This Woven Kingdom

The king? Cyrus, you mean? I’d not realized you’d met him before.”

“Heavens,” she gasped. “It’s you.”

was not even mentioning the fact that the gown was somehow imbued with magic—magic that claimed it would conceal her identity from any who wished her ill.

“He came in this morning—rather a tall fellow, wasn’t he? He wore an interesting hat and had quite the most vivid blue eyes. He was insistent that you would come, and asked me not to close my shop, not even to take lunch, as I often do. He asked that I please deliver you this”—Deen held up a finger, then disappeared below the counter to retrieve a large, unwieldy package—“when you finally arrived.”

She was everything he’d never realized he wanted in his future queen: not just beauty, but grace; not just grace, but strength; not just strength, but compassion. He’d heard her speak enough to know she was not only educated but intelligent, proud but not arrogant.

The shackles worn by your people are often unseen by the eye. Feel, they’d said, for even blind, you will know how to break them.

“Oh, now you really do wound me.”

“Friends?” he said, dismayed. “If your intention was to wound me, know you have succeeded.”

Was it terrible that his heart pounded in his chest at the soft sound of her voice? Was it worrisome that he felt nothing but pleasure to be held at her mercy?

“Well, then. You are coming to Tulan,” Cyrus said, taking a quick breath. “To marry me.”

Alizeh gave a sharp cry, and fell off the dragon.