Bride of Kalathan

4: Party

He was, somehow, exactly as she had expected but at the same time it was a surprise, to see him properly for the first time. At dinner the previous day and again today she had seen him only from a distance. But now he strode into the dimly-lit room, already buzzing with court girls and more young men than she had ever seen in one place in her life, confidence radiating out from him in an almost palpable aura. She recognised his broad, handsome face, the dark hair that curled over the collar of his jacket, his strong shoulders and proud posture from when she had seen him in a parade during a family visit to the city years before. But he was also just a man, she thought, as she looked at his face, a man with frown lines on his forehead and a small scar on his cheek, a man who had been born to rule a nation whether he liked it or not. He was dressed similarly to the other men who stood around the tables, in tall, polished boots and a decorated sash over his long jacket, although no one could mistake him for anyone but the king. He had, unlike the other men, a sword at his side and a narrow circlet of gold on his head, and the tell-tale smudge of kulal beneath his eyes. He looked almost exotic to Nuria, with an air of separateness that was fascinating, and she did not realise she was staring until Hellis shoved her elbow into her side.

"Stop staring, silly," said Hellis. "The Queen will be on you like a flea on a dog. Be subtle."

Nuria jerked back to attention, the crude comparison uncomfortable in her ears. But she had not meant to stare.

Soon, she found herself standing in a row with Hellis and Rushta and the other new girls. As a group of musicians played, the king and the group of young men who had come in with him walked up and down, looking at them. She kept her eyes down, and curtsied when she saw his feet pass by hers. She had fully intended to look up and smile, at least, but at the last minute her confidence failed her and she could not. She did not like standing in the row like that, being looked at by all these men. She almost wished she had not put on her favourite sky-blue dress with the pearl buttons and silver-tasselled belt, that she had not let Hellis braid her hair prettily into a crown and style the rest onto long, loose curls, or picked out the delicately beautiful topaz necklace that Father had given her for her sixteenth birthday. She felt as if she was on display, and it was unpleasant. "You'll get used to it," said Rushta, nudging her on the arm as the line broke up and the girls headed for the chairs and sofas arranged at the sides of the room. "Just make the most of it. You look beautiful."

"Thanks," she said, grateful for the small encouragement. But it was not long before Hellis and Rushta abandoned her and she found herself standing beside a table spread with delicious-looking food, and rows of goblets of frothy shanta in various colours. She did not mind being left; she was perfectly content to stare around, watching everyone, taking it all in, but at the same time she felt that standing alone made her stand out too much. She watched a group of new girls giggle and smile as some young men approached them, and as a sparsely-bearded man in a blue turban took the arm of a smiling girl in shimmering black velvet and led her out of the hall towards a shadowy passage, looking around as if hoping no one had noticed. She wondered who they were, if they knew each other, where they were going, then shook her head, thinking she ought not to imagine.

"A blue shanta, perhaps, to go with your dress?" She looked up from her staring, to find a man standing next to her, and started, almost dropping the plate she held in her hand. It was the man from dinner the night before, the one with the twirly moustache.

"Oh – no thank you. I'm not fond of it. It's too sweet for me."

"It can't be half as sweet as you look," he said, his smile showing small, white teeth.

She smiled back politely. Was that meant to be funny? It was rather weak, she thought, amused more at his apparent pride in his humour than at the joke itself.