Red Rope of Fate by K.M. Shea

“You look beautiful…,” he said more, but the words were too fast for Tari to understand. When finished he turned expectantly to his brother.
    “I am not translating poetry for you,” Arion told his brother before calling a servant over and speaking quietly to him.
    The servant ran off as Eric grew bright red and turned to Tari to attempt to sign his admiration to her. Tari suspected he was trying to form the gesture for “beautiful,” instead it looked more like the sign for “pregnant.”
    Tari looked over to Arion, who was smiling quietly into his reclaimed goblet of wine. “You aren’t going to let him know he’s doing it incorrectly, are you?” she asked.
    Arion thoughtfully sipped his wine before replying. “Not likely.”
    Tari shook her head slightly and smiled to Eric before signing “Thank you.”
    Another wave gasps broke out, and Tari turned to look for the spectacle.
    It was King Petyrr, storming the room with a bright smile, askew hat, and his usual procession. Today, trailing behind him were: four courtiers, six guards, two assistants carrying quills and scrolls, a footman, and one fat, orange tabby cat that sat on the King’s shoulders.
    King Petyrr caught sight of Tari and Ario n and brightened. He was thoroughly distracted, however, when his eyes happened to land on Prince Vincent and Princess Claire.
    “Daughter!” King Petyrr said, descending the platform and bowling over his son to get to Princess Claire. His infectious laughter spread through the room like his procession, effectively removing all attention from Tari and Arion.
    “Does His Majesty King Petyrr normally attend Princess Claire’s drinking party?” Tari asked.
    “No. That would be your doing. He was sent for by one of the footman that left wh en you first arrived, I suspect,” Arion said as Eric stepped back to allow a servant holding a tray to approach them.
    Arion took the lone tea cup that sat on the tray. “Here, your drink for the evening,” he said, passing Tari the cup and saucer.
    Tari grinned in delight. “It’s tea,” she said, inhaling the decadent scent.
    “I thought you would enjoy it more than the wine,” Arion dryly said.
    Tari took a careful sip. It was an elf herbal tea, mint based on the flavor, but there was also strangely a hint of chocolate to it. “This tastes wonderful.”
    Arion placed his hand on Eric’s elbow. “I am glad to hear it. If you’ll excuse us for a few minutes, Tari, as Princess Claire’s siblings it would be best for us to greet the guests,” he said.
    Eric opened his mouth to argue, but Arion’s grip on him was firm. The brothers walked away as more members of the human courts trooped through the entryway of the Crystal Hall.
    Within minutes Princess Claire’s small group of 25 had turned into a bustling gathering of 80, and more were still arriving.
    Tari exhaled, content with the evening as she sipped her tea, noting when King Celrin and Crown Princess Yvrea arrived.
    “Tarinthali, you are gorgeous….usual,” King Petyrr said, chortling to himself as he approached her. He took a m oment to cast off his orange tabby on a servant before joining Tari against the wall. “Captain Arion is one lucky…,” he chattered.
    Out of all the humans, King Petyrr was probably the easiest to understand and learn new words from. Tari wasn’t certain if this was because the king was so easy to like, or if it was because he repeated similar words to her at just about every occasion.
    “Always wanted a daughter. Instead…. Four sons,” King Petyrr grumbled before his face transformed into a brilliant smile when Princess Claire smiled at him from across the room. “Sons are boorish. Daughters are so pretty…..such joys,” the monarch wistfully said. “Cannot wait……….sons get married. Celrin is lucky,” he finished as the elf monarch and his daughter approached.
    “Tarinthali Ringali,” Crown Princess Yvrea smiled, reaching out to lightly embrace Tari as King