Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

tonight,” she pleaded. “Your grandmother bought you a matching skirt.”
    “Skirt?” I gasped. There was no way they were getting me into a skirt. But I could tell by the look on my mom’s face that I was trapped. My birthday dinner was the only time of the year I saw my father’s parents; it would break their heart if I said no.
    “Ugh. Fine. Fine!” I snapped, ignoring my mother’s look of triumph before rounding on Ryland, one finger pointed in his face. “One word of this to anyone, even mentioning it to me, Ry, and I will kill you.”
    “Uh huh,” he laughed, his blue eyes rolling. “What are you going to do, Jos? Hide from me? It does look very pretty on you, you know.”
    “Ryland LaRue, so help me...”
    “Yeah, yeah, I got ya,” he smiled, grabbing my hand that pointed in his face. “Come on. I’ll have her back in an hour, Mrs. Despain.”
    “Better make it two, Ryland. I don’t need her moping around while I try to get the chicken broiled.” My mother smiled so brightly that I could have almost guessed what was on her mind. More gifts.
    “No problem, Mrs. D.”
    “Oh, and Joclyn,” my mom’s voice called after us. I turned back to her, halting Ryland’s departure. “Please try to avoid Edmund and Timothy. I think my job has been threatened enough for one week.” She smiled, but it was half-hearted. She was always the first to get in trouble over my friendship with Ryland. I nodded in understanding before Ry pulled me out of the kitchen and into the servants’ quarters. We gained the usual snickers and side-glances as we scampered past the many rooms occupied by the live-in staff, heading to the back corridors that the servants used to move around the massive house.
    At first our friendship had been tolerated by Edmund, but a few years ago that had started to change. For a year or so, it had been labeled unacceptable, and then last year, we were told we were not supposed to be friends at all. Ryland had been warned and threatened by his father to stay away from me, while my mother had been under constant “warning” of losing her job. I wasn’t surprised. To King Edmund, I was nothing more than a dirty peasant. We probably should have taken it seriously, but Ryland insisted everything was okay, so my mother and I followed his lead.
    We entered an upper hall where Ryland’s bedroom sat, the door just ahead of us on the left. I kept my eyes looking straight ahead, smiling until an unusually short man in a three-piece suit with a thick, neatly trimmed beard turned the corner to face us. I jumped behind Ryland, not needing his arm to move me there. I knew that man, and I hated him.
    Timothy Vincent was the Vice President of Ryland’s family’s company, Imdalind Forging. He was responsible for the metal-forging method that had made them their trillions. Timothy was also the man who reprimanded my mother on a weekly basis about my continued relationship with Ryland. He caught sight of us and moved toward us quickly, an even angrier scowl than usual carved into his face. Timothy always made me uncomfortable – even on his best days.
    “Ryland, we have been looking for you.” My heart sank. We. That could only mean one thing. A heavier gait entered the hall and I moved further behind Ry. I didn’t have to see Edmund LaRue to know what he looked like. In many ways Ryland could be described as his father’s clone, but instead of the mop of loose curls Ryland had, Edmund kept his hair short and slicked back in a gentle wave. Where Ryland’s eyes were the warm and welcoming color of the depths of the ocean, Edmund’s were as cold and distant as the polar icecaps. They always cut into me with a frigid poisonous edge that made my insides repulse.
    I sank into Ryland’s back, my face pressing against his polo shirt in an attempt to hide. His muscles were tensed and strained. Ryland’s hand reached back and found the tips of my fingers that stuck out from the cuff of my hoodie. He squeezed my fingers between his in an attempt to reassure me. As always, his touch warmed my body, the tingling warmth shooting right to my stomach.
    “Ryland! I am so glad we found you. I would like to move our lesson to an hour after dinner.” Edmund’s voice was laced with a false endearment that shook my bones. His statement was not a question but a command. Ryland had been taking lessons with his father since he was twelve. Ry had always insisted it was some fencing thing, but the way they