The King Trials (Chronicles Of Wehlmir Book 1)

Chapter 1

Men and women dressed in immaculate fashion bustled around Khett as he stood in the middle of the ornate train station. They wore the conservative fashions of Rivland: coats and dresses with high collars. Men wore trousers with gold or silver chains dangling from the pocket watches hanging at their hips and shiny leather boots, which clicked against the marble floor. Women held purses made of fine fabric with beaded designs threaded into the front, and had their hair twisted at the nape of their necks, not a strand out of place. They wore little makeup. Only rouge on their cheeks, but nothing more.

"The train's late," his steward, Dallin--a much too skinny man with a large mole on his right cheek--said. He was older than Khett by five years and found displeasure in most things Khett enjoyed. Dallin wore his displeasure now as Khett leaned on a post with one leg crossed over the other and pulled an apple from a pocket inside his coat.

"The train's always late," Khett replied, peeling the apple with a small jeweled knife he kept tucked in his belt.

Khett's presence in the station had not gone unnoticed. A circle gathered around him and his steward. People clambered over each other to be close to the Prince. Khett remained indifferent to the scene and let his apple peel fall to the marble floor in front of him, catching Dallin's sharp frown out of the corner of his eye as the steward picked the peel up and threw it in the trash can.

Khett ate in silence and discreetly looked at the sea of women around him. Some he had already bedded once or twice, but there were a few that caught his attention, like the young woman with brown hair and ample breasts to his left and a red-haired beauty in the front.

"Rivland women are educated. One would make a perfect bride."

Khett snorted at the memory of his mother trying to push him to find a wife. He had no desire to seek a bride from Rivland. He believed them to be bland creatures who loved nothing more than discussing philosophy and dead writers. Khett got enough of that with his tutors. Rivland women were great for sex, but dull for conversation.

Somewhere in the station, a bell rang to signal a train's arrival. Khett stood straighter and lobbed his half-eaten apple at the nearby trash can. Dallin's frown grew deeper as the apple core bounced off the rim of the can, and he chased it as it rolled away. Khett chuckled when Dallin came back with the core covered in dirt and hair. His steward hated that Khett didn't act like a proper prince; he hated it even more when he had to clean up Khett's messes.

"How's my hair?" Khett asked, looking at the oak-colored strands in the reflection of a gold statue a few feet away. "Too much oil?"

"Just the right amount, Your Grace."

He chuckled. "Good answer, Dallin."

His steward bowed his head, and Khett swore he heard the man sigh.

Somewhere nearby a train whistled, and Khett readjusted his burgundy velvet tunic. The crowd waited in silence to see who Prince Khett could possibly be meeting at the train station.

The train pulled in with a hiss and a plume of steam. Khett stood with a cool, but feigned confidence. He checked his hair in the reflection of the statue again as passengers began disembarking. He scanned the crowd, his eyes glancing over the train's passengers until Andalen's wild, black curls came into view.

He stepped forward, gliding through the throng of people like a god. He smiled when his eyes met Andalen's, and only grew bigger when Arlen came into view, followed by Lord Halon Amadon, and Andalen's handmaiden, Nixema Maldreen.