Yonnis wondered whether he was now supposed to start some small talk about the weather. Squire Clayhills came to his rescue, asking him about his first official engagement—a visit to the craft sheds on the south coast that were building new nimble fighting ships for the navy. Yonnis was happily recounting his observations when he heard even footsteps approaching the reception room. He stared at the door, wishing that he could stare through it.
A firm knock was heard, and Squire Clayhills called, “Please come in.”
There was a hush. Yonnis listened to the handling of the door latch. It sounded confident; slow, but not reluctant. A sweet aroma of spring flowers wafted into the room first—from a swaying pomander, which was followed by a tall, upright figure. Yonnis was intrigued. How did a person born to rule behave in a social setting? So, this was what it looked like. She held her head high, and looked at him as if he owed her his life. She was dressed head to toe in a deep black silk robe and a pure white veil. The robe was cut thinly enough for her figure beneath it to be imagined, as she walked with a certain sway of the hips that swished it around her body. She stood in front of him and smiled slightly. All that could be seen of her was her oval face with glowing cheeks, big, long-lashed, deep brown eyes, and soft, full lips.
It was enough to stir Yonnis. He swept into a deep bow and was glad to be carrying his cap so that he could hold it over the embarrassment in his breeches. He was very uncomfortable, and a pinkness shone through his pale skin as his blood pressure rose. He tried to be dignified, but spoke in a slightly higher tone than normal. “My lady. It is such an honor and pleasure to meet you.”
The Lady Esta looked up and down at Yonnis. He deduced that the tidal wave of physical attraction that he felt for her was not mutual.
“I suppose that I should thank you, Duke Yonnis, for killing my uncle,” she said. Her voice was not as imperious as her stance. It rose and fell like music. “Whatever your reason for it, I certainly had good reason to want that result.”
Yonnis bowed again. “I am a professional soldier, my lady. I did what was required to win.”
“Of course.” Esta paused, holding his eye contact and making him feel even more aroused. Then her face clouded with a frown of curiosity. “I hear that we’re some kind of cousins?”
“We share one grandparent, my lady—King Rikko IX, your father’s father, and my mother’s father.”
She seemed to bristle. He supposed that she was thinking that his mother was born to a concubine, which was not how things were seen by his family. Rikko IX had married Yonnis’s Kimalloan grandmother in secret and without the consent of his father Rikko VIII. So Rikko VIII forced the first wife into exile in Yeralla with her daughter, and married his disobedient son to a Pozarian princess. Yonnis decided to say nothing more on that subject.
“Hmm. And yet you look so completely Yerallan. Your father was the second son of a Yerallan consul and an Osiranian duchess?”
“That’s correct, my lady… But I am not here because I think that my parentage entitles me to your hand. I am here because I have given four years of my life and risked my life to secure a happy and hopeful future for Kimalloa. I have proved myself a successful leader, I have commanded the army, and the army has now chosen me to arbitrate in affairs of state. I would be honored to have you at my side—Lady Esta.” He spoke her name with a soft and respectful tone of admiration. “We both know that the job of rebuilding the country after a devastating war will not be easy. The people will do the hard work, guided by the Assembly, but we—we—can encourage them.”
Esta gave him a gracious smile and, at last, a deeper curtsy. “I’m giving it serious consideration, my dear Duke Yonnis.”
