Chapter 1 #2
The officiant’s voice carried across the courtyard once more. “By this bond, let peace endure. Let trust mend what war has broken. Let their union reflect the unity of our realms.” The words were heavy, gilded by ceremony, hollow with politics.
“And now, according to custom, the bride and groom will seal the union with a kiss.”
A ripple passed through the gathered nobles—anticipation, shock, curiosity. Elves, humans, and orcs alike fixed their eyes on them, waiting.
Khaeric shifted toward her. The motion was deliberate, measured, giving her space to either retreat or meet him halfway.
Aeryn didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Her chest tightened, breath turning shallow as the truth pressed in: this was the moment they would remember. The proof that peace had teeth. That her body, her future, had been successfully bartered.
The music, the voices, the weight of the moment blurred into a single, indistinct hum as Khaeric reached for her veil.
His fingers brushed the fabric’s edge, and the world brightened as he lifted it away from her face.
His gaze held hers. Then, he bent forward, and his lips brushed hers, not with intimacy, but with restraint. A kiss of promise and performance.
Still, the contact sent a tremor through her.
The crowd released a collective breath, a low rush of approval and relief.
When Khaeric drew back, the faintest smile crossed his face. “For peace, then.”
Aeryn stared up at him, but didn’t respond.
“Bound before witnesses and will, they are joined as one,” the officiant proclaimed. Polite and dutiful applause followed.
The reception hall glowed with light and the hum of too many voices. Crystal chandeliers gleamed above long tables laden with food and wine. Musicians played in one corner, their melody nearly swallowed by the murmur of conversation.
Aeryn sat at the high table, flanked by her father and her new husband. Laughter drifted through the hall like smoke. Each toast to peace rang louder than the last, as though volume alone could mask the fractures beneath it.
Khaeric had not spoken since the ceremony. He sat straight-backed, one hand resting on the table, his cup untouched. “Ye’ve barely touched a bite.” His expression was composed, polite—too polite.
Aeryn didn’t look at him. “Neither have you.”
He let out a quiet breath, almost a chuckle. “Aye. Seems I’ve no stomach for spectacle tonight.”
“Then, we have that in common,” she said.
He turned toward her. “Do we, then?”
She met his gaze for the first time since the vows. “We are both here for show, aren’t we?”
Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or calculation. “Aye? Is that what they say?” His tone was mild, but the sharpness in his eyes made her skin prickle.
Aeryn lifted her cup, though she didn’t drink. “I suppose you expected a more obedient bride.”
“I expected a willin’ one,” he said. “Seems neither of us got what we hoped for.”
Aeryn thought she saw him wince, as if the words had escaped him too quickly. She hadn’t wanted this marriage—hadn’t wanted him—and yet it still stung to hear he’d hoped for someone else.
Her fingers tightened around the cup. “Did you think I volunteered for this?”
Khaeric shrugged. “I dinnae think ye volunteered for anything. Yer kind rarely does.”
Her breath caught. “My kind?”
He didn’t flinch, looking almost confused. “Courtiers. Daughters of kings. Those raised to smile while their fathers build empires from their marriages.”
“And orcs,” Aeryn said evenly, “don’t construct empires. You only inherit them.”
All her life, she’d been told to be quiet, to smile, to make herself small. She had tried to comply. But her will had never truly bent; she had only learned how to keep it out of her father’s sight.
And now she was testing it again. This time testing the limits of a man she’d only just married, a man shaped by every story meant to frighten her.
A snort escaped him. His amber eyes brightened with something that looked dangerously close to genuine amusement. The sound caught her off guard, so unlike the measured tones he’d maintained since the ceremony.
“Ye’ve a quick tongue,” he said, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Ye’ve teeth, at least. That’s somethin’.”
Aeryn stilled. She’d expected anger. Perhaps cold dismissal, the kind her father wielded with practiced precision whenever she stepped beyond the boundaries he’d drawn for her.
At the very least, she’d expected displeasure, some flicker of irritation that would confirm what the stories had taught her about orcs and their tempers.
Instead, he laughed.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly. The sound carried something almost... approving.
Her fingers loosened slightly around the cup, though she didn’t set it down. He’d called it teeth, as though her defiance were something to admire rather than correct. As though speaking her mind were a quality worth noting instead of a flaw that needed smoothing away.
Before Aeryn could answer, her father’s voice cut through their exchange. “To unity!” he declared, rising from his seat.
The crowd echoed him, the sound rolling through the hall like thunder.
Khaeric raised his cup in response. “To peace! Hard-won. Harder kept.”
A murmur spread among the guests. Some hesitated, unsure whether to applaud or take offense. Her father’s smile faltered. At the far end of the table, the High Chieftain lifted his goblet in acknowledgment, his gaze shifting between his son and the human king.
As the first notes of the music resumed, Khaeric’s attention returned to her. His tusked smile was all politeness. “What say ye to a dance?”
Aeryn hesitated, aware of the hall watching her. Every noble, every envoy waited to see what she would do: defy him or her father. At last, she placed her hand in his. “If I must.”
Khaeric led her to the center of the floor. The murmurs faded, replaced by the slow rhythm of strings. Aeryn’s hand rested against his shoulder, her other caught in his steady grasp. He led with clean precision. She hadn’t expected an orc to dance so well.
“Ye hide yer anger well.” His voice barely carried between them.
Her eyes narrowed. Was he mocking her? Her mother always said her face betrayed too much, that her thoughts were too easily read. “You hide your arrogance better,” she replied.
“Ah.” His expression changed. A flicker of amusement passed through it. Or respect. “That’ll be the elf in ye,” he said. “Calm on the outside, fire beneath.”
He’d meant it as—what? Observation? Compliment?
She studied his face, searching for the cruelty she’d been taught to expect.
The stories had always been clear: orcs were brutish, incapable of subtlety.
They took what they wanted and destroyed what they couldn’t possess.
They didn’t notice things like restraint or hidden emotion.
They certainly didn’t speak of such things with what sounded almost like. .. appreciation.
She frowned, her steps faltering. “And what would you know of composure?”
He leaned closer. “Enough to ken when composure’s a cage.”
His words shouldn’t have thrown her. Yet, they did. Aeryn said nothing, only held his gaze until the music’s final note freed her from it. Then, Khaeric released her hand. The applause that followed was polite, restrained, not really celebratory.
The nobles quickly turned back to one another, voices rising as wine was refilled. Her father was smiling too widely, as if pretending everything had unfolded precisely as intended.
Aeryn had barely caught her breath when her mother approached, gliding through the crowd with two of Aeryn’s older sisters at her side.
Her elven mother, Queen Consort Liraen, moved with the practiced grace prized in elven courts. It was the kind of restraint humans admired in elves. Here, amid the clamor of a human feast, it felt more like judgment.
“My daughter.” The Queen’s smile never reached her eyes, her lips pressed thin beneath flawless composure. “You have caused quite a stir.”
Aeryn bowed her head, unsure whether to apologize or stand her ground. “That was not my intention.” A lie.
“Then, you are more foolish than I thought,” the Queen said, adjusting the edge of Aeryn’s sleeve. Her fingers were delicate, the pinch just tightly enough to sting. “Do you think the court forgets what that color means?”
Her eldest sister, Seralyne, ever the proper one, sighed through her nose. “Mother, at least she looks the part of tragedy. The poets will adore it.”
Caeryth, closest to Aeryn in age, lingered half a step behind them. She twisted a ribbon from her hair. “They’re saying you did it to shame Father,” she whispered, her voice trembling more with worry than accusation. Her eyes darted toward their mother, as if hoping she’d defend Aeryn.
The Queen said nothing. She only brushed a calming hand against Caeryth’s arm, a fleeting touch meant to quiet her.
Their mother had been distraught by the manner of the marriage; their father had never told her of his intent to offer their youngest daughter.
Even so, Aeryn could see the same gentleness in both of them, buried beneath duty and obedience.
As they turned to leave, Seralyne leaned in. “You have made it harder for all of us.”
Caeryth hesitated near the border of the crowd, her chin quivering. “You could have been happy,” she said, almost pleading. “If you’d just done what they asked.”
Aeryn shook her head, unable to answer, as Caeryth turned and followed their mother and eldest sister toward the dais. Part of her wondered where her other sisters, Maevira and Elowen, were. Likely avoiding being seen with her. When they were gone, she stood alone amid music and laughter.
Her mother and sisters stood among the crowd, their postures elegant and controlled, yet utterly powerless. They were ornaments in this hall, just as she was. They were as trapped as she was, perhaps more so for having accepted their cages.
The gown that had once felt like defiance now looked very much like mourning.