Though I had spent much of my adult life in the palace, I had not yet grown accustomed to thinking of it as my home. Everywhere I looked, I continued to see Elder Kharid. The bright colors—everything from turquoise to fuchsia to lime to tangerine to indigo—were splattered to the deepest corners of the walls, in the tapestries, as the upholstery on the innumerable poufs spread throughout each room. The same glowing geodes that had decorated Zuran’s reception tent were strung across every balcony and bordered the ceilings of the most frequented spaces, and where there were none, intricate chandeliers of vibrant mosaic glass dangled. I had been unable to bring myself to occupy the Elder’s Quarters on the palace’s third floor as it was perhaps the place most reminiscent of Elder Kharid’s spirit. But even the quainter bedroom I had instead claimed was still pungent with the aroma of smoking chaka leaves, which had been his incense of choice.

In contrast, I had always erred on the decorative side of drab. My Ka-lik’et home prior to Elderhood was simple in both construct and appeal with little more than shelves on the walls and only furniture of necessity to fill it. Zuran had often told me my house was as colorless as my personality, and, while he had said such as a brotherly jibe, I recently found myself wondering if I indeed lacked the tweak of zest that made him so likable despite his questionable behaviors. Never had I been popular amongst the other warriors, and I was shy close to friends if I discounted my twin. On more than one occasion, I had been told I was too rigid, too cold, too unforgiving. I learned the rules of my people and adhered to them exactly, and for that, I was cast out of social circles. Yet, when I had been accused of intentionally murdering Elder Kharid, the public perception of me had not improved but declined into an abyss I had not known existed. Perhaps it all crumbled down to the colorlessness Zuran jokingly attributed to me after all.

Whatever the case, Octavia must not have agreed, for I was informed she had accepted my dinner invitation and would be arriving within the hour.

I hoped she had not thought she was obliged to join me simply because I was an Elder, but, even if she had, I would be pleased to make the decision worth her while. One of the first experiences I truly enjoyed that felt completely unencumbered by the hovering cloud of public disapproval since taking the throne was meeting her. I could only try to ensure she felt an equal amount of pleasure in my presence as I did in hers. She was inarguably beautiful, and I was admittedly attracted to her curvaceous figure and dark sparkling eyes, but there was no doubt I also relished her company so because she emanated only kindness and goodness. The quiet condemnation I felt from virtually everyone else I encountered was completely absent in her essence, and it was as fresh a breath as the onset of a cool desert night after a sweltering day beneath the sun.

By the time the hour struck, I was seated in the banquet-sized dining room at the head of the expansive table. Traditionally, a guest’s place was set on the opposite end, but I had requested otherwise. Thus, the setting designated to her had been neatly organized to the seat on my right. I stared at the empty plate -starkly white - upon its charger - vividly violet - with hollow nerves bundling in my gut. This human made me anxious; it mattered to me if I impressed her, and I had never cared before whether someone was impressed with me other than my militant superiors and, of course, my Elder. It was an unnerving sensation.

The escorting warrior entered the hall first with Octavia closely on his heels. I rose from my chair at once to greet her, rounding the table and striding the length of the room toward her. My warrior’s eyebrows lifted with surprise, having expected to show her to her seat himself as was customarily done, but I wanted to put her at ease. The invitation had not been one made from an Elder to a citizen, but from me to her, and I was determined she should feel as such.

“Good evening,” I said courteously, tilting my head to her.

“Good evening,” she mirrored. She did not tilt her head, as humans often did not, but she smiled. It curved her lovely lips upward and enhanced the twinkle in her affable eyes. “Thank you for asking me to dinner.”

“It is my pleasure, I assure you.” I looked to my warrior. “You are dismissed, Katil.”

He hesitated, again shooting a glance toward her waiting chair, but I narrowed my eyes at him. With a slight bow of his chin, he turned and left the dining hall. Instantly, I was acutely aware Octavia and I were alone.

“May I show you to your seat?” I asked.

She nodded, and I extended my arm to her. It was a gesture I had witnessed between many of the human couples at the wedding, especially when walking, and I wished to emulate all angles of propriety to which she was accustomed. She slid her hand into the crook of my elbow, and I led her toward our unserved places.

“You’re wearing your robes,” she noted as I helped her into her chair.

I glanced down at myself before sidling onto my own seat. “Yes,” I said. “Elders are not required to wear them, but it is somewhat of an unspoken rule that they ought to be donned, excepting special circumstances. Do you dislike them?”

“No,” she hastened. “You look good. They just make you look really…official.”

She looked quite spectacular herself. Her rich locks were curled into loose waves that fell sensually to her bosom, which was adorned in a sophisticated yet form-fitting dress. I had tried not to stare when I met her at the entrance to the hall, but it had not escaped my notice that the dress clung to her hips and draped with fluttering frill to her knees. Her eyelids were coated in subtle midnight tones, and her lashes seemed longer than I remembered. She was a sultry vision of rousing suggestion and demure femininity all at once.

“You are lovely tonight,” I intoned gently. I did not wish to sound lecherous, but it was difficult to restrain myself. Her unassuming, sweet nature mingled with her stunning appearance lured me as profoundly as any whim of ambition to climb the ranks of the Dhal’atian militia ever had. Never before had I been so impacted by another being, certainly in no romantic fashion. “Of course, you were lovely at the wedding, as well.”

Her cheeks pinkened slightly beneath the primrose glow from the chandelier above. “Thank you,” she murmured.

I tilted my head and turned my eyes to the plates. Our meal was due to arrive momentarily, and I found myself counting the seconds. Her company was desired, but I knew not what to say to her beyond superficial conversation.

It seemed she was not so tongue-tied. After a beat of silence passed between us, she changed tack and approached a topic much more serious than appearances.

“Who was the female A’li-uud you went to talk to at the reception?” she asked bluntly.

My natural instinct was to turn her question away, to insist I was unwilling to discuss the matter, but, as I raised my eyes from the plate to her, I saw her looking back at me determinedly. Ola had been a family secret for a long time, not that the general Ka-lik’et population was unaware of her doings but rather our desire to keep her name from our lips.

Now, I would resurrect her.