Chapter 1
Zemirah leapt for the next branch, but her hand didn’t gain full purchase. In that fraction of a heartbeat, her entire body went weightless, and fear took over. But as she began to fall, Emilian’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist.
Smiling down at her with that lopsided grin of his, he asked with a playful tone, “Losing your youthful agility?”
“Pull me up,” Zemirah demanded breathlessly.
When Emilian helped her onto the limb he perched atop, she smacked his chest with the back of her hand. His eyes widened slightly as his balance wavered, but he grabbed the limb above them to steady himself.
Zemirah ignored his glare. “I may be nearing my possible promising, but I’m not yet an old maid. And where did you learn such big words?” she teased him.
Emilian’s frown faded, but as he straddled the limb in front of her, his usual cheerful demeanor didn’t return.
Settling her back against the tree’s thick trunk, Zemirah eyed her friend curiously. “Why the sudden glumness?” she asked when he kept looking at her with that thoughtful expression.
Emilian placed his hands on the limb between them, leaning his weight onto his arms. His wide shoulders flexed with the movement, drawing her attention. She’d noticed him growing bulkier lately, and it made her realize she wasn’t the only one shedding their youth.
“You will soon be promised,” Emilian said solemnly. “And when you are, I will no longer have my friend to be childish with.”
Zemirah knew he spoke the truth, but she forced a smile. “You worry too much. You will always have me. Besides,” she continued playfully, “I could always sneak from my husband’s hold and be childish with you anytime I like.”
A faint grin touched the corner of Emilian’s mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually did.
Feeling concerned by his lingering disquiet, Zemirah asked, “What is it?”
With a strained voice, Emilian said, “I do not want you to be promised. You are too young.”
“I am no younger than other girls being promised,” Zemirah reminded him gently.
Emilian’s gaze slid down to the space between them, and he began drawing his thumbnail over the limb, gouging a short line into the tree.
Realizing it was a bit more serious than she’d first thought, Zemirah asked, “What really has you so somber? My youth is not the thing in question here, is it?”
After a moment, Emilian looked up from the neat little lines he’d drawn with his thumbnail, meeting Zemirah’s eyes again. “What happens if your sixteenth year passes?” he asked with a husky tone. “Two more years and you could be given.”
Zemirah knew that. Everyone knew that, but Zemirah was less thrilled about the imperial tradition than most girls in Dostyne. As of late, the approach of her possible promising was nearly all she could think about when she was alone, but she never put voice to her dread.
With a pained expression, Emilian said, “I fear that life for you, Zemirah. I know you fear it too. I would much rather you be promised, but the time is nearing much too fast for my comfort.”
Her heart ached for Emilian. She knew he hated the idea of her marrying someone in a distant empire and being carted off to a life without him or her father. Zemirah hated seeing her friend so upset, so, placing her hands on Emilian’s, she whispered, “Whether I am promised or given, I will always be your friend.”
Turning his hands over and gripping hers lightly, he said, “I worry you will be unhappy with your husband. What if he doesn’t know how to please you?”
Zemirah swallowed hard, suddenly uneasy about the direction of the conversation. “What do you know of pleasure?” she asked him. “You are but a boy still.”
Emilian’s eyes softened, and he answered, “But I am a boy who knows he would like his lips to be the first yours will taste.”
Zemirah wanted to duck her head and shy away from him, but she could only stare. Emilian was her best friend. She’d never even thought of him as anything more. Well, if she were being honest with herself, she had thought about it quite frequently. Of course she would never admit such a thing to him, but really, what would it hurt? He clearly felt that way for her.
All thoughts of admissions and worry over her possible promising fled her mind when Emilian moved closer, cupping her cheek gently with one hand as he whispered, “Let me be your first taste of adulthood.”
Overwhelmed and still in a bit of shock at the sudden revelation, Zemirah couldn’t even reply. Apparently, words were not what Emilian wanted anyway. He simply leaned in, closing the short distance still separating them, and pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss lingered for a moment, but when he eased back several inches and his dark eyelashes slowly lifted, Zemirah could only blink up at him. She felt flushed, breathless, and a bit dazed.
A slight smile touched Emilian’s lips before he leaned in and kissed her again. This time he shifted even closer, and when her lips parted on a soft exhale, he gently took her bottom lip between his.
Zemirah’s breath left her on a shaky sigh, and she followed his lead, latching onto his top lip, gently sucking the soft flesh. Though it was a little awkward at first, they found a slow rhythm, their mouths moving together, caressing, tasting.
When Emilian’s tongue darted out to meet hers, Zemirah gasped, and he whispered against her mouth, “You taste so sweet.”
“Zemirah!” an angry voice echoed from near the stone wall below them, startling them both.
She jerked away from Emilian and found her aunt standing with her hand on her hip and staring up at them with an irritated, disapproving look on her face.
“What do you think you are doing?” she asked sternly.
Zemirah didn’t know what to say.
“You are in so much trouble,” her aunt warned her. “Your father has been looking everywhere for you. Patriarch Izak has called for all females approaching promising age to be prepared for presentation this eve.”
***
For the last hour, Zemirah had stood in the antechamber with the other girls waiting to be summoned by the patriarch and be presented to the unknown suitor. They all chattered in low, excited voices about how they couldn’t wait to see him. Was he handsome? Was he rich? He had to be wealthy if he was allowed the choice of anyone within the empire. Rumor had it he was a stately prince from a distant land. A prince. Not exactly Zemirah’s ideal husband. She could never see herself marrying a prince. That would make her a princess, and she was nowhere near proper enough for such a distinguished role.
Now standing in line with the other girls, her breathing shallow, Zemirah clasped her cold hands behind her back and kept her eyes on the floor. She didn’t want to be here. She only wanted to go home, crawl into her warm bed, and think about Emilian and the kiss he’d given her.
Prince Filip of Xordanja was a tall, regal-looking man with dark hair and pale eyes, but he carried himself as if he knew exactly how handsome he was.
Most of the other girls seemed eager to be chosen, but no matter how handsome the young suitor was, Zemirah didn’t want to be some stranger’s bride. She wanted to marry for love, to live a nice quiet life among the people she’d grown up with.
In her periphery, she saw the prince step up to the first girl. He took one look at her and said aloofly, “My wife will have blue eyes. Anyone without blue eyes may be dismissed.”
Patriarch Izak shifted his stance subtly, clearing his throat gently. “Of course,” he said in a tight tone.
Zemirah spared a quick glance and found the Patriarch’s neck growing red with repressed aggravation. The look in his eyes was something she’d seen many times over the years when she’d been in trouble for one thing or another.
When she and the rest of the non-blue-eyed females were dismissed, Zemirah breathed a sigh of relief. The others loitered outside the great hall, curious to see whom the prince chose, but she only cared that it hadn’t been her.
Knowing she wouldn’t be missed, Zemirah made her exit and raced through the streets of Dostyne toward the grazing lands where she knew Emilian would be. She couldn’t wait to see him, to share with him the relief that she hadn’t been chosen.
Zemirah found him lying on the stone wall, staring up at the night sky. Without looking at her, Emilian asked in a flat tone, “Did you come to say good-bye?”
“No,” Zemirah answered breathlessly.
Emilian sat up quickly, his positon on the wall putting his eyes level with hers for once. He stared at her for a long, breathless moment before asking, “He did not choose you?”
Stinging tears of relief threatened to spill over her lashes, and all Zemirah could do was shake her head.
With a rough, choking sound, Emilian pulled her close, holding her tight against him. Neither of them said a word for a long time. They simply held on to one another, and when the celebration bells began to ring in the distance, signaling the suitor had chosen a bride, Emilian held her even tighter, laughing against her shoulder.
Zemirah didn’t care who the pompous suitor had chosen. She knew one thing, though. She was thankful she hadn’t been born with blue eyes.
When the sounds of the bell died, Zemirah stood there with Emilian’s arms around her middle and his head resting against her chest. She held on to him just as tightly as he held her, but she began to relax when the faint sound of music drifted out to them from the imperial hall.
The gentle breeze stirred Zemirah’s hair, sending the wayward strands dancing over Emilian’s face. He pulled away, looking up at her with a calm expression, and said, “Dance with me.”
Zemirah smiled, pulling out of his arms to take a few steps back. When he rose from his place on the low rock wall, she grabbed her skirt and curtsied the way she’d learn during their lessons.
Emilian bowed to her, and when they stepped close to one another once again, Emilian took her hand and drew her into the perfect stance.
Zemirah smiled up at him as he began to move to the slow tempo of the music. She loved dancing with Emilian. There was a smoothness in which he moved that the other boys could not compete with, and his knowing every move to perfection helped as well.
The two of them moved together, perfectly in sync, swaying and twirling to the distant music, until Emilian suddenly stopped and looked down at her with an unfathomable expression.
“What is it?” Zemirah asked him.
Opening his mouth to speak, Emilian hesitated before shoving a hand through his shoulder-length hair the way he always did when he was nervous. He drew a deep breath and asked, “What if you marry me?”
She stared at him for a heartbeat before pressing her face against his chest.
As she began to laugh, Emilian said, “I am serious, Zemirah.”
The grave tone of his voice had her pulling away to look up at him. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him look more sincere. “You mean that,” she breathed. “You really want to marry me.”
Emilian stared down at her with his brows drawn down tight over his eyes. “I only want you to be happy, Zemirah. You are my best friend.”
“And you are mine. I just…” She couldn’t even finish her thought. Her best friend—who not even two hours ago had kissed her for the first time—was now proposing to her.
“Not right now,” Emilian clarified. “I know we are still too young, but it scares me to think of you leaving, of you being with someone who does not appreciate you.”
What he was proposing should have been too much for her, but ever since the two of them had become friends, Zemirah’s father had joked about her and Emilian being married one day. His reasoning was that no other woman would ever tolerate Emilian’s wild side, and no man would be able to deal with Zemirah’s mischievous ways.
Staring up at Emilian for a long moment, she realized he was right. Marrying him was the solution. No one could take her away from her life here if she was already married.
“Alright,” she finally whispered.
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