HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Emergence: Part I, Chapter 3

From afar, she could see that she wasn't the only creature to hold Daire's interest. Bearded and short in stature, a dwarf looked upon the prince from the shadows with eyes red and squint and then beckoned him with a motion of his large, misshapen head.

Slowly, Daire placed his goblet back on her tray and stepped away from their corner, arms dangling at his sides; the fingers of each hand barely touching his thighs.

"Oril," he greeted the dwarf, extending a hand to receive him with great poise. Cecily assumed that it wouldn't do for him to appear too eager in engaging a monarch of one of the lower realms in conversation. "How fares the great kingdom of Bráithre Delve?"

The dwarf king raised himself up straight, which looked almost laughable before the statuesque prince, and clapped a hand on Daire's forearm. "I have traveled far from my great hall beneath the earth to heed your call." He then raised his hand, with his index finger pointing up. "My people are in the midst of a crisis by the hand of your father, and yet here I stand – a fool playing audience to yet another whim from your ilk. Where is he this eve? I seek his audience."

"Raegan has taken ill," Daire replied, rather quickly. "He does not wish to be seen. You, above all, know how proud my father is."

"I see." The dwarf seemed disappointed with that answer.

Daire held up a hand. "And with my brother away on a diplomatic quest across the kingdoms, he has allowed me to speak on his behalf."

"Then, how must I serve Imrath once more?" the dwarf said with a hint of reluctance.

Cecily looked on with interest as Daire tilted his head back, sighing as he glanced upward toward the ceiling, his eyes distant. Captivated by the pair, Cecily found herself looking up as well, watching as the starry scene began to illuminate with golden beams of light outlining the image of Raegan Niadh at the forefront of all the constellations.

"It never stops," Daire said in repugnance.

"What never stops?" Oril said, looking up in confusion.

"Pride and ego. A magnificent pairing, is it not?" she heard Daire muse. "Do you not agree that Frela is the finest horse in all of Saol Eile? There is none that can compare with her breed."

"That is your opinion," Oril replied shrewdly.

Daire raised a wistful brow. "It is a known fact."

"What would you know? You watch the world as you sit upon hollow thrones of gold," the dwarf king said, his tone revealing his growing displeasure. "How can you be so sure of your boast when you have never lived beyond these walls?"

Calm and in control, Daire mocked him in his devious way. "Sure enough to place a wager on it."

Oril scoffed. "You're a jaded fool, my lord," he replied, amused. "Name your stakes."

Slipping out from behind the tapestry, Cecily tip-toed closer to the gambling adversaries as they wandered on. She eyed the dwarf's set jaw, reading his steadfast determination to beat Daire at his own game.

"Five hundred pounds of gold," Daire said, lowering his voice. "And my head."

Oril laughed and displayed a set of large, jagged, and hideous teeth. "Against?"

Daire's face was wreathed in a look of contented accomplishment: he gently moved his hands behind his back until they met and clasped them together. Watching him move was something of beauty; he was dark, mysterious, and quick on his feet. Against Cecily's better judgment, she felt surprisingly enthralled by him. Sure enough, she moved a little closer, blending into the crowd with her tray to hear his response.