One Choice (7 page)
Authors: Ginger Solomon
Josiah prowled around his room like a caged tiger and contemplated the inspection he would perform in less than an hour. He lowered himself onto a chair at the table where his dinner waited and pushed the food around on his plate with his fork. Tension knotted his stomach. At this rate, he wouldn't make it through the next six months. He massaged his temples to relieve his headache. Why can't this⦠this humiliation be over already?
All afternoon Anaya had busied herself with the one she called Cahri, leaving him alone without anyone to distract him. He'd tried to work, but he couldn't keep his mind focused.
His father didn't understand, would never understand. Josiah didn't want just any wife. She must be someone special, someone he could love.
How could he choose a bride in six months? Could any of these women be
that
special? There wouldn't be much time to get to know any of them. But then, he'd thought he'd known Remalyn. Obviously he hadn't.
He wiped his hand across his eyes and then gazed out at the flowers. Sections of roses, not yet blooming, flanked by artistic shrubs with benches situated below various vines to maximize shade. His favorite place to walk and pray offered no solace now. He'd agreed to allow the chosen ones access instead. At least he could watch and learn about them.
A knock sounded on his door.
“Come.” He hadn't meant to bark out the word.
Anaya entered, stared at him for a few moments, and then walked to where he sat. “You need to relax, Josiah.”
He snorted. His sister knew him well. “How do I relax when there are fifty women expecting me to choose one of them to be my wife? How do I choose? How will I know?” He pushed his fingers through his hair.
“You pray, and God will show you. Trust Him, even more now since you don't feel you can trust yourself.” Anaya smoothed down his disturbed locks. He held back another snort at her maternal actions.
Does she know how right she is? Josiah stood and pivoted away from her.
“What about this one you call Cahri? What is she like?”
“You know I won't tell you. You must find out for yourself. I will tell you, though, she is different from the others, in many ways.”
“What's the point of you spending time getting to know her if you won't share what you find?”
Anaya chuckled. “Sharing with you is not the purpose of my time with her. My goal is to help her pass your tests.”
He grunted at the smile which graced her face. “Fine sister you are.”
“Aren't I, though?” She giggled and hugged him. “Trust me, after tonight you will see some of what I have chosen to keep to myself.”
He plopped back into the chair. “How will I get through this and still please Father?”
“You will do it like you've done everything else. You will rely on your princely wisdom, and, more important than that, on Godly wisdom. The Lord will show you. Trust Him. Keep praying. Keep watching. Keep listening.”
“It's too hard. Father doesn't understand why I haven't found a wife since Remalyn. It's not like I haven't tried.”
“Father knows. He wants you to be happy, but he also knows you have shied away from anyone who has dared come too close. He must also follow the tradition, which is why the Bridal March is happening. You must understand his position.” She rubbed his shoulders. “Don't worry about Father right now. Relax. Enjoy getting to know the chosen ones.”
His muscles relaxed a little under her expert hands.
“Thank you.” He stood and hugged her. He still doubted he'd find a woman he could love, but he was resigned to find a wife he could live with.
****
When Cahri returned to her room, the others talked all at once.
“What's going on?” she asked.
They stared at her as if she'd grown horns.
“So you can talk. Where have you been that you don't know?” a tall, well-endowed woman answered. Hoping this one would be among the first to go, Cahri hadn't bothered to learn her name.
“Exploring.” She didn't want to tell them the truth. They would shun her for sure if they knew. “What's going on?”
“We were told to get ready for an inspection of some sort, to see if we are worthy of the Bridal March,” Iksura answered.
“I thought we were already considered worthy when we were chosen,” whined a smooth-skinned, curvy, and demanding woman.
The tone of her voice grated on Cahri's ears, and she dug her nails into her palms to keep from acting on her desire to slap the woman.
Iksura stared at Cahri for a few moments with a frown on her face. “Weren't you wearing different clothes earlier?”
Ashura entered, interrupting Cahri's struggle for an honest, but not too honest answer.
“Follow me, please.” His stern demeanor brooked no arguments from any of her roommates.
Cahri followed the others out of the room toward the common area. The tables and chairs had been pushed to the walls, leaving a large space in the middle. The women lined up as instructed. Standing at the end of the line, Cahri fiddled with the silver embroidery on the hem of her shirt.
This was going to be a long wait. She stared at the tiled floor. It consisted of white tiles with a mosaic tile thrown in at random intervals. She stood beside one which depicted the oranges and pinks of the sun rising over sand-colored hills. She'd love to be someplace like that now.
Footsteps came closer. She rubbed her damp palms down the front of her black pants. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a procession of men's shoes, five or six pairs at least, working their way down the line. After looking at each woman, one male voice, she presumed it to be Prince Josiah, spoke one of two words. With the utterance of one word, the woman was led from the room. With a different spoken word, she remained standing in line to wonder which was better, to leave or to be left.
Better to stay. There goes the large, obnoxious one. The servants will celebrate tonight.
The velvety voice working its way toward her sounded familiar.
No, not possible.
Could it be?
Bits and pieces of conversation drifted to her ears. She tilted her head just enough to see who spoke and to whom. The prince had stopped in front of the young woman whom Cahri noticed yesterday. She would be perfect for him. They even looked good together. An unexpected sensation shot through her. What was she feeling?
Moments later, several pairs of feet appeared in front of her, and she felt a warm, gentle finger under her chin. Her skin tingled from his touch. As she raised her eyes, his hand moved away. Her gaze took in his navy blue pants, and then a white shirt with small, navy stripes. Higher still revealed a handsome, chiseled face. Familiar chocolate-brown eyes greeted hers.
The prince inhaled, the shock evident on his face. She dropped her head, startled at his unanticipated reaction.
The man in the market was the prince!
She had bumped into the prince.
What would he do?
She shuddered as fright filled her. What punishment might she have to endure if he had been offended at her clumsy words?
His fingers touched her chin again. “Look at me.” His velvety voice carried with it a hint of command and of amusement.
Cahri's whole being stirred from his slight touch. She lifted her face.
He didn't look angry. The shock was gone, replaced by a quiet intensity.
She blinked several times to hide the tears.
His gaze plunged deep into the inner recesses of her heart. A shudder coursed through her body, but not from fear. From anticipation.
He scanned the room. “Anaya!” His voice sounded like stone, hard and unyielding.
“Yes, my prince,” she replied from behind several of the other men who had followed the prince. A collective gasp echoed down the line of women at the revelation of his identity.
Cahri refocused her gaze toward her shifting feet as heat crept into her cheeks. She didn't want to be a spectacle. That would be worse than the shock on his face.
He spoke to Anaya in a dialect Cahri didn't know but longed to understand. A few words resembled a similar language she had learned long ago. Perhaps one of the words was
eyes
.
She flinched. Figures
.
No man in Belikara liked her eyes. They wanted dark-eyed women guaranteeing dark-eyed sons.
“The prince would like to know why there were tears in your eyes the second time he looked at you.” Anaya's formality confused Cahri until the statement penetrated her mind.
He cared about the tears? Didn't he care that she didn't have brown eyes like the others? And why didn't he just ask her instead of asking Anaya?
Admitting to having bumped into the prince in the middle of the market was not an option, nor could she express the fear of having offended him then. Cahri didn't want to offend the prince now either, but for some unexplained reason his reaction hurt.
Still looking at her feet, she replied, “Many times as a child, I was teased because I wasn't like everyone else, but it has been years since anyone has been so outright shocked by the color of my eyes.” The memories of how often she'd been harassed as a child brought fresh tears.
Fiddlesticks! Stupid emotions. Why couldn't she stop the waterworks?
The prince must have noticed her surprise at his identity. He must have been just as surprised. Could that explain his reaction?
She'd bought chocolate ice cream because it reminded her of his eyes. Kind eyes.
“Look up please, Cahri.”
Blinking back her tears, Cahri lifted her head at the quiet intensity in Anaya's voice. One drop slipped past Cahri's eyelashes and slid down her cheek.
“Why do you continue to cry?” Anaya's voice stayed low, so others would not hear their conversation.
“I do not wish to offend the prince, and I fear I have.” More than once.
Prince Josiah pulled Anaya a few steps away and spoke to her again, then handed her something, and walked away without looking in Cahri's direction.
She had offended him. Now what?
When the men left, Anaya approached Cahri and handed her a handkerchief. “The prince wishes you to know he is sorry he hurt your feelings, and that you did not offend him. I am also sorry. I should have warned him your eyes are not like the others. I wanted him to see for himself, but I did not consider your feelings in the matter. Please forgive me.”
Cahri nodded then wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. A tantalizing scent teased her nose. She sniffed. It smelled like him â the fragrance she remembered from the market.
A moment later, she remembered why she liked it. Her father had used this same woodsy scent. Ironic since it was called Royal. After wiping her eyes, she held the handkerchief out for Anaya, so it could be returned to the prince.
“Prince Josiah wishes you to keep it.” Anaya whispered so none of the others could hear.
Cahri nodded. “Am I allowed to leave now?”
Anaya's troubled gaze settled on her. “Yes.”
Reaching for Anaya, Cahri gave her
servant
a quick hug. “All is well.”
Anaya shoulder's slumped with an unknown weight, and she exited out the same door as the prince, toward a section of the palace forbidden to the chosen ones.
The others had scattered into little groups to talk. Giggles came from the corner by the TV. Thirty-five or forty women remained. Ten or fifteen had been removed. The younger woman, to whom the prince had spoken before reaching Cahri, sat in a chair across the room, petting Stormy. Cahri was glad Stormy had found a friend, and he enjoyed all the extra attention.
Cahri wandered to her room and lay on her bed without removing her hat. Holding the handkerchief to her nose, she inhaled.
Memories of her father â rocking her after she'd fallen out of the tree, hugging her when mean words about her eyes made her cry, kissing her every night before bed â assaulted her brain one by one. Her dad had been her hero. She missed him so much. The qualities he'd demonstrated â integrity, kindness, gentleness, and devotion to God â were what she deemed important in a future husband. Her distrust of God aside, having a Christian husband topped her list.
She scrunched the cloth in her hand and caught another whiff. It wouldn't be too hard to love a man who smelled like her father. A man who cared enough for a stranger to leave her his handkerchief. Not to mention how incredibly handsome he was. His dark eyes told her what she needed to know. Even with such a short look. Intense, yet gentle and kind.
Enough daydreaming for tonight. She refused to allow herself to hope because being chosen still remained improbable. Their differences were too great. Besides, his interest focused on the young one, as it should. She was more suitable for the wife of the future king. Sorrow engulfed her as she thought of leaving Belikara when she was eliminated.
Should she pray? No. God didn't listen to her prayers anyway.
Cahri removed her hat and glanced around for her jeans.
Ugh.
She'd left them in Anaya's room. Oh, well. They weren't super important anyway. She laid today's beautiful black outfit on the chest, fingering the silver embroidery once more.
What color would they choose tomorrow?
Beneath the covers, she held the handkerchief under her pillow as she drifted off to sleep.
“How could you not tell me?” Josiah yelled.
Anaya stepped back. A tear rolled down her face.
He moved toward her, sorrow squeezing his heart. He hated when his temper overwhelmed his good senses.
“I'm sorry, sister. I didn't mean to yell.” He wiped away the tear and pulled her into his arms. “This whole thing has put me on edge. Forgive me?”
“You know I do. Will you forgive me for not telling you? I thought it would be best for you to find out on your own, but I did not take her feelings into account. I've already asked her forgiveness. I'm sorry, Josiah. I didn't mean for it to happen this way.”