Chapter 5
My mother was a terrible matchmaker.
When I returned home after training the following week, my brother, Sawyer, had stopped me at the door. His mere presence immediately revealed what was happening.
Sawyer never came home randomly during the day, especially when Ambrosia had given birth to her second child two months ago. The moment Lia entered this world, Sawyer was so smitten that it was hard enough to pull him away from his little family of four for our monthly dinners.
If my mother thought his presence would help comfort me, she was wrong. I didn”t care if Sawyer claimed our mother was a ”pretty good matchmaker” based on his and Xander’s wives. Based on the group of men before me, I was beginning to think that either my mother had poor taste in men or she was trying to spite me.
At least thirteen men were scattered around the sitting room when I entered. Several men sat on the white leather couches, a few stood by the large windows, and a couple leaned against the bookshelves lining the back wall of the room. And now they were all staring at me, smiling at me, puffing up their chests and straightening their collars and ties. And for what? To impress me?
I could have gagged.
”Danisinia, we”ve been waiting for you,” my mother said, lowering her teacup and grinning triumphantly as she sat between two men. She wore one of her favorite yellow dresses, and her golden brown hair was crafted in an intricate braid that flowed down her back. She blinked up at me, her hazel eyes threatening death if I walked away—which, granted, the thought had passed my mind the moment I stepped foot into the room.
One man leaned against the piano, and his hand slipped. A horrendous combination of notes filled the room, screeching. His brown cheeks reddened as he straightened and chuckled nervously.
My hands rolled into fists at my sides.
My mother”s stares be damned, I spun on my heel, rushing out of the room and down the hall.
”Excuse us for a moment, gentlemen,” my mother said before the door clicked shut.
Behind me, my mother hissed my name, but I ignored her and quickened my pace. My boots hit the tile floor, echoing throughout the halls.
When I was halfway up the stairs, my father”s voice called after me, his tone a mix between comforting and commanding.
Despite myself, I stopped.
Begrudgingly, I turned around, but I didn”t descend the steps. Instead, I held my ground. After all, Father had always said that the best position a soldier could take was the high ground. And right now, as a petite woman rounded the corner with a flushed face and angry eyes, I was facing my worst nightmare: my mother.
”Oh, on second thought, dear,” my mother said, placing a hand on my father”s wrist. ”It might be best if Dani changes first.”
”Why would I do that?” I asked, propping a hand on my hip.
My mother surveyed me. Her gaze went from the dirt smeared across my training shirt to the worn khaki trousers with scuff marks on my knees.
Little did my mother know that the streaks of dirt were badges of honor. Today”s focus was hand-to-hand combat training, and I had wiped the floor with every one of my opponents.
I lifted my chin.
”First impressions are everything, Danisinia. You do want to make a good impression on your future husband, do you not?”
”What?” I sputtered, then looked to my father, pleading.
My father, however, only held up his aged, brown hands in defense as he stepped backward. ”Oh no, I am not getting in the middle of this.”
My mother waved him off. ”Go chat with our guests, Menides. I”m sure some of them would love to talk to you; after all, a few of them are soldiers themselves.”
My father grumbled something under his breath. But with one disapproving glance from my mother, he nodded.
”Thank you, Menides,” my mother said, her attention returning to me. Behind her, though, my father gave me an apologetic look. Yet instead of heading toward the drawing room where the dozens of men waited, he snuck off down in the opposite direction, toward his office.
”Unbelievable,” I said under my breath.
”Did you hear me, Danisinia? I said some of the suitors are soldiers.”
”And?” I asked.
”And,” she took a step forward, ”I want you to know that I only wish for you to be happy, dear. You can marry a soldier. By the gods, you can marry a baker for all I care. I only want you to be happy, like your brothers.”
I sighed, rubbing a hand across my face, and then descended the steps. Meeting my mother at the bottom of the steps, I grabbed her hands.
Where she was soft and dainty, I was all sharp edges. My mother fit into her role as the commander”s wife perfectly. She kept a clean house and raised my brothers and me with a gentle, nurturing hand. She organized charity functions and had afternoon tea with the other leaders” spouses. She taught me how to sew, how to hold my tea cup with grace, and how to dance in heels and uncomfortable, albeit gorgeous, dresses. She modeled how to take care of a household and gave me all the tools needed to be the perfect wife. The perfect mother—but that was never the life I wanted. Especially not after my father would come home, wearing his scratched armor with dirt on his cheek and a smile spread across his face.
While I appreciated everything my mother did for me, I wanted to be able to fight the enemy and then return to the home I purchased and sit with a good book in my hands.
My mother taught me many things. One thing she did not expect to teach me, however, was a sense of determination. When someone told Sorinia Ferrios no, my mother found a way around it. When she set her mind to something, she did it. No questions, no hesitation. She was fierce and strong and more stubborn than even my father.
When I told my mother I wanted to join the military, my mother took it in stride. She didn”t even miss a step. I was lucky; I knew that. My mother had supported every decision I had made with a smile on her face.My mother had never asked me to be anything less than who I was—had never demanded that I quit and put the military behind me.
Yet despite her support, I saw the disappointment in her gaze when I would brush off her previous attempts at encouraging me to court one of her friends’ sons.
Like she was now.
My mother squeezed my hands. ”Please try. For me?”
I closed my eyes and swallowed. She was never going to give this up.
”Fine,” I whispered. I released my mother”s hands and walked past her.
But before I could get too far, my mother called after me.
”Yes?”
My mother stared at me with wide, shocked eyes, waving her hands in exasperation. ”Aren”t you going to go change?”
I snorted. ”Mother, if any of those men are upset by my choice in apparel, they can leave right now. I will never change for any man. You taught me that.”
I made a beeline for the sitting room as my mother whispered, ”Gods, help me.”
When I reached the door, I tipped my chin up and scanned the group of men, quickly analyzing the situation before I attacked. Some men shifted on their feet and in their seats as I surveyed the room. Some seemed to cower as my gaze met theirs. Sleeves were tugged down, jackets straightened, and voices lowered as if they were peacocks fluffing their feathers in the presence of a female.
It was horrendous.
I cocked my head, curious.
If I moved too fast, would they scurry away like a deer in a forest?
I could admit, though, some of them were attractive.
My gaze landed on a man standing in the corner of the room. He wore black slacks and a white cotton button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The stranger looked like he wanted to be there as much as I did.
”You,” I commanded, pointing at him. ”Let”s go.”
Shock colored his face. But without seeing if he followed, I left the room and headed for the front door.
My mother”s eyes widened as I flew out of the room. ”Danisinia, where are you going?”
”Out, Mother,” I said over my shoulder without slowing my pace.
”Out? What do you mean?—?”
Someone cleared their throat and said, ”Mrs. Ferrios, I will bring her home safe.”
Gag.
Hurried footsteps sounded behind me, the suitor finally catching up to me.
”Name?” I asked, not turning around.
”Kaleb, my lady,” he said.
I snorted. ”My Lady?”
”Well, you are a lady. Your father is?—”
I stopped at the door and faced him. Kaleb skirted to a stop, snapping his mouth shut and straightening as I surveyed him.
Kaleb was not a soldier. He was tall, a little lanky, but handsome enough. Definitely not a love-at-first-sight type of man, nor a man I would fall head over heels with in the next hour—or however long this affair needed to be. But that wasn”t why I picked him.
My mother said try, and try I would.
But that was all I would do.
I would let Kaleb take me for a walk—or whatever frivolous activity people courting one another did. I would let him think he had a chance. Then, I would chase him away the moment I could so that he never came back.
One by one, the suitors would disappear.
”All right, Kaleb, where to?”
”Miss Ferrios?” Kaleb scratched his short blond hair.
Folding my arms over my chest, I arched a brow. ”Where are you taking me?”
”Oh, right.” Kaleb cleared his throat, straightening. ”Uhm, right this way.”
Kaleb didn”t work out.
Nor did Jasper.
Or Felix.
Or Martin.
They were all so. . .boring.
One afternoon, one of them—which one? I couldn”t recall—had decided to take me to the kingdom”s archery competition. However, when the judge opened the competition to volunteers, I decided to put my name in the hat, needing something to entertain myself. The suitor of the day (Felix perhaps?) had decided to do the same, flexing his biceps in a vain display of masculinity.
To my amazement, his aim wasn”t too bad. However, when I won the competition, he ran home in tears.
I ended up taking a small trophy home. And, if I was being honest, it was a better prize than spending the rest of the day with Felix (or was it Lewis?).
I had thought that after the first suitor had run home practically screaming, my mother would have relented, but she was, in fact, relentless.
The suitors kept coming.
It had been almost two weeks of dates. Two weeks of putting on frilly dresses and my best smile.
The spring sun beamed down on me as I walked beside the latest suitor through one of the parks in the southern village off the coast. My gaze kept wandering to the sea as we twisted through the sections of flowers.
”. . .that”s when I realized the medical field wasn”t for me. The—” The man—whose name escaped me—swallowed, his fist over his mouth. ”The blood is just too much for me.”
I hummed in acknowledgment as we circled the gardens for the third time. For the past half hour, the man had gone on and on about his intent on becoming a doctor. Apparently, during the first day of being an apprentice, he had been brought along to tend to a butcher who had chopped off his finger on accident. After one look, he fainted on the floor, and his dreams of being a healer fell to the wayside. Now, he was a researcher.
Or was trying to be.
Either way, he had no sense of direction. Based on the constant switching of careers—for before he tried to be a doctor, he wanted to be a baker, before that, a metallurgist, and before that, a musician—the current suitor was a wanderer. A dabbler. And if I knew anything, it was that a man without a purpose was no better than a man lost at sea who couldn”t read the stars. Hopeless and disappointing.
”So, have you ever wanted to do anything outside the military?” he asked.
”No,” I said.
”Never?”
”Nope.”
”I see,” he said, nodding.
After a painful moment passed between us, I stopped walking and pulled the suitor to a stop.
”I—” I bit down on my lip, my brows drawing together as I stared at the freckle-faced man with blond hair. I sighed. ”I”m sorry. What is your name again?”
The man chuckled nervously, tugging the low ponytail at the back of his head. ”Torrince, Miss Ferrios.”
”Torrince,” I said with a soft, polite smile. ”Look.”
Torrince”s shoulders dropped, his head hanging down as he stared at his feet. ”You don”t need to say it.”
I sighed in relief, the knot of tension between my shoulders releasing. ”Good. That makes this a lot easier. You seem like a nice man, but?—”
He snapped his head up. ”I said you don”t need to say it, yet you”re still going to? Perhaps if you listened—” Torrince stepped forward, but when I leaned away, he tripped and fell into the bed of roses. He screeched.
”Are you—are you all right?” I extended a hand, and he grabbed it with a sneer.
”Do I look like I”m—” Torrince shut his mouth, his eyes growing wide as he stared down at his outstretched arm.
”Torrince?”
His pink face turned green.
Then he vomited on my shoes.
”Not again,” I groaned, staring at the clouds floating in the sky.
These men would be the death of me.