Chapter 1 #3
A servant appeared beside her with a low bow. “My lady. The king and the orc chieftain request your presence for a brief audience.” The servant’s eyes darted toward her new husband. Both of them were expected.
Her pulse stuttered. Of course. Appearances demanded they leave together.
Aeryn inclined her head and turned toward Khaeric, who waited at the edge of the dais. Without a word, he offered his arm.
The murmur of conversation faded as they passed through the double doors and into the cooler corridors beyond. They walked in silence until they reached a smaller receiving chamber, its tall windows thrown open to the spring night. There, they were to wait until their fathers joined them.
Aeryn looked away first, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her composure falter now that the watching eyes were gone. “You must be pleased,” she said, her tone measured. “Peace for your people, a performance for my father. Everyone satisfied, it seems.”
“Everyone but ye,” he said.
Of course, she wasn’t satisfied. Aeryn faced him. “I wasn’t aware my opinion mattered.”
“It should.” Khaeric stepped closer. “A lass bold enough to stand before three courts in black isnae the sort who keeps quiet by choice.”
She blinked rapidly, looking away. “You assume much of a stranger.”
He tilted his head. “Strangers tell more than they mean to. Ye’d worn white if ye wished to vanish.” He shrugged.
Aeryn lowered her gaze, swallowing. “It wasn’t for them,” she said, her voice small.
“Aye, but they heard ye all the same.” He closed the distance until the hem of her gown brushed his boots. Candlelight cut across his face. “Tell me, princess.” His eyes narrowed. “Was that fire meant for yer father’s pride or mine?”
Her eyes widened, mouth parting as she looked back up at him. “For my own,” Aeryn said, then gazed away again. Despite herself, she wondered whether Khaeric’s temper mirrored her father’s—loud, domineering, and only showing behind closed doors.
He arched a brow and stepped half a pace back. “Ye think peace is a kind of punishment?”
She winced. His words struck deeper than she expected—not because he was right, but because he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Khaeric studied her a moment longer. “If freedom was what ye wanted, ye’ve a strange way of showin’ it. Standin’ in their hall, bound by their vows.” His tone turned quieter, more thoughtful.
Aeryn closed her eyes, seeing herself as he must have: clad in defiance, yet framed by marble walls built to contain her. All her silent protests, all her careful gestures of resistance, suddenly seemed small. Ornamental. Just another kind of performance in a room full of them.
“Freedom doesn’t always come with choices,” she said bitterly. Heat crept across her cheeks as she folded her arms around herself.
His gaze softened, barely. “No,” he murmured. “Freedom’s never free. It always takes its due.”
Before she could ask what he meant, a low rumble of voices echoed down the corridor. The sound of approaching guards. Their fathers.
They straightened at once, settling back into the postures expected of them. Two rulers’ children once more. Symbols, dressed in civility.
The doors swept wide, spilling the hall’s warmth and chatter into the quiet chamber. Guards entered first—two humans, two orcs—before their fathers followed. The King walked with the rigid pride of a man long accustomed to command; the High Chieftain moved more slowly.
“A union worthy of both our peoples.” Her father’s sharp nod punctuated the declaration.
The High Chieftain returned it with a shallow inclination of his head. “May it hold.”
Servants stepped forward bearing two identical scrolls bound in silk ribbon. The treaty. Years of conflict and countless lives reduced to ink and seal. Each man pressed his signet into the wax without hesitation, the gesture practiced, impersonal.
The moment that changed history felt… small.
The King turned with practiced warmth. “We have prepared the rooms for your delegation. I trust you will find them sufficient after your journey.”
The chieftain’s gaze flicked toward Khaeric, then back again. “They willnae be needed. We return to the highlands tonight.”
The King blinked, the smile fixed to his face like paint. “So soon? The court had planned a banquet in your honor—”
“Aye,” the chieftain rumbled. “Peace begins wi’ distance. Let it rest a night wi’out strain.”
The tension that followed was almost physical. The guards shifted their weight as the silence stretched. Then, the King inclined his head, though his jaw tightened. “As you wish. We will ensure provisions for your departure.”
The chieftain’s attention slid to Aeryn. His gaze lingered for a long, assessing moment before returning to her father. “The bride will depart wi’ us.”
Aeryn gasped. She looked to her father, expecting, hoping for protest. Instead, she saw the flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his hands tightened on the treaty’s edge.
“Of course,” he said, voice cool, controlled. “It is her duty to stand with her husband’s people.”
Her throat went dry. “Father—”
His eyes found hers—brief, sharp, and unreadable. “You always craved purpose, Aeryn. Now, you have one. Do not squander it.”
Aeryn squeezed her eyes shut. She understood him all too well. This was his way of absolving himself. The youngest of five, the most willful, the one who never learned to stay silent. Of course, she was the one he’d chosen to give away.
Aeryn forced her eyes open. “May I at least see my mother and sisters before I leave?”
Her father stared at her. For a heartbeat, she thought she glimpsed the man who once carried her on his shoulders through the palace corridors. Then, it was gone.
“Walk with me.” His tone was even, benign enough for anyone watching.
He guided her a few steps aside, away from the guards and the orcs waiting near the doors. When they stopped, his expression remained unchanged, but his voice lowered to a controlled murmur. “You will not see them.”
Her breath caught. “Why?”
“Because we are surrounded by enemies who would seize upon weakness.” His gaze never left hers.
“The chieftain is watching. So is his son. A tearful farewell will mark you as fragile, sentimental. Unfit for the burden you now bear.” He paused.
“You are not leaving as a daughter, Aeryn. You are leaving as the prize of peace.”
Her pulse hammered, brows pinching together. “You think a tearful goodbye is weakness?”
The King’s nostrils flared, his eyes hardening. “I think perception is power. And perception keeps thrones from burning.”
Aeryn shook her head. “They’re my family. I deserve to—”
“You deserve nothing,” he interrupted, his voice soft but sharp. “You will hold your head high and walk out that door as a royal of this house. If you falter now, if you shame me again before them, you will render every sacrifice meaningless.”
Tears threatened to fall, and Aeryn fixed her gaze on the marble patterns at her feet. “They are my family,” she pleaded, her voice still soft so as not to draw attention.
Her father glared down at her. “And you are their symbol now,” he said, frowning. The finality in his tone left no room for argument.
She bowed her head as numbness crept through her limbs. “As you wish, Father.”
“Good,” he said, turning back toward the waiting company. His voice lifted smoothly as he reclaimed his mask of ceremony. “Then, let us not keep our guests waiting.”
Aeryn followed, each step echoing the rush in her veins. Behind her, the hall seemed to close like a door she would not reopen.