Bran grasps her small hand in his. “Our people love you, Lyana. I lo—” he stops short and clears his throat before continuing. “There is not a single Dwarf among us who would not lay down their life to protect you.”
He cups her face, and rubs his thumb across her cheek. “You alone saved us when no one else cared. Our people would have starved five winters ago if you hadn’t convinced your father to aid us.”
My brow furrows. She is the one who brokered the peace between the Dwarves of the Nylrian Mountains and the Kingdom of Eryadon. My people knew of the treaty, but not what led to its formation.
It seems my future bride is adept at politics. The first thing every great ruler learns is that if you win the hearts of the people, you gain their undying loyalty.
These Dwarves would willingly take up arms simply to keep her from marrying me. That is great power for one person to hold, and I cannot help but be impressed. Dwarves are excellent fighters—the kind that could turn the tide in a war.
I should know. My ancestors manipulated them into waging battle against our enemies, allowing us to conquer great territories for our own kingdom in the process. It is the reason they hate my kind so much now.
“I have to get back to my post,” Rob announces. “I’ll watch yours as well, Bran.”
He hugs the princess before he leaves. I arch a brow as I observe him. These Dwarves make poor sentries for their mountain. Neither man has any idea I am here. If I meant them harm, they would both be dead before they even realized what was happening.
“I’m sorry for coming to you like this. You know how much I hate crying,” Lyana admits once Rob is out of earshot.
A faint smile tugs at Bran’s lips. “Aye, I do.”
“You know you are my closest friend, and I… just needed someone to talk to.”
He places two fingers under her chin and tips her face up. “Know that I will always be here for you whenever you need me. If you decide not to marry the elven prince after all, you will always be welcome among my people. We will protect you if your father insists upon anything you do not wish.”
“Thank you, Bran, but Father is not forcing me. He would never do that.” She pauses. “He left the decision up to me, and I’m doing this for my people. I just… would like to know more about what I’m getting into. You still have not told me about the blood bond. What do you know?”
He frowns. “The High Elves mark their mates as part of the bonding process.”
“Mark them?” She blinks. “How?”
He gestures to the curve of her neck. “They have sharp fangs that puncture the artery along the neck. They call it the dark kiss. They are savage creatures; they drink their mate’s blood.”
She swallows rapidly, and places a hand on her throat. “Why would they do that?”
“That, I do not know,” he says. “I only know that it’s done.”
Her brow furrows deeply, and it is easy to see this troubles her.
The act of marking is sacred, not savage. And yet, she appears horrified at the mere thought of such a thing.
Bran meets her gaze evenly. “I still don’t understand, Lyana. Why are you doing this? Your people already have a treaty with the High Elves.”
“If we are going to defeat the Orcs and keep them away from our lands, we have to stop fighting amongst ourselves. Even with the treaty, there are still skirmishes all along the border with Rivenyl. A marriage between our kingdoms could forge a more permanent peace between us.”
Bran gives her a pitying look. “You really are set on doing this, aren’t you?”
“I have to,” she replies solemnly. “What kind of ruler would I be if I were not willing to sacrifice for my people?”
Light peeks over the mountain, promising a new dawn. “I have to go,” she mutters. “Father will worry if I’m not home before sunrise.”
They stand, and I notice his reluctance to release her. “I beg you to reconsider marrying him, Lyana,” he pleads.
She squeezes his hand. “You know I must do this.”
His eyes shine with sadness as he watches her walk away. He calls after her, “If you need me, you know where I am.”
“Thank you, Bran.”
I trail her quietly as she retraces the path back to the castle. When she climbs up the tree to her room, I decide to ascend as well.
This is only supposed to be a political marriage, and nothing more. I do not understand my fascination with the princess, but I cannot stop myself from seeking to learn more about her.
I conceal myself in the shadows of the heavy branches to observe as she putters about her room. Finally, she sits on the edge of her bed. A dozen emotions flit across her face before she drops her head into her hands.
Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, and my heart clenches because I am the cause of her distress. We are enemies, she and I; our people have fought for generations. At this moment, I vow I will prove to her that I will not harm her. I am just as trapped in this situation as she is.
There may be no love between us, but perhaps there can be understanding.
She wipes at her tears, then draws in a deep breath, as if steeling herself for what is to come.
Does she really consider me such a monster?
I must find a way to assuage her fears. It will not do to have my wife and future queen fear me.
When she lifts the hem of her dress to remove it, I quickly avert my gaze. It is not proper to see her bare until after we wed.
The thought occurs to me that it is not strictly proper to spy on her, either.
With a heavy sigh, I climb down the tree as my conscience wins out and I trudge back to my room.
