He stopped before the dais.
“Prince Odar of Fren,” one of his squires announced. The prince regally bowed, showing his respect. The empress and emperor stood and went to officially greet the pretty prince. Yes, that was going to be Allyssa’s name for Prince Odar. She supposed she should greet him too. She stood and moved forward. His hand took hers and he gently pressed his warm lips to the top of her fingers, his eyes locked on hers the entire time, making every effort to be seductive.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed his squire, the one who’d announced him, watching her intently. Maybe he also served as an advisor.
After pleasantries were exchanged, Darmik announced, “People of Emperion, in honor of Prince Odar, a great feast will be thrown tonight. Everyone is invited. Afterwards, there will be lively music and dancing.”
The people clapped, and the prince nodded his head in approval.
“Prince Odar,” Rema said in a soft voice so only those closest to the dais could hear. “Please join the emperor and myself for drinks. We have much to discuss.”
Darmik gave orders for Neco to show the visitors from Fren to their rooms. Then Rema and Darmik left, the prince with only his squire right behind them.
Allyssa went to follow, but Marek gently took her arm. “I have instructions to escort you back to your rooms.”
She was relieved she didn’t have to sit in a private room with the prince and attempt to carry on a conversation with him. As she walked along the corridors, she tried to keep an open mind about the prince, but she couldn’t. He was an absolute joke. Allyssa had no interest in a man who cared more about his appearance than the people of his kingdom.
She froze in the middle of the corridor, Marek almost slamming into her.
“Are you okay, Your Highness?” he asked.
She was going to have to sacrifice herself for her kingdom. And that was something she wasn’t prepared to do just yet. What value did her parents see with aligning Emperion with Fren? Her life flashed before her eyes—married to the prince while he flirted all day with women and threw parties. Her life would be lonely and unbearable. Squaring her shoulders, she continued walking down the corridor, her hands shaking.
Allyssa despised sparring in a dress. However, that was the way her father had taught her to fight. He said if someone attacked her, she would be in a gown, so she had to be able to maneuver in heavy fabric.
“Faster,” Marek instructed. “You’re not focusing.”
She wanted to growl because he was right, she was too distracted. Putting all thoughts of the pretty prince out of her mind, she gave Marek her full attention. He swung his sword, hitting hers near the hilt, making her drop it. Not intending to lose their match so easily, she twisted and came in close to him. When he went to grab her, she rammed her elbow into his stomach. He hunched over and she yanked him down, slamming her knee into his face.
He dropped his sword.
“I win,” she declared.
Catching his breath, he wiped his forehead. “You seem to have gained a few new moves.” Not a question.
“Perhaps,” was all she said in reply. The training room was lined with her personal guards. She knew her father didn’t want her practicing—he’d rather she prepare for the ball. But in order to make it through dinner and dancing, she had to release her anger and frustration.
Marek took their wooden swords and put them back on the rack.
“I’m not ready to return to my rooms.” She still felt off balance and unsettled.
He glanced to the door where Mayra and Madelin were waiting for her. “I need to go over some security details with my father,” Marek stated.
“Then go.” She waved him away. “I’ll only be a few more minutes.”
He briefly spoke with the guards before he said, “Your Highness,” and left.
As soon as he was gone, she put leather gloves on and went to the hay figure secured to the wall. Taking a deep breath, she started punching it, imagining the dummy was the prince. Smiling, she started hitting it harder and faster, allowing all of her aggression to evaporate.
Someone started clapping, and she spun around about to yell at whoever had interrupted her.
Prince Odar stood there with a smirk.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her arm. He was accompanied by two of his soldiers and the squire she noticed earlier in the Throne Room.
He clicked his tongue. “A testy remark from someone so delicate and lovely.”
Her eyes narrowed. She was dirty, smelly, and certainly not the picture of a princess at the moment. The squire clasped his hands behind his back, staring daggers at her. He must not approve of a woman who could take care of herself, knew how to fight, and who dared to sweat. She hated him almost as much as she hated the prince.