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At the sound of my approach, she glances up, and her eyes widen in surprise. Then she stares at my crown, and her face falls.
She hates that I’m king, I can feel it. If I was intimidating before, I’m completely unapproachable now.
Slowly, she straightens up and brushes the dirt from her fingers, but she says nothing. Her eyes fall to the ground and they stay there.
“Did you watch the coronation?”
She nibbles briefly on her lower lip, not lifting her gaze. “I was out here working,Ma’len. As is my place.”
I don’t like the way she says any of that, but I particularly hate the sound of that formal address on her lips. “Don’t call me that.”
Isavelle picks a piece of hay from the donkey’s gray coat and shrugs. “Then what should I call you?”
Alpha. Call me Alpha when we’re alone.But Isavelle’s a long way from wanting to call me that. Whole deserts of time. “Zabriel. Just Zabriel, like you always have.”
“I can’t. You’re the king and everyone must address you as such.”
“Not you,” I say firmly.
She finally lifts her eyes, and they’re confused. “Why?”
“You know why.” I take a step forward, aching to touch her but keeping my hands to myself. How sweet she looks in her simple dress, and the apron tied tightly to emphasize the lush curves of her body. Strands of dark gold hair are falling out of her braid. She gazes up at me, those beautiful lips parting as everything fades into the background.
Then Isavelle’s eyes fall to my golden armor, and she looks away quickly and studies the stable wall. “There were ever so many young ladies dressed in finery arriving at the castle earlier. I had no idea we had so many lords’ daughters in Maledin, but of course, I’m coming to realize that there’s a lot I don’t know about Maledin.” Her tone is bitter.
“Other young ladies? I didn’t notice any.”
Isavelle sniffs and leans down to haul the donkey’s fetlock up again. “I doubt that.”
I go over and crouch down next to my mate beside the donkey’s legs and peer into her face. So that’s what upset her. She believes that I will lavish attention on someone who’s not my Omega.
“I was aware of the people in their finery,” I tell her, and she tries not to, but she flinches and then attacks a rock in the donkey’s foot with a hoof knife. “But I didn’t notice them in any detail. I saw all my people. Old and young. Men and women. But I was only looking for you. You needn’t be jealous.”
Isavelle dislodges the rock and glares at the underside of the donkey’s hoof. “Who’s jealous? I was just making an observation.”
“There is a feast in the Great Hall to celebrate my coronation. I want you beside me,sha’len.”
She raises her eyes to mine. “How come you can call mesha’len,but I’m not allowed to call youMa’len?”
“Sha’lenis an affectionate name.Ma’lenis a title. And don’t change the subject.”
Isavelle shakes her head and picks at mud in the donkey’s hoof. “I had better not come. It will make all the young ladies angry to see drab little me sitting beside their new king.”
“What do I care for the tempers of young ladies who aren’t my mate? And you couldn’t be drab if you tried.”
Isavelle’s expression softens, and she risks a glance up at me. She doesn’t understand whatmy matemeans, but she doesn’t dislike it. Maybe she’s even starting to respond to it.
She shakes her head again. “It will displease your lords if you ignore their daughters. There’s already been enough strife in Maledin.”
“That’s not how Maledin works.”
“Oh? How does it work then?”
I cover her hand with mine and draw her to her feet. “Come to the feast, and I will tell you.”
“I’m not hungry,” she protests, but without much conviction.
I take the hoof knife from her and set it atop a wall. “You can slake your curiosity at least. Come see what the Great Hall looks like on a feast day.”
