Today is the day I have been dreading for over a year. I stand beside my father as a line of suitors wait outside the door, ready to present themselves for my hand.
It is my twenty-third birthday.
I sigh heavily. I should be celebrating with my friends, not receiving strangers who have come seeking marriage to a princess.
A tall man with short, brown hair and gray eyes approaches. He is dressed in full armor, although I suppose it is probably decorative. The metal is far too polished and unblemished to have ever seen battle. He flashes a handsome smile, and when he halts, I give him my best one in return.
I glimpse my reflection in his armor and barely recognize myself. The long, blue silk dress is lovely, but not something I would normally wear. The bodice is so tight I can barely breathe and is covered with an intricate pattern of clear crystals that trail down the length of the fabric. I try my best to ignore the discomfort of their hard, unforgiving pinch on my skin as I sit on my throne.
The color is a good contrast, however, to my long black hair, the light-brown eyes I inherited from my mother, and my red lips. My heavy crown makes it difficult to dip my chin and dismiss the handsome man, but I somehow manage. Because I must balance it so carefully atop my head, I sit rigidly, giving the illusion of a tall, proud figure when the truth is, I’m exhausted, and this process has only just begun.
While we wait for the next suitor to enter the room, Father leans in and whispers, “What did you think of Fredrik?”
At first, my mind is blank, until I realize he must be referring to the man who just left. I was so distracted by my uncomfortable attire that I wasn’t paying attention when he gave us his name. “He has a good smile.”
Father purses his lips, his dark-brown eyes searching mine. “That is all?”
I blink at him. “What else should there be? I know nothing about him beyond what I just saw in less than a minute.”
“When he inherits his father’s kingdom of Winterhold, he will be one of the wealthiest kings in all the realm. Their territory is known for gold and silver mines.”
“Are we poor?”
Father’s head jerks back. “What?”
“Is our kingdom heavily in debt?”
“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug. “I thought perhaps that was why you were pushing me toward Fredrik.”
He narrows his eyes. “Can a father not simply want his daughter to live in comfort? To never have to want for anything?”
“I live in comfort now,” I counter. “I do not understand why I need to search for it elsewhere.”
Father sighs and takes my stepmother’s hand as she gives him a warm smile. “It is lonely to rule, Lyana. I merely wish to find someone to rule by your side. Fredrik would be a fine choice because of his wealth and his even temper.”
“Your father is right, Lyana.” My stepmother, Rina, takes my hand, her green eyes shining with kindness. We are only five years apart, but she has always seemed so much older and wiser. Perhaps it is because she was my tutor before she married my father. I have always valued her counsel. “You need a partner to shoulder such a heavy burden. I grew up in Winterhold. My family served the royal line for many generations. Prince Fredrik is an admirable person.” She darts a glance at Father and smiles before winking at me. “It also does not hurt to have a handsome man at your side like I do.”
Father tips his chin up smugly, and I arch a teasing brow. “Do not be telling him these things, Rina. You know how it goes to his head.”
Father feigns indignation at my words while Rina and I laugh.
She inhales sharply, then stills before placing a hand over her rounded abdomen. Father’s head snaps toward her in concern. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” she replies. “The baby just moved, and it startled me.”
My father rests his palm over her stomach, and his lips curve into a wide smile.
I’m so happy for them. Rina insists it will be a boy, but Father has repeatedly said he hopes for another girl. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.
The doors open, interrupting us as the announcer calls another suitor’s name.
The next hour is a blur of faces and titles. Most of the men are handsome and close to my age, though I’m not surprised to meet a few older ones as well. Our kingdom is prosperous, and I am the heir apparent. Whoever marries me will increase not only his lands but his wealth and status too.
As soon as the last man has presented himself, we escape into the next room.
Crowded with people, the grand ballroom is abuzz with a cacophony of voices. When we walk inside, they grow quiet and still, all eyes on us as we make our way down the center aisle toward a dais supporting three thrones.
My stepmother pauses and announces the beginning of the ball to celebrate my birthday. The crowd cheers. Each man I met earlier turns his gaze upon me now, already considering his best approach.
“What do you think, Lyana?” Rina warmly gestures to one of the many tables of food. “I had the kitchen make those lovely chocolate cakes you adore.”
“Thank you, Rina.”
She truly outdid herself preparing this ball. The golden chandeliers above us cast sparkling reflections on the polished stone floor. Long tables holding fluted glasses of bubbling champagne and goblets of wine line either side of the chamber. Behind them stand more tables, heavily laden with meats, cheeses, fruits, and bread, along with one solely dedicated to desserts. Men dressed in fine fabrics and women in elegant gowns whirl across the floor, keeping time with the enchanting music played by a string quartet in the corner.
A man approaches, and though his name escapes me, he looks familiar. I realize he is one of the suitors who has come seeking my hand—Prince Fredrik.
He bows low. “Princess Lyana, I wondered if I might have this dance.”
I dart a glance at my father and stepmother. Rina nods encouragingly.
I stand. “I would be delighted,” I lie. I am anything but.
Fredrik may be handsome, but something about his grin bothers me. It’s too wide and toothy for my liking. But I remember now that he and his family are Wolf shifters, so I shouldn’t be surprised.
I take his offered hand, and he pulls me onto the floor. I rest one hand on his shoulder as he holds my other. He places his free hand at my waist, but when he slides it around to the small of my back and drags me closer to him than is proper, I narrow my eyes and push him away. “I have changed my mind.”
His mouth drops open, and I’m sure he plans to offer some excuse or other for his actions, but I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and return to my seat.
I have not yet sat down when the ballroom falls silent. Slowly, I spin to face the crowd, wondering what has caused the hush.
Dumbstruck, I blink at the main doors. An entourage of Elves is approaching. I shoot a confused look at Father, wondering if he was expecting them. His stunned expression assures me that he was not.
The banner they carry gives me pause. These are not just any Elves—they are High Elves from Rivenyl. We have engaged in many border disputes despite the treaty of nonaggression between our two kingdoms. With the latest border skirmishes, my father has feared the agreement will not hold, and now, I worry they bring demands that will end the peace.
One man leads the entourage. A silver circlet crowns his head, signifying he is royalty.
With broad shoulders that taper to a narrow waist, his lean muscular form is taller than any human man I’ve ever seen. If I had to guess, I believe the top of my head would barely be level with his chin.
He’s dressed in a fine, dark-green tunic and pants, but his face draws my attention most, particularly his green, vertically slit pupils. My gaze travels over his short blond hair, the pointed tips of his ears, his aristocratic face, and his square, masculine jaw.
He approaches stoically and bows low. He lifts his head and his green eyes rake over my form with piercing intensity before returning to mine. “Princess Lyana of Eryadon, I am Prince Caelen of Rivenyl. I have come to seek your hand in marriage to seal a treaty between our people with a blood bond.”
I’m so stunned by his offer, it takes me a moment to reply. “A blood bond?” I blurt, the question escaping my lips before I even realize I have spoken.
He nods, unshaken.
A frisson of fear runs down my spine. I can hardly believe his proposal. The idea of a blood bond is terrifying, to say the least. I have heard tales of how the Elves bond, and if they are true, the ritual is certainly nothing I would ever wish to try.
The room is watching us in awestruck silence. I cast a worried glance at my father.
He stands and moves toward Prince Caelen. “I believe we should continue this conversation in a more private setting.”
Prince Caelen’s gaze hardens even as he agrees.
Father turns to me and my stepmother. She places one hand protectively over her stomach while I take the other, and we all head back to the adjoining room.
Several of our guards surround us, forming a living wall between us and the Elven knights who protect Prince Caelen. As soon as we reach the private throne room and my father is seated, he addresses Caelen warily.
“Why do you come to us now? And why you, Prince Caelen?” Father leans forward on his throne, narrowing his eyes. “You are the second-born son, asking for the hand of my daughter, who is heir to the throne. Where is your older brother, Dhurvaen?”
Caelen’s eyes burn with anger and something else as he holds my father’s gaze. “Dhurvaen is dead. He fell in battle against the Orcs.”
My mouth falls open, and I recognize the other emotion that reflects behind his eyes—grief.
“My condolences on the loss of your brother,” Father replies.
“Thank you. Dhurvaen’s death is the reason I am here before you today.” He pauses. “The Orcs are a common enemy of both our kingdoms. An alliance through marriage would strengthen our ability to stand against them.”
Father straightens. “We already have a treaty of nonaggression with Rivenyl.”
“This is true,” Caelen replies. “But we both know how easily such agreements can be cast aside. An alliance through blood is stronger than any piece of paper.”
My father sits back, considering. “My daughter is heir to this kingdom. Only she can decide if her husband would be king or merely consort.”
Caelen stares at him, unwavering. “And I am heir to Rivenyl. I do not ask to be crowned ruler of Eryadon.”
Caelen’s gaze cuts to mine, and he steps forward. “I do not seek your throne. I ask for your hand in the hope of creating a permanent and lasting peace between our kingdoms.”
He drops to one knee before me. In a swift motion, he pulls his blade from its sheath and draws the sharp edge across his palm. He bows low and presents the handle to me.
His green eyes pin me to the spot. “I give you my blade to protect and defend you always, and my blood to bind us as one. I make this offering before the watchful eyes of the old gods. May their stars witness my vow as their silver light shines down upon me.”
My mouth is dry as I study the blade.
Another Elf moves beside Caelen and bows low. “It is a tribute, Princess. Accepting the blade means you will consider Prince Caelen’s proposal.”
My heart slams in my throat as I reach forward and cautiously accept. The obsidian blood staining the metal reminds me that the man who would be my future husband is far from human.
Blue light flashes across the blade, and then dims. “Magic,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
Caelen’s green eyes hold mine. “An unbreakable vow.”
“And what if my daughter refuses you?” Father interrupts.
Caelen’s head snaps up. “The magic is not binding until she accepts me as her mate. And if she does not, then more blood will undoubtedly be spilled along the borders of our lands. War will likely follow. Too much anger and hatred exist between your kind and mine. The Orcs use this to their advantage, seeking to keep us divided so they may conquer more lands unchecked. Only a match made in blood will heal the rift between our two kingdoms so we may stand against a common enemy.”
Father holds his gaze. “We will consider your offer. I invite you to stay until we have made our decision.”
Caelen nods.
Father turns to the guards. “Escort them to the guest wing.”
Caelen stands to full height, tipping his chin to stare down imperiously. His emerald green, vertically slit pupils contract and then expand as they meet mine.
Fear steals my breath at his otherworldly and lethal beauty. I curl my hands into fists and press them to my sides to still their trembling.
Caelen’s gaze sweeps to my hands, his eyes flashing with an emotion I cannot discern while his face remains the perfect, impassive mask so typical of the High Elves.
He pivots and leaves with his guards. The moment the doors shut behind them, Rina clasps my hand, pulling me close as if to shield me. “She cannot marry him. Not a High Elf of Rivenyl. They are our sworn enemies.”
“We have a treaty,” Father replies. “They are not our enemies.”
“Yes, they are,” she protests, her voice shaking with anger. “How can you even consider it?”
“You think it is easy for me to consider offering my daughter’s hand to a High Elf Prince?” Father clenches his jaw. “Every day I receive reports of yet another border skirmish between us. I may not like them, but the prince is right. The treaty we have on paper is not enough.”
Despite his harsh words, I recognize the worry in his eyes as he regards me. “But a marriage between you might be the catalyst that moves us toward a permanent peace.”
“It is not certain this will work,” I counter.
“Nothing is certain, my daughter.” Father’s eyes shine with pity. “It is a risk. You might marry him and the fighting may continue and your sacrifice would be for nothing.” He leans in and takes my hand. “But I know something the Elves do not.”
“What is that?”
“That if anyone can lead us toward a path of peace, it is you. You are like your mother. She always had a head for politics, and she was one of the most selfless people I’ve ever known. I have never told you this, but I will tell you now. Your mother did not marry me for love. She married me to ensure the peace between our two kingdoms. Love came for us much later. Perhaps it could for you as well.”
“You cannot truly mean to sacrifice her to the High Elves,” Rina interjects. “We discussed this. Prince Fredrik is the one we agreed she might—”
Father raises his hand in a bid for silence. “I know, my dear wife, but that was before Prince Caelen arrived. And I am not ceding her to the High Elves, I am leaving the choice up to her.” He turns to me. “What say you, daughter of mine? What path will you choose?”
Father’s words elicit a strange mixture of guilt, fear, and anger. He says it is my choice, but he already knows that there is none. A wise and just ruler always puts the needs of their kingdom and their people above their own.
I know in my heart what I must do, but that does not make the decision any easier. I glance down at the dagger in my hand—stained with the blood of my future husband.
Clenching my jaw, I meet his eyes evenly. “I will marry Prince Caelen of Rivenyl.”
