that he'd completely forgotten the speech Saimun had prepared with him? Regardless, Jased moved forward to the microphones. He was glad that at this height, nobody's face was clear enough for him to see. That would do nothing but make him feel more self-conscious than ever.
Why am I here? Because everybody had told him he was supposed to be. It was his responsibility. People had been telling him that for so long and spoken so seriously that he'd become used to the weight of it.
“ ...I am where I was meant to be.”
What am I supposed to be? Does anybody want me here? Voices rushed into Jased's mind in an angry rush. He lifted his chin. What was it that his grandfather said sometimes? Just grab a bull by the horns? He thought of what people did once they grabbed a bull by the horns. In one motion they threw the bull down.
“ I am where I was always meant to be,” he said, speaking into the microphones. “ Though it's been a long time, to the point where I can hardly remember a thing about this country.”
Behind him, on the stairs, Saimun was torn between wincing and gaping with his mouth hanging open. He wasn't the only one with that problem. A few nervous chuckles went up when people couldn't decide.
“ So why then did I not hesitate in coming here when it was time?” Jased continued. “ When I was told that it was time for me to return to Kyria, I didn't think. I only came. Though, quite honestly, I feel completely lost, however hard I think about it I can't find a desire to leave. I won't.”
The crowds were silent. Jased's voice was clear.
“ People may have concerns about what I bring with me and I say rather than thinking of doomsday prophecies, why not turn your minds to doing something more productive and useful to Kyria? Doomsday prophecies...they aren't useful to anyone. All they do is make matters that might not be in trouble at all worse.”
Jased paused to let all that sink in. Was he saying too much? He worried about droning on and on and on. By personal experience he knew that people would drop off if something carried on for too long. They wouldn't concentrate.
“ What might happen because I've spent thirteen years in America doesn't matter. My lack of knowledge of this country doesn't matter, because what I don't know I will learn. It's as simple as that. The people that worry about me being more American than Kyrian...I just don't understand them. The answers to all your questions and worries are obvious. The response I give will always be the same.
Jased inclined his head in a short bow. He said slowly:
“ I am Jased the prince of Kyria, not America, no matter where I am. You can worry all you like but I was never meant to stay in the US. I have returned to where I was always meant to be, and that will only happen over and over again.”
It was a sheer explosion of noise that nearly sent Jased reeling. He'd expected the people to stare at him with little comprehension, because Jased had used the speech to sort out the swirling thoughts in his head, not to actually speak to the people. He'd just wanted to make things clear to himself as well as everyone else.
Whoops. But oh well! Jased let out a gusty breath. There was no turning back. It was something he'd known without having anyone to say it to him out loud. Jased was...where he had always meant to be. Now he had to make the best of it.
“ One day you will be king.” Amendi spoke quietly from behind Jased. “ Learn all that you must.” By the time Jased turned around the king was already descending the stairs. What a wonderful beginning to a father-son relationship, he thought sarcastically. It was weird. Jased took another breath to calm his rumbling nerves.
He had to stop being confused. He had to take the bull by the horns.
More applause and cheers greeted Jased when he came down from the balcony. Stopping there, he patiently waited until everyone got the hint and became quiet.
“ Aunt Mati,” he said then.
“ Your Highness?” Mati replied cautiously. Jased smiled brightly.
His voice, on the other hand, had the searing heat and coldness of sub-zero ice.
“ Has something slipped in your head?”
Words lumped in Mati's throat. What was this?
“ Though I'm at a complete loss when it comes to how to act in high society,” Jased told her, “ it doesn't take an idiot to know how to act with basic decency. Insulting someone who's dead, and then insulting someone's mother right to their face on top of that, that's pitiful.”
“ Wh-what?” Mati exclaimed.
Jased smiled. “ You have my utmost sympathies on your lack of maturity.”
Mati flushed a dark humiliating red. “ Y-you!” she sputtered. “ How dare you! Who do you think you are?”
Though it shouldn't matter where mothers are concerned.... Without saying a word Jased stood there, eyebrows raised as he looked at Mati. His smile was gone. The woman flushed darker as she quickly realized the answer to her own question and how foolish she sounded.
“ Lady Mati, whether indirect or directly, I won't forgive anyone who insults my mother. A good friend told me not let anyone 'get to me', as they say, because I am the prince of Kyria.” With those quiet words Jased turned. “ Get used to it.”
Ironically he had to do the same thing. Everything before had been a rambling prologue. The real story started now.
***
Laughing off to the side, Makado raised his eyes to see Syte watching him. At that Makado made a false cough and fixed his face into a more serious, proper expression. But then Syte cracked a smile, one tinted with malice because he'd never liked the Lady Mati. The woman acted like she was queen when she'd been stripped of royal status upon King Amendi's coronation, not to mention doubly so when she married. She was only a politician's wife.
“ Serves the woman right,” Syte said. “ How 'refreshing' to have someone speak plainly in the Court. Is that an American trait, or an adolescent one?”
“ Regardless, it could be a blessing,” Makado replied. “ Better a prince with his own mind than a future puppet king.”
Syte snorted cynically. “ We'll see,” he said. Jased's mixed heritage meant little to him so long as it was legitimate and the boy was a walking national disaster. His eyes roved through the crowd and closely inspected each face in a glance. Those pale blue irises, so startingly bright in his tanned face, stopped at a tall, thin, moderately good-looking man standing close to the Farandi children, Rumadi, Kajera, and Ihan. That was Qinzail Kartze, secretary to the Parliament representative Macha Farandi and caretaker to the man's three offspring.
Let's see what this half-breed is capable of.
