One Choice (10 page)

****

Josiah danced with one of the chosen. He'd already forgotten her name. His eyes roamed back to the door Cahri had gone out.

Where had she gone? And why for so long?

He should have known his father's idea of a banquet to test the ladies would turn out to be bad for them. Most spat out their food and complained. Soon, only two among the women remained quiet. The one, named Halima, who he found cute but too young for his tastes, and Cahri. Halima didn't grumble, but she also didn't partake of the dessert course. Cahri managed to taste everything, even if she didn't finish, as would be required if visiting the homes of outside dignitaries.

She'd grimaced toward the end of the meal, but otherwise she portrayed a gracious countenance and had been polite to the servant delivering the inferior food.

A distinctive hat appeared through the window in the door. His beautiful Cahri had returned. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

She opened the door and went straight to the corner where she'd sat earlier. He continued dancing with his partner; his thoughts not on this one, but on the one with whom he would dance next. When the music stopped, he thanked this girl and moved to Cahri.

He offered his hand. “Would you care to dance?”

“Yes, thank you.” She placed her soft, cool hand in his. The contact sent tingles up his arm.

“Would you look at me while we dance?”

“Is it proper?” Uncertainty laced her voice.

“Would you deny me?”

“No, my prince.”

“You have not even lifted your eyes to look at me. How do you know I'm the prince? I could be any noble who sat at the banquet table just a short time ago.”

A pretty pink tainted her cheeks and her hand trembled in his. Was she embarrassed or just nervous?

“Well? Do you not have an answer or was it just a good guess?”

“It was not a guess, my prince. You gave Anaya your handkerchief to give to me. She told me I was to keep it, and so I have. You smell the same as the handkerchief. The same as my father. And, well, I remember your voice.”

Her voice grew softer as she spoke until he struggled to hear her. He leaned in. The scent from her hair raced up his nose and sent heat through his body. He straightened and inhaled as much of her scent as his lungs would hold, held it a fraction of a second, and then released it. Control. He had to maintain control.

“Will you look at me now?” he asked again. “I want to see your beautiful green eyes.”

Her eyes could send his control out the window, but he refused to regret it. She lifted her gaze to his. Trust, and something else he couldn't quite identify, emanated from them.
Oh, man, so beautiful.

Inhale. Exhale.
He could do this. He could.

“Excellent.” He took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder then took her right hand in his left. As the music played, he led her around the dance floor. He didn't care about her slight stumble. It felt good to have her in his arms at last, even if they were several inches further apart than he wanted.

He felt her relax, and they sashayed about the floor. All too soon, the music faded. He sighed to himself. If only the song would last forever.

“I wish I could dance with you again, but my father insists I dance with all the chosen ones. Thank you for the dance.”

When the music ended, he raised her hand to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss on her knuckles and then released it. She curtsied, and he bowed before he walked away. He closed his eyes to sear her face into his memory. He opened them with a sigh and moved on to the next woman.

Over and over he danced, with whom he didn't know. Their faces were all a blur. His thoughts and eyes continued to wander back to the one he knew would be his wife when this ended.

****

Throughout the evening Cahri danced many times, and, while most of her partners moved with grace, she enjoyed none as much as the first breathtaking, electrifying dance. One man tried to drag her into the hallway, but she'd averted disaster when another man asked her to dance.

The older, knee-holding gentleman pulled her so close during their dance she couldn't even breathe. He even dared pinch her backside when she walked away.
Ewww!

The evening continued well after midnight, and exhaustion crept closer every minute. Just as she considered finding Ashura and asking if she could return to her room, someone clapped their hands.

“Ladies, please line up. Several nobles have expressed interest in a few of you, and if you are agreeable to their proposals, you will pack your things and go with them tonight.”

Cahri suppressed a yawn. She stood in line with the others. Many of the ladies received offers. Most accepted and left the room on the arm of one noble or another. One of the gentlemen, a handsome young man Cahri had danced with, stood before her. Through Ashura, he proposed. She prayed for guidance. It seemed foreign and yet natural all at the same time. With a supernatural peace, she declined his request.

She heard gasps from the ladies on either side of her at the refusal. Ashura asked her if she was sure. She nodded.

The gentleman grunted at her refusal, becoming irrational in his anger. Though he didn't speak in English, she understood him. So far, she had chosen to speak nothing but English, so no one but Anaya, and maybe Ashura, knew she understood.

He called her horrible things and went on and on about her with awful words, accusing her of leading him on. Her eyes widened, and she felt heat rise to her face as he continued. She winced when he came close and started shouting obscenities, but did not move. An involuntary squeak erupted from her lips when he grabbed her arm in a tight grip. Matthias appeared behind him.

“Release her.” His low voice couldn't be heard farther away than two or three steps, but the threat implied hit its mark.

The man let go and stood stiff. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Who is she to refuse my generous proposal? No one else will want her with her pale skin, cat eyes, and awful red hair.”

His words sliced through Cahri as if he had cut her with a knife. She glanced at Ashura. His shocked face reflected Cahri's own feelings at some of the things the man had said, not just the ones about her features.

Before he could say anything, she asked with as much calm as she could muster, “May I respond?”

“What?” Ashura said.

“May I respond?”

He glanced to the king, who nodded. “The king gives his permission.”

She faced the man, no longer a gentleman in her mind, and spoke to him in the same dialect he used. “I understand you are disappointed I declined your proposal, but I assure you I am not any of the things you just called me, nor did I indicate during our dance that your proposal would be accepted. I don't see any reason why you should act in such a way. And if you thought my looks so abhorrent, why did you bother proposing in the first place?”

Ashura seemed dumbfounded, as did the irate nobleman. She dared not look at the prince or the king, but knew they both paid close attention.

“I'd forgotten you could speak more languages than just English,” Ashura said close to her ear.

She kept her eyes on the nobleman. Despite his dark skin, a faint hint of red showed.

He nodded and said in English, “Of course, you are right. I apologize to you for my outburst.”

She accepted his apology and lowered her gaze to the floor, breathing a sigh of relief.

He apologized to the royal family and then left, Matthias close on his heels, without speaking to anyone else.

Ashura cleared his throat. “Please close the line where there are spaces. The king now wishes to speak with each of you. After you have been spoken to, return to your room to either pack or sleep, depending upon his discretion.”

She sighed, hoping this wouldn't take long. Her eyes drooped as she waited. Aching feet, a sore back, and an empty stomach plagued her.

Soon many feet approached, but they passed her by. She must have done something wrong, so wrong in fact, the king refused to even acknowledge her presence. Fatigue pulled on her emotions, but she clenched her jaw and resisted the tears which burned her eyes.

She relived the whole evening in her head. Nothing stood out in her memory. What had she done wrong? What should she do now? Pack her bags or stay?

Silence. She lifted her head. Everyone around her had left, and the tears she had been holding back trickled from her eyes. She removed the handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her face.

Big breath, exhale.
Taking another breath she inhaled the last of the prince's scent on the handkerchief. She weighed her options — return to the room and assume she was supposed to remain, find Anaya and ask, or sit down and give into the emotions warring in her head. A voice interrupted her thoughts as she considered dropping to the floor and having a good, old-fashioned cry.

“It looks like you need a new handkerchief.” Prince Josiah spoke from a position a few feet behind her and to her right.

He took a step.

She glanced at the handkerchief balled up in her hand and nodded. She didn't trust her voice.

Another step, this time to stand in front of her.

He lifted her face with one hand. With his other he took a clean handkerchief and wiped away all trace of her tears. She kept her eyes closed, ashamed he witnessed more of her weeping. Her face warmed. The gentleness of his touch astounded her. She smelled his scent on the handkerchief when it came close to her nose.

“You're blushing.”

She heard the smile in his words.

“Look at me.”

She opened her eyes at his gentle command.

“Why are you crying again?”

“I'm sorry.” She dropped her eyes. “I am quite tired and… the food was horrible and I got sick… and then I felt better and you asked me to dance, and it was wonderful… and then it was getting late and I got over-tired… Ashura called us to stand in line and I was nervous… and then I insulted a noble by declining his proposal… and he was mean and said nasty things to me and about me… and I think I spoke out of turn and the king passed me by… and I was standing here all alone… and I didn't know what to do.” She took a big breath. “I'm sorry; I tend to ramble when I'm tired.” She clamped her lips closed to keep from speaking again.

“I see.” He remained silent for a time. “We deduced by your facial expressions that you understood Hakim, the irate noble, soon after he started his diatribe. You impressed my father with how you handled the situation. He had seen enough of your character by the way you handled the seating arrangements, did not refuse the distasteful food, your lack of response after getting sick from it, and your quiet rebuke of Hakim. Therefore, he didn't see a need to speak with you further.” He raised her face again so she had no choice but to look at him. He held out the clean handkerchief. “Shall we trade?”

A tentative smile touched her lips, and she handed him the well-used cloth for the clean one. “Thank you.” She wiped her eyes one last time and tucked the handkerchief into her pocket.

“You're welcome. Will you dance with me again?”

“Now? There is no music and…” She scanned the room still unable to see anyone. “We're alone.”

“Alone? No. Anaya and Matthias are watching. We will make our own music.”

“Okay,” she said. “What kind of music shall we dance to then, kind sir?” She wanted him to know she enjoyed his game.

His lips lifted in a smile, and her heart did a little flip. “I think a waltz would be wonderful, don't you?”

“I believe it would be perfect, my prince.” She curtseyed and he held his hands out and waited for her to step closer.

They connected as though they were made for each other. They swayed around the dance floor to imaginary music for several minutes. The prince began to slow and asked, “Are you tired, my Cahri?”

“Hmmm? Oh, tired. I had forgotten I was tired.” She chuckled.

The prince laughed. “It is quite late. Perhaps you should return to your room now. I know you like to rise early.”

His velvety voice remained low and sent shivers up and down her spine. She would do anything he asked, so complete was his spell over her.

“As you wish, my prince.” She lowered her eyes out of respect. “Is it you who watches me in the mornings?” Her hand flew to her mouth in astonishment. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…” She twisted to walk away.

He stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm. “How do you know you are watched?”

“I feel it. I also saw someone the first day I went into the garden.”

He chortled. “No one else in the house is ever up that early, even the servants.” His eyes widened as he realized his unintentional revelation.

She smirked at his admission but said nothing. He pulled her closer with a gentle tug. They were so close the heat of his body penetrated her clothes. She stared into his eyes, pools of melted chocolate, and wanted to jump in and drown in them. His gaze searched hers, intense, yet gentle, maybe a little uncertain. Then she saw a change in his eyes. He wanted to kiss her. And she wanted him to.