Chapter One
The day Symon found out he was to be married, his magic backfired.
It happened sometimes to mages, especially those who experimented the way Symon did—the occasional spell proved too fierce to fully contain, or a recipe for sparks of light became sparks of fire when mixed with the ashes of a hundred-year oak’s first acorn.
In this case, a spell for casting a quick-moving fog of concealment abruptly changed to a frost twenty-eight seconds in, when the stabilizer for the ice elemental crumbled from the cold.
Symon contained the fallout, but it left him with mild frostbite at the very tips of his fingers and a chilled feeling that seeped all the way down to his bones.
He showed up for dinner with the rest of the royal family feeling off-balance and fatigued, which was the only reason he could think of that he didn’t immediately start shouting at Queen Melisse, his stepmother, when she broke the news of his upcoming nuptials over the fruit course.
Symon dropped his apple, the yellow-green fruit rolling off the side of the table as his stepbrother Darius choked on a bite of his rabbit casserole. “Married? What do you mean, I’m to be married?”
“Just what I said.” Melisse’s voice was calm, but her brow was slightly furrowed, like she hardly believed her own words. “Our proposal was accepted. Congratulations, Sy. You’ll soon be husband to one of the most powerful people in the Southlands.”
“I didn’t know that we’d made a proposal.” Symon looked over at his father in confusion, but the expression on the other man’s face was that of grim acceptance. “What … when …”
“It was routine outreach,” Melisse explained.
“Ever since you reached your majority four years ago, I’ve periodically sent letters to our neighboring countries soliciting an alliance.
Given how Harrier violence is increasing with every passing month, I thought the attempt itself worthwhile …
a show of willingness, if you will.” She picked up her wine glass and took a sip.
Her usually elegant hand noticeably shook.
“One of them sent back a reply yesterday in the affirmative. They want a marriage alliance between our families and have accepted you as our representative.”
“Representa—Mel, this is a marriage we’re talking about, not a border treaty or a meeting with the local yeomen’s guild!” Symon protested. “Marriage is, is, it’s—this is supposed to be a big deal for royals! And I’m not really even one of you.”
“Sy,” Melisse began to protest, but Symon was on a roll now, standing up so abruptly he almost knocked his chair over.
“I’m not! My father was your guardsman before he became your consort! I don’t have a drop of royal blood in me!”
“You’re one of the most powerful mages in the entire kingdom of Bekkon,” she pointed out.
Symon laughed. The sound felt caustic in his mouth. “A kingdom of fewer than a hundred thousand souls living in a remote forest on the least hospitable edge of this entire continent. Yes, what a power that must make me.”
Melisse stood up to match him. “It does.” She was almost as tall as Symon and quite beautiful at the age of fifty.
The silver strands threading through her dark hair illuminated it, casting light like a halo around her head.
Mel was gentle and kind, and Symon loved her like she truly was his mother.
It made her betrayal of his trust all the more difficult to comprehend.
“You are a power, Sy,” she went on. “You’ve mastered every school of magic our people know, even the fast-casting that is beyond most of us.
You’re quick-witted and bright, and you have a way about you that makes people want to know you.
You have so much to offer, anyone would be glad to get you as a spouse. ”
For a moment, she looked regretful. “If I could do it again, I would phrase my interest more carefully. I would include a waiting period in the contract so that you could get accustomed to the idea of marriage before having it thrust upon you like this. But after so long, I hardly remembered the offer was made.”
“How could you forget bartering me away like one of your royal stags, freed to the forest only so that it might be hunted down?” Symon snapped.
“That’s enough,” his father said, standing as well.
Symon looked at him, and for the first time, his anger began to fail.
His father, Jon, looked … desolate wouldn’t have been too strong a term.
Betrayed, bereaved, but also determined.
“Enough, Sy,” he said more softly, and Symon felt his silver-ringed hands begin to shake.
“I can’t do this. How am I supposed to marry someone I don’t even know?” he whispered.
His father sighed. “With strength of will and faith in your heart.”
“Faith in what? Who am I even supposed to marry? Is it—” His heart skipped a beat. “Tell me it’s not a woman.” The very idea that he could be married to a woman, that he could be destined to share the curse he wasn’t yet sure he himself had escaped with some innocent babe, sickened him.
“It’s a man,” Melisse assured him. “A prince of Riyale.”
“Prince of Riyale? The shifter family?” Symon frowned, trying to focus, but Darius finally got control over his airway again and spoke up.
“Prince Arven’s been promised to the Princess of Mersaighe for several years now. Even if that’s fallen apart, Sy wouldn’t be the first or even the fiftieth choice for a replacement.”
It was a hard thing to hear but a true one as well. Symon wasn’t of royal blood—he and his father were royal by marriage only, and that was a thin currency in a time of expansive ruling families, all looking to make ties with each other.
“Not that prince,” Melisse replied. She looked as though she were gathering herself to weather an outburst. “Your intended is his uncle, Petur Alloui.”
Symon went utterly still. Petur Alloui. He was a shifter, like the rest of the ruling family of Riyale and a significant subset of their population—it was a local, endemic magic, passed down in the blood and refined through diligent practice.
The prince, though, was reputed to be the best shifter of his generation.
All shifters took on the form of an animal.
Some could become two or even three. The best of them could assume a battle form, a blend of animal and man that was greater than the sum of all its parts.
Petur was one of the only shifters in the kingdom of Riyale who could do that, something that had been verified by sources Symon trusted.
Petur was the reason Symon had made a point of researching shifter-disruption spells. Just in case.
And now you’re going to be married to him.
“But he can’t marry the prince!” Darius protested.
Symon’s heart warmed a little to hear his stepbrother speak up for him.
They hadn’t generally gotten along, too different in temperament to want to have much to do with each other but too close in age not to be forced into close proximity, but they’d made an effort on occasion for their parents’ sakes. Right now, Symon was grateful for it.
“Petur is already married!” Darius went on.
Wait, what?