Third Daughter (The Dharian Affairs, Book One) by Susan Kaye Quinn Page B

behind them, silent as always. Aniri couldn’t tell if he labored to breathe like they did, even with him constantly at her side, ever vigilant for attacks. The welcome to the capital had been so warm, Aniri couldn’t imagine one of the prince’s people leaping out to plunge a dagger through her heart.
    Then again, Malik had posted several guards outside her room, as if he expected barbarians—
different
barbarians—to storm the gates of his estate at any moment. Janak seemed none too reassured by their presence either. He pulled open the door to the prince’s receiving room, and Aniri restrained herself from making an awkward sound of surprise when she saw the prince.
    His royal Jungali clothes bore no resemblance to the Dharian ones he had worn at court, nor to his rugged traveling attire. He was encased almost entirely in black, his trim jacket clasped at his neck with a small, bronze crest. As she stepped closer, the fabric of his jacket seemed to come alive with glints of black diamond, but it was merely brocade with a silver-black thread that caught the light. The coat fell to his knees, revealing black trousers below. The only true color on him was in his clear amber eyes, which stared at her with the same amazement and disbelief as when she first accepted his proposal. A trill of worry swept through her. Had she made the wrong choice with her dress?
    The prince stepped toward her, but an older man slid between them, reaching Aniri first. His movement was smooth, like a panther moving through the dark, and the midnight-black, knee-length leather coat, slicked-back hair, and dark, tightly-trimmed beard added to the illusion. His thin copper-wire spectacles gave a hint of learnedness, but beneath them, his dark eyes were still predatory. They raked over Aniri and her outfit in a way she would have found insulting if she wasn’t concerned she had dressed badly for the occasion.
    She felt Janak’s presence at her shoulder. The look hadn’t escaped his notice either. Then the older man smiled, a thing that more resembled a leer and caused creases to race across his face. He pressed his hands together, the black gloves covering them squeaking slightly as he did so, and gave a very small bow.
    “Arama, Princess Aniri. Welcome to Jungali.”
    She bowed in return but wasn’t quite sure what to say.
    The prince sent a barely concealed glare toward the older man, which was clearly ignored, then said, “Princess Aniri of Dharia, please meet General Garesh of Sik Province.”
    “Arama, General Garesh,” Aniri said, bowing again. “It’s my pleasure to be here.”
    “Indeed. I would imagine so. It’s not often we have Dharian royalty grace us with their esteemed presence.” The general could give Janak instructions in how to insult a royal while appearing to show respect. “I’m sure our country must seem a poor, bedraggled cousin compared to the riches of Dharia.”
    “I… I find your country quite beautiful, actually.” Aniri inwardly cursed her stumbling, even more certain she had violated some Jungali dress code with her Dharian fashions. “The views are stunning.”
    “That is true,” the general conceded, but the sly look didn’t leave his face. “But make no mistake. The beauty masks a bitter coldness that must be shocking for a refined lady such as yourself. Our mountain weather can be quite brutal. And unexpected.”
    Aniri’s lips pressed tight. She knew a threat when she heard it.
    “Speaking of which,” the general continued, “I trust our reparations have arrived safely to enrich Dharia’s coffers? Jungali has so little to spare, I would hate to think any of it was lost in transport.”
    Now Aniri was truly speechless, and the prince’s glare was plain on his face. He inclined his head to Aniri. “Can I have a word with you in private, princess?” He took a half step back and gestured for her to follow.
    “Of course,” she said, relieved the prince was extricating her from the