Chapter 1
My mother used to tell me that I was born with a broken heart and the inconvenient habit of thinking for myself.
She was right, as always.
As a child, I thought she meant that there was something irreversibly wrong with my heart.
I envisioned a crack running right through the center of it, a gory vision of blood spilling out of my mouth, staining my skin, choking me from the inside out.
Every time my heartbeat picked up, I held my hand to my chest, trying to calm the pounding inside my ears, worried the crack might widen and my heart would simply explode.
I am not a child anymore. Not by their standards.
And yet, my hand is pressed against my chest, right over the center of my breastbone, where I can feel the erratic beat that refuses to listen.
It’s hard to hear anything over the noise of blood rushing in my ears, like the river outside my window after the snowmelt, but I don’t need to hear him to know he is there.
I can see him through the crack of my father’s study door, his back turned toward me, his broad frame radiating strength and power. Baron Malric of Ashford.
A beautiful sword is strapped to his side, his stance wide and sure.
From anyone else, this would be considered an insult to my father, coming into his home armed.
But no one denies entry to the Broker. A fitting nickname, given to him by his peers, leaving no doubt that every deal with this man comes at a cost.
“She is too young for him, my Lord. I understand that this might seem like a prime opportunity to get your pawns into place, but he will break the girl.” His voice is calm, but firm.
I am too young. Barely eighteen. And yet I know what my father’s response will be before he has even opened his mouth.
He walks over to Lord Malric, holding a glass of liquor and pushing it forcefully into the visitor’s outstretched hand.
Malric’s shoulders shake a little, as if he is snickering at my father’s attempt at a power move.
“She is of legal age and mature for her age. Furthermore, she has been preparing for this position since she was a babe. She is ready,” my father argues.
The visitor hums low, but he does not respond.
My father presses on, “He needs a new wife, you know he can’t be alone for long. When will this opportunity present itself again?”
The Broker lets out a huffed laugh. “The way he is tearing through his women? Give it five years, and he’ll be on his own again.”
The implication of what he said hangs heavy in the air. Five years. That’s how long women survive who get close to the King. If they don’t die in childbirth or from a disease brought home from the battlefield, he divorces them and casts them aside for someone new.
“I will protect her,” my father says gruffly. “We have been working for years on trying to dethrone him, and nothing has worked. This is our chance to get close enough to take him down once and for all.”
My father’s visitor lazily lifts his glass to his lips. His dark hair brushes his collar, a slight bend at the nape betraying its natural wave.
“I understand, sir, but at what cost? Fastrada is a child, your only daughter. There are other ways to get to Charles,” the Broker interjects calmly, sipping his liquor.
He is wrong. I am ready to be a bride, ready to become a queen. I know what awaits me at the altar; I know my duties.
“We are running out of time, and we cannot afford another power grab from the King, Ashford. Fastrada will do us proud, you will see. Take this letter to His Majesty. I will be traveling with my family to Acheron as soon as I get word from you that he accepts my proposal.”
My father gets up from his desk and holds out the missive, expecting the Broker to take it.
But the man doesn’t move. I can’t see his face, but his silent posture says enough.
He can’t refuse, my father outranks him in every aspect, and yet the silence that stretches across the room feels more powerful than any command.
Eventually, ever so slowly, the Broker reaches out his hand to take hold of the missive.
I can’t tell if it is hesitation I see in my father’s eyes when he lets go of the piece of paper, but an uneasy shiver crawls down my back.
My fate has been decided right before my eyes, the very second the Broker stashes the note away in his breast pocket.
A strange sound echoes in my ear, but I push the thought away.
“Of course, sir. I will send word when the deal is closed.”
I quickly step away from the door and rush up the stairs, not wanting to risk being caught eavesdropping.
I take up my usual place in the alcove, hidden in the shadows of the grand pillars on the landing.
In all the years that he has worked with my father, I have never once met the Broker.
He isn’t someone noble-born ladies get introduced to.
But oh, how many times have I sat in this quiet corner of the castle, admiring him from afar?
The door to the study opens with a slow creak as Lord Ashford and my father step out.
I can’t hear what they are saying, the echoes in the stone halls of the castle distorting any sound.
My father retreats into his study with a shake of his head, leaving the Broker to find his own way out.
Pulling his hood over his head, he strides toward the door, ready to brace the cold winds of the Broadmore marshlands.
His big hand lands on the door handle with a thud, the echo of the sound reverberating through the air. He pauses.
My breath catches in my throat when he slowly turns and looks straight at me. I can’t see the color of his eyes in the darkness. All I can make out are two black holes staring back at me, unblinking.
He can’t see me, I remind myself. I am completely hidden from view in the shadows, and yet his stare is so intense that I dare not look away. He doesn’t move, but I can see his breath coming out in puffs.
Call it defiance, call it vanity, but I want him to see me.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I get up from my place in a rustle of skirts and straighten to my full height.
I lift my chin high, as my mother taught me to, and turn away from him, walking slowly back to my room.
A few seconds later, the heavy door slams shut.