Chapter 1
The big day had arrived.
I watched, without much enthusiasm, as the castle servants ran back and forth like headless chickens, hurrying to finish the preparations for my wedding. The day was bright and warm, with an absurdly blue sky—the kind of weather everyone called perfect, except me.
I wished it would rain, that a bolt of lightning would split the sky and, with a bit of luck, strike my fiancé right on the head.
I adjusted the hem of my dress for the hundredth time, more to keep my hands busy than out of need.
The wedding gown was huge, stuffed with petticoats, and far too heavy.
It looked more like the layers of a frosted cake than a bridal dress.
Sweat slid down my back in small drops that tickled before disappearing into the already soaked corset.
My feet ached in the insane high heels, and my neck was stiff from the elaborate hairstyle—a fortress of pins and hairspray.
I let out a resigned sigh. I didn’t know what was worse: marrying a man I couldn’t stand or dying buried under silk and tulle. Behind me, footsteps approached, but I didn’t bother to turn; I already knew who it was.
“Wow, Fiona, you look…” Kristan, my best friend and lady-in-waiting, cleared her throat. “Beautiful.”
I snorted a laugh and glanced at her over my shoulder. She twisted her fingers, nervous as always, her eyes traveling over my dress with a mix of pity and outrage, as if she wanted to drag me out of here before the ceremony.
“Don’t lie to me,” I said. “I look like a fluffy cake.”
“A very elegant fluffy cake,” she shot back, trying to keep the humor, though the tension in her jaw gave her away.
Kristan was the only one who knew about my aversion to Jameson. My family had never noticed—maybe because I had always been great at hiding what I really thought. So good that my father had decided Jameson and I made a fine match, and that marrying us was an excellent idea.
For Ceilte, the marriage was indeed advantageous.
Jameson was the son of one of the most influential merchant families in the kingdom; his father sat on Ceilte’s council and had a good relationship with mine.
Even so, I had known him since childhood, and I had always found him dull, predictable, and painfully boring.
Kristan stepped closer and whispered, “If you want to run, I’ll figure something out. Just say the word.”
For one second—one treacherous second—the image was tantalizing. I, sprinting through the castle gates, heavy skirts gathered in my fists, the wind wreaking havoc on my perfect hair—freedom, right at my fingertips.
But then I remembered the weight on my shoulders: family, duty, and politics.
My father was the Lord of our kingdom, Ceilte.
He wasn’t a king in name, but he wielded the power of one.
As a sovereign territory, independent of the four seasonal courts—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter—we ruled our own lands.
In return, we kept the Autumn and Winter Courts, two rival courts whose lands bordered us, apart.
It was an ancient, brittle, yet necessary pact to preserve the peace, since Ceilte lay squarely between the two courts as a neutral territory.
My father already had his heir—Leone, my twin brother.
As a female, I had only one purpose: to make a good marriage and produce children.
My mother had wanted me to wed a prince from the Summer or Spring Court, but my father had found it more convenient to marry me to Jameson.
My wishes and dreams didn’t factor into that calculation.
So, although the offer of escape was tempting, I refused.
“Don’t worry about me, Kristan. You know I’m like a cat sìth,” I said, forcing a smile. “I have nine lives.”
She arched an unconvinced brow. “That’s exactly what worries me,” she muttered. “You’ve used at least five since I met you.”
I let out a weak little laugh to try to hide my nerves, but she noticed, like she always did.
“Fiona…” She took my arm gently but firmly enough to make me face her. “You don’t have to do this. If you talk to your father—”
I shook my head and cupped her face with one hand.
Kristan was my height, with pale blond hair, almost white, and deep green eyes.
Her skin held a warm, dark brown tone, and her face was among the most beautiful I had ever seen.
Delicate features, doe eyes, small freckles across the bridge of her nose, and full, red lips.
Beautiful enough to kill for—and that was why they had chosen her early on to be my companion.
Her father, captain of my father’s guard, had been thrilled when his youngest, most cherished daughter received the post. It was perfect for the only girl in a family of soldiers.
Thus, Kristan had become my constant companion.
My soulmate. If we could choose our partners freely, I would have chosen her without hesitation.
“This is my duty, Kristan,” I murmured, my thumb brushing a brief caress over her soft cheek. “I won’t run from it.”
She clenched her teeth. “You’re not a piece in a game, Fiona.”
“Yes, I am.” I smiled sadly. “And I know how to move on my own at times. Better to marry Jameson, who only lacks brains, than some brute. You know that.”
Kristan squeezed my hand, her grip almost desperate.
“I don’t want to lose you to this marriage,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion.
“You won’t,” I promised, my voice ringing with a certainty I didn’t feel about anything else. The one thing in this world I would never sacrifice was my best friend.
The door opened again, and I stepped away from Kristan to see who had entered. Seeing my mother was like surfacing for air after being trapped underwater. She approached with effortless grace, her beautiful face taut with disapproval.
“That dress is…” She huffed, shaking her head. “I don’t even have words. I can’t believe your father asked you to wear it.”
Kristan tried to hide a laugh by covering her mouth.
My mother, Lady Laurelin Kerridan, had never been one to mince words—one of the reasons my father had fallen for her.
She was one of the best singers in Ceilte, though she didn’t come from a wealthy family.
My father’s family had accepted her because she had been his second wife, and only centuries after the first had died.
Her eyes swept over the tight bodice, the large petticoats, and the sheer volume of fabric that resembled a tent more than a gown.
The longer she stared, the more indignant she became.
The dress had belonged to my grandmother, the late Lady of Ceilte, and my father had been adamant that I wear it to honor her.
The style was ancient, but honestly, if not for the heat, I wouldn’t mind it.
Not when my future husband was a far worse choice.
“Lucky for you that you look beautiful even dressed in a potato sack, right, Kristan?”
“Yes, milady.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from quirking up my lips—the first real one of the day.
“If you'd like, I can find one to replace the dress,” Kristan offered.
“Honestly, that would be an improvement,” my mother replied, circling me.
She tugged at a stray thread, smoothed a fold, and wrinkled her nose at the skirt’s ridiculous bulk.
When the inspection finally ended, she stepped close and cupped my face in her delicate hands, her gaze sharp.
Her touch, warm, and familiar, unraveled the knot of tension in my chest. Old memories surfaced of her comforting me when I scraped my knees, woke from nightmares, or when the world felt too big for a little girl.
For a second, I wanted to be a child again. Just a little while longer.
“My baby…” she murmured, her eyes shimmering with a mix of pride and sorrow. “I can hardly believe you’re marrying. And in the bloom of your youth, no less!”
“Bloom of youth,” I repeated, raising a brow. “Mama, I’m one hundred and forty-two., not twenty.”
She smiled in that way that could make a Lord bow.
“Exactly. The perfect age to make wild, irresponsible, romantic choices, not this.” She gestured at the dress.
Kristan suppressed another laugh, but I shot her a glare over my mother’s shoulder. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I had already made all those wild, irresponsible, romantic choices. And many other things I’d never admit out loud.
“I’m not unhappy, Mama,” I said, straightening my shoulders. “I’m fine. It was my choice too.”
She pursed her lips as if to protest, but held her tongue. Her eyes searched mine with a look only mothers could give, the kind capable of seeing cracks invisible to the rest of the world.
“If that fool harms a single hair on your head, you know what to do.”
I grinned this time. “One drop of Fyrin sap in his drink, and he won’t even feel what hit him.”
Her expression brightened, satisfied, perhaps even a little too proud of my readiness to poison my future husband if the need ever arose. Her words settled deep inside me. I might not be a warrior like Leone, but I had my own weapons.
“That’s my girl,” she said, patting my cheek lightly. “A Kerridan bows to no one. Now…” She straightened, smoothing the fabric of my gown. “Let’s show the world how to make an entrance.”
The door swung wider, the brilliant light of the corridor flooding the room.
It was time.
All at once, I felt ready and completely unprepared for whatever waited on the other side.