A Princess For Auction: Chapter 1, Heiress Intended
All characters are 18 years of age and above
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"Princess Kesstra!" The angry, whisper-shout of the high castellan brought my head up in a sharp jerk, tearing my eyes away from the wide-framed window, the sea of clouds outside and the sprawling cityscape beneath us. "Do not allow me to repeat myself! You either pay attention now, or we will spend the evening going over A Theorem on Treatises. And you will be writing off your brother's notes."
I mumbled a muted apology and straightened the folds of my long, high-collared dress. My brother's lips quirked into a suppressed smile.
My perfect brother who can do nothing wrong... I'lless was sitting on my left, properly propped on a carved, oaken chair while paying rapt attention to every boring, snooze worthy part of the negotiation that had been going on for nearly three hours. He was the spitting image of our father, with long, light-brown hair and a strong, sleek build. He even dressed like father, with black and midnight blue fabrics over crisp, white shirts. And he had never forgiven me for being a result of father's primary marriage, the latest of his queens and one held in high regard with the king, and therefore holding the right to the throne of the duchy.
"Poor Castellan Sortrou must be sick and tired of wasting his time on the airhead heiress." I'lless whispered under his breath, drawing a snorting laugh from our youngest sister, Senestra.
I ignored both of them, even though I was fuming on the inside. I'less had freedoms I would never know, being both a male and not being the heir. It sickened me to hear of how he could even have his own ventures aboard his private fleet of ships, and yet he would continue to take stabs at me at every opportunity. Instead I sat up a bit straighter, flipped my waist-long braid of blonde hair over my shoulder, and tried my best to listen in on father's lawyers and our green-skinned guests from across the Great Sands.
"These are not even close to the terms we agreed to last season." Abberol Malkari, my father's highest ranking diplomat, had a powerful voice that rang through the wooden interior of the luxurious quarters, bathing each of the men around the long table in his words. "Two hundred workmen is simply too steep a prize for the rights to hunting in the eastern sky-lands. We have given no more than five dozen strong-backed and able-bodied males in the past."
The towering orc across the table grinned lazily and folded his steel-hard arms while glancing mirthfully at his two companions. His bulging, scarred biceps were covered in fading tattoo-work.
"Settle down, manling. As we've already explained, we didn't sail above the sands to hear your cries and bitchin'. It will be two hundred or none at all. Your new emperor demands it." The dark-green savage had a deep timbre that sent a shiver down my spine each time he spoke. I didn't understand why my father spent so much time working with the same monsters that kept raiding our towns and shores, breaking old agreements as often as they made new ones. The same ones that had even invaded the kingdom.
"The impudence!" The diplomat's face was one of indignant fury. My heart skipped a beat as I realized that his hand was resting on the pommel of his elegant saber, neatly swinging off his hip. "I'll have you remember that we are moored above the Bluesalt Duchy, richest province in the Kingdom of-"
