Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
The sun was low in the sky, its fading light casting long, golden shadows across the camp. The air was cool, tinged with the faint smell of smoke and damp earth. I could hear the faint murmur of the soldiers in the distance, their voices blending with the occasional crackle of the fire.
Bertha stood in front of me, her hands on her hips, watching me with the kind of scrutiny that could turn a person to stone. “Ye can’t be bowin’ like some stiff-necked goose when ye get off that ship, m’lady,” she said, her voice astute with its usual humor, though there was an undercurrent of seriousness. “The king’ll be expectin’ grace. Poise. They’ll all be watchin’ ye.”
I shifted uneasily. “I know, Bertha. I’m trying.”
Bertha clicked her tongue, stepping forward to adjust my posture with a firm hand. “Tryin’ ain’t enough, m’lady. Ye need to make ’em believe ye’re a princess.” She gave me a look, her eyes narrowing as she tilted my chin up slightly. “Even if we know ye’ve got more mud on yer boots than jewels in yer hair.”
I bit back a smile, nodding as she moved back. Bertha had a way of cutting through the tension, even when her words hit closer to the truth than I liked. I wasn’t a princess. I wasn’t anyone important. But here, in this moment, I had to pretend I was.
“When ye step off that ship, ye’ll do this,” Bertha instructed, demonstrating a deep, fluid bow. Her movements were surprisingly graceful for a woman of her age and build, her knees bending just enough, her back straight. “Ye don’t need to go too low, but bend enough to show respect. None of that stiff business. Ye’re not bowin’ to a pile of rocks.”
I tried to mimic her, but my movements felt clumsy, awkward. My feet stumbled over the uneven ground, and Bertha let out an exasperated sigh. “Close enough,” she muttered, shaking her head. “But not quite the picture of royalty, is it?”
I glanced down at my hands, feeling the familiar tug of doubt creep in. No matter how hard I tried, it never felt… real. The way I moved, the way I spoke—it always felt like a poor imitation of the woman I was supposed to be.
Bertha circled me, her eyes appraising. “Confidence, m’lady,” she said. “That’s what ye need. When ye get off that ship, they’ll be watchin’. Every eye on ye, lookin’ for a reason to doubt. Ye have to act like ye belong there.”
I nodded, my chest tightening. The idea of stepping off that ship, of being greeted by a foreign court, made my stomach twist into knots. “What if I fail?”
Bertha’s face softened, just a little, though her tone remained brisk. “Then we’ll get through it. But ye won’t fail. Not if ye let ’em believe ye’re worth lookin’ at.”
I swallowed hard, focusing on the next step in my training. But Bertha wasn’t done yet. Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she turned toward Rhydian, who stood a few paces away, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. His presence was steady, as it always was—solid, watchful. He seemed at ease, though I knew better than to think he wasn’t paying attention.
“Rhydian!” Bertha called, waving him over with an impatient flick of her hand. “Come here. Ye’re standin’ in for the king.”
Rhydian raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking toward me, but this time, he didn’t hesitate as much. “What for?” he asked, his tone flat, though there was a faint edge of curiosity beneath the usual gruffness.
Bertha rolled her eyes. “Don’t be difficult, Rhydian. M’lady here needs to practice takin’ the king’s hand, and ye’re the only man close enough in height and stature to serve as a stand-in. Besides, you could use the practice. Ye’re not getting any younger. When will you have wee ones running around, eh?”
With a sigh that sounded like it had been dragged from the depths of his chest, Rhydian pushed off the tree, making his way over with that slow, deliberate stride that seemed to consume the space between us. As he approached, our eyes met briefly, a flash of something unreadable passing between us before he turned his attention back to Bertha.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do?” he asked, his voice laced with mild irritation, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that suggested he wasn’t completely uninterested.
Bertha grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Easy, Lord Rhydian. M’lady needs to learn how to bow properly. She’ll need to take the king’s hand first.”
She turned to me, motioning toward Rhydian with a nod. “Now, grab his hand and bow.”
My heart skipped a beat. The thought of touching him sent a rush of heat up my neck, and I hesitated, my hand hovering between us as if it had suddenly become too heavy. Rhydian’s gaze remained steady, watching me closely as I fought the urge to pull away. This was just practice—nothing more. But the space between us felt charged in a way that made my pulse quicken.
Slowly, I reached out and took his hand. His fingers were warm, rough from years of wielding a sword, and the moment our skin touched, a spark of something shot through me. Rhydian’s expression didn’t change, but I could feel the tension in the way he held himself—rigid, controlled, like he was trying to pretend this was nothing at all.
I dipped into the bow, trying to maintain the grace that Bertha had drilled into me, but my mind was still too focused on the way Rhydian’s hand felt in mine. His grip was firm, steadying me in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Good,” Bertha said, nodding in approval. “Now, when ye meet the king, after ye bow, he’ll take yer hand and”—she paused, her grin widening—“kiss it.”
Rhydian’s eyes glimmered with surprise, but he didn’t hesitate. He lifted my hand to his lips, and before I could even process what was happening, his warm breath brushed my skin. The press of his lips against the back of my hand sent a jolt of heat straight through me, my face flushing instantly.
I felt the blush creeping up my cheeks, spreading like wildfire. I could barely meet his eyes when he lowered my hand.
“Rhydian!” Bertha swatted at him with a loud thwack across the arm, her eyes narrowing. “She was just supposed to bow, ye daft man. Ye don’t have to pretend that much!”
Rhydian stepped back, his mouth twitching into something that resembled a smile—though it was more of a smirk, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Just doing my part, Bertha,” he said.
I was still blushing, trying to shake off the unexpected heat that had settled over me. Bertha shot Rhydian an exasperated look, though I could tell she was holding back a laugh. “Ye overdid it, ye rogue.”
“Why are you bothering to practice?” a cold, familiar voice interrupted, slicing through the air with biting indifference.
Ambassador Thorne dismounted from his horse, his boots crunching against the dirt as he approached, his eyes locking onto me with the kind of disdain that made my skin prickle. His lip curled slightly as he looked me over, taking in the sight of me with the same dismissiveness one might reserve for something utterly unimportant. “The king doesn’t care what she looks like or how she bows. This is an alliance, not a courtship.”
Bertha stiffened beside me, her face twisting into a scowl. Her hands settled firmly on her hips, and I could feel the indignation radiating off her in waves. “Well, pardon me, Ambassador,” she snapped, “but I’d rather have her know what she’s doin’ when she steps off that ship. Alliance or not, the girl’s got to act like she belongs there.”
Thorne barely acknowledged her, his gaze shifting between me and Rhydian as if we were beneath his notice. “Belong? She’ll never belong, not in Emberfall,” he said, his voice cold and laced with derision. “You come from Icespire—a kingdom that doesn’t even worship the gods. You worship the dead. Where you’re going, that won’t earn you any respect.”
Icespire had always been seen as strange by the other kingdoms—our reverence for the dead, our Crypt of Silence where magic was drawn from preserved corpses. I had grown up in those crypts, surrounded by that magic. But to someone like Thorne, that made me an outsider. Less than human.
“The war may have ended two hundred years ago,” Thorne continued, stepping closer, “but its echoes still remain. Emberfall has never forgotten what Icespire did. The bloodshed. The devastation. You may think this alliance will heal old wounds, but you’re wrong.”
He glanced at Rhydian, then back at me. “You won’t be a princess where we’re going. You’re not some prized bride the king’s been waiting for. You’ll be his seventh wife. Nothing more than a whore kept to secure this alliance.”
My stomach twisted, and I fought the urge to flinch beneath the weight of his sneer. His words echoed the darkest fears I hadn’t wanted to face. I was nothing more than a bargaining chip in a game I barely understood, destined to be another forgotten woman in a foreign land, trapped in a marriage that wasn’t about love or respect, but control.
The lump in my throat grew heavier, and I struggled to swallow against the wave of humiliation washing over me. But before I could speak, before I could react to the cutting truth of his words, Rhydian stepped forward, his presence suddenly looming beside me like a shield.
“That’s enough,” Rhydian said, his voice low and dangerous, a sharp contrast to the icy calm Thorne had wielded so effortlessly. His eyes were dark, hard as iron, and the tension in his body radiated like a coiled spring ready to snap. “You’ll speak to her with respect.”
Thorne’s gaze snapped toward Rhydian, and for a moment, he looked almost amused. “Respect? For an Icespire spawn?” He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
“You’ll show respect because that’s what is required,” Rhydian growled, stepping closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over Thorne. “Because you’re still in Icespire territory, and disrespecting the crown is grounds for execution.”
The air between them crackled with tension, and I could feel the intensity radiating from Rhydian, his protective stance like an invisible barrier between me and the ambassador’s cutting words. My heart raced, caught between the sharp edge of fear and something else—something warmer, unexpected.
Thorne’s sneer deepened. “You’re wasting your energy, Warden Lord. The king won’t care what she is or where she comes from. He’ll care about power, about how much control this marriage will give him over Icespire.” He turned back to me. “The moment you step off that ship, you’ll be just another pawn in a game that’s already been decided. No amount of grace or training will change that.”
His words hung in the air like a curse, each one sinking deeper into my chest. I had known, of course, that this marriage wasn’t about me. I had known it from the beginning, deep down. But hearing it spoken aloud, so bluntly, so brutally, made the truth of it feel like a burden I could no longer ignore.
I wasn’t marrying a king. I wasn’t even a princess. I was an offering, a sacrifice to secure an alliance that neither kingdom truly wanted. And now, I would be little more than a forgotten bride in a foreign court.
But as I stood there, the sharp sting of Thorne’s words still ringing in my ears, I felt Rhydian’s presence beside me—solid, unyielding. And for the first time, I realized I wasn’t completely alone.
Rhydian’s eyes never left Thorne. “If you’ve finished, Ambassador,” he said, his tone biting, “we have preparations to make. If the king truly doesn’t care about appearances, then you can leave the rest to us.”
Thorne looked between us, his lips twisting into a mocking smile. “As you wish,” he said, turning on his heel. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. No amount of training will change what awaits her in Emberfall.”
He strode back to his horse, mounting with practiced ease. Without another word, he rode off, leaving us standing in the thick, uncomfortable silence that followed.
Bertha let out a low growl, her hands still firmly planted on her hips. “The nerve of that man,” she said, shaking her head. “Ye’d think he was the king himself, the way he talks.”
But my thoughts weren’t on Thorne. They were on Rhydian—on the way he had stepped forward, the way his voice had filled with anger when Thorne had insulted me. I glanced at him, my heart still pounding in my chest, unsure of what to say. The air between us was thick, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.
“Thank you,” I said, the words barely more than a whisper.
Rhydian didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still locked on the horizon where Thorne had disappeared. After a moment, he turned to face me, his expression unreadable but softer than before. “Don’t let him get to you,” he muttered. “He’s just trying to make you feel small.”
Before I could respond, a commotion at the edge of the camp caught my attention. A group of farmers appeared, some on horseback, others trudging beside carts laden with their belongings. Their faces were drawn, their eyes wide with fear. The carts were piled high with pots, blankets, and tools, everything they could grab in a hurry. Children clung to their parents, their small hands clutching whatever remnants of normalcy they had managed to keep.
Rhydian stepped forward immediately, his posture tightening as he scanned the group, his hand instinctively moving to rest on the hilt of his sword. “What’s going on?” he asked.
One of the men—a wiry, older farmer with deep lines etched into his weathered skin—dismounted from his horse, his face pale and gaunt. He stumbled toward Rhydian, his hands trembling as he clutched the reins. “We saw a dragon,” he said, his voice hoarse, as though he’d run the entire way from the mountains. “Close to the peaks.”
I felt a chill run down my spine at the word dragon . I had known the Dragon King would expand once the crypts were destroyed—it was inevitable. And now it was happening.
Rhydian’s expression hardened, though he kept calm. “Are you sure?”
The farmer nodded quickly, wiping sweat from his brow with a shaking hand. “People are sayin’ the boundary is failing. We saw it with our own eyes—somethin’s wrong. The dragon circled close, and we heard talk of the Dragon King’s soldiers. People are leaving the villages near the border, m’lord. They’re headin’ for the castle.”
A murmur of fear rippled through the camp, and I could hear the whispers growing among the soldiers. The farmers, clutching their children and leading their exhausted donkeys, looked worn, but it was the fear in their eyes that unsettled me the most. They knew something was coming, and so did I.
I glanced at Rhydian, my heart racing. The crypts had fallen a month ago. The queen had kept it a secret, not wanting to incite panic, but I had known the moment it happened. I had known the Dragon King would seize the opportunity. That was why the queen had forced my hand, made me sacrifice those noble bastards to fuel the boundary, to hold the dragon at bay for just a little longer. But now? Now, even that thin defense was crumbling.
Rhydian met my gaze, the tension in his posture mirroring the thoughts I couldn’t say aloud. We both knew the queen’s secret. The crypts were destroyed. The dead could no longer sustain the boundary, and we had only been living in the illusion of safety.
“What are we going to do?” I whispered, stepping closer to Rhydian.
Rhydian’s jaw tightened. “We’ll move quickly. But this changes things.”
The sacrifices I had made a month ago had bought us time, but the queen would need more. More bones. More blood. Who would be next? I could see it all playing out in my head—the nobles, those who hadn’t yet been sacrificed, lined up in secret rituals, their bones turned to dust to fuel the failing barrier. I could hear their screams, could feel the magic tearing them apart.
Who would the queen turn to this time? Would she control the king, manipulate him with her bone magic, forcing his hand to keep the alliance intact? Or would she use the heartless prince—the cold, calculating man who had been her enforcer for so long? Would he carry out the grim work for her, his hands soaked in the blood of those who stood in her way?
I shuddered, trying to push the thought away, but it clung to me like a shadow. I had done what the queen asked before. I had sacrificed those who stood in her path. But this time, the stakes felt even higher. What else would she demand of me?
“We need to alert the queen,” he said, his tone low but urgent. He turned sharply on his heel, striding over to one of the soldiers. He leaned in, speaking in hushed tones, but I didn’t need to hear the words to know what he was doing. He was sending word to the queen—letting her know the boundary was failing faster than anyone expected.
The soldier nodded quickly, hurrying off to carry out the order, while Rhydian’s gaze swept back to me, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just fear—it was the significance of everything we both knew.
The queen would act—she always did—but I knew what that meant. She would sacrifice anyone to protect her kingdom, to rebuild the boundary that kept the Dragon King at bay. She had done it before. She would do it again.
The real question was who she would sacrifice this time.
“We’re not safe here.” Rhydian watched me like I was glass about to shatter.
I nodded, the world around me feeling unsteady, like the ground beneath my feet was beginning to shift. The fear of the Dragon King, the failing boundary, the queen’s inevitable wrath—it all weighed heavily on me.
As I looked at Rhydian, his face hardening with resolve, I knew this journey was about to get far more dangerous than any of us had anticipated.