Chapter Three
Annie
I ’ ve never worn silk before.
The dress Maeve found for me is a soft shade of lilac, more purple than blue, like the wildflowers in the garden. When I twirl, it catches the light like water, and I have to stop myself from doing it again. I don’t want to wrinkle it. I want everything to be perfect.
Just thinking of seeing him again makes my knees go soft and my stomach flutter like the wings of the butterflies that love the marigolds.
My hands are shaking as I run my fingers over the satin ribbon that matches my dress.
I wind it carefully and tuck it into a little woven pouch, filled with the herbs Elda gave me yesterday.
I don’t know why I’m bringing it. I won’t need them.
But for some reason, it makes me feel…safe.
Almost as if I can carry the healer’s kindness with me.
I hook the pouch to my belt, hiding it beneath the folds of my skirts, where it bumps lightly against my hip. I smooth my palms over my dress again. Everything is fine. Everything is okay.
Only, my hands won’t stop shaking.
I sit by the mirror and begin to braid my hair, section by section, with so much care that it takes me nearly half an hour. My curls are thick and wild, but today they're smooth. I weave two soft braids along the sides of my head and pin them back.
I stare at myself when I’m done.
My deep, umber skin is glowing, like the rich earth in the gardens when the sunlight kisses it after the rain.
I smooth the honey balm over my full lips, giving them a glossy sheen.
My brown eyes are gently smudged with a little coal, softening their shape.
Looking into the glass, I blink, almost not recognizing myself. I look pretty.
Then the worries start to creep in, like they always do.
What if he’s just being kind?
What if it doesn’t mean anything at all?
I take a deep breath and fluff out my skirts. I’m not brave like Maeve or fierce like Beatrice, but maybe, just for today, I can stop hiding.
The tournament grounds are overflowing.
Colorful banners flap in the breeze, voices rise in a hundred overlapping threads, and the ground vibrates with drumbeats and hooves and laughter.
I don’t belong here.
I clutch the ribbon in my hand, my fingers fidgeting with the end of it as I scan the crowd, heart pounding, until I spot him.
Fenric is standing at the edge of the sparring ring, laughing with a few of the other warriors.
His horns catch the sun like polished ivory.
He is not wearing a tunic, and Stars above, I have to look away.
His chest is broad and strong, every inch of him carved and powerful, and he’s smiling as if he's already been named champion.
I take a tiny step forward, then another.
Don’t panic, don’t panic, don’t —
I bump into someone. Hard.
“Oh!” I gasp, stumbling back, clutching the ribbon tight to my chest.
She turns, glaring at me. She’s beautiful.
Definitely not from Havenmoor, I know all the girls from our village.
Her strawberry-blonde hair is braided into a perfect crown atop her head, and her horns have little golden caps that catch the light.
She’s taller and slimmer than I am, more toned, too, and the deep green gown she wears clings to her curves.
I shift on my feet, suddenly all too aware of how plain I must look beside her.
She raises one perfectly arched brow. “Oh, I didn’t see you there. What’s your name again?”
“A-Annie.”
She tilts her head, giving me a slow once-over. “That’s right. You’re one of the little milkmaids Dakar brought in.” She smiles, but it’s all teeth. “Your dress is…cute. Are you going to a ball?”
I flush, curling slightly inward. “No, I just wanted to look nice.”
Her eyes drop to my hand, where the ribbon is still peeking out from my fingers.
“ Oh , giving someone your favor, are you?”
I try to hide the ribbon behind my back, my heart thudding against my ribs. “I, um...”
She follows my glance. Her eyes land on Fenric, and her smile turns downright wicked.
“You’re not thinking of giving him your favor, are you?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can feel the heat rising up my neck, my ears, my cheeks.
Her laughter is soft, but cruel, “Oh, sweet Stars, that’s adorable. You’re really aiming high, aren’t you?”
Another girl who was walking beside her, and just as intimidating, joins in with a stifled giggle. I duck my head, clutching the ribbon so tight it nearly crumples in my fist. I want to disappear. I want to sink into the ground and never come back out.
I should go.
I was stupid to come at all.
“ Annie !”
I turn at the sound of my name. Maeve, thank the heavens, is waving me over from beneath one of the shaded canopies. Her voice cuts through the noise like a lifeline.
I don’t say anything else. I just clutch the ribbon to my chest and hurry to her without looking back, holding the tears in my eyes. I tried to be brave, but I don’t think I was made for this.
I blink fast, trying to stop the tears before they fall. Maeve sees me and waves again, more urgently this time, her face tightening with concern.
I run toward her, head down, heart pounding like I’ve done something wrong. My fingers loosen, and the ribbon slips from my hand. It flutters to the ground behind me, and I let it go.
It was silly anyway.
Maeve steps forward to meet me. “Annie? Are you alright?”
I nod quickly, forcing a small smile. “Yes. I just…there were so many people. I think the sun got to me a little.”
Her brows pinch, like she doesn’t quite believe me, but she lets it go. “Come on, then. You can sit with us.”
I nod again, grateful, my throat still too tight to speak properly. She leads me across the tournament grounds, and I trail behind her, hands clenched in my skirts. I’m sure I look ridiculous and out of place. Like a child playing dress-up.
Maeve lifts the edge of the chief’s canopy and guides me up the steps of the dias into the shaded space.
It’s cooler in here and a little quieter. There are soft furs and cushions scattered about. The breeze carries the scent of roasted meats.
Dakar is here, sitting comfortably in the center with his arms crossed over his chest, his face full of quiet pride. He glances over at us as we enter and gives me a polite nod. Maeve takes the seat on his other side, leaving the only space between her and a stranger open for me.
He is tall. His horns are spiraled and dark, except the left one is broken, giving him a fierce, battle-worn look. His clothes are rich and formal, trimmed in silver thread. When his deep brown eyes land on me, I want to disappear again.
“This is Annie,” Maeve says easily, settling beside Dakar. “She’s one of the Havenmoor girls.”
The commander straightens, studying me with open interest. “Is that so?”
His voice is stern, the kind that knows how to command a room without raising itself. He offers me a slight bow of his head. “I am Commander Garron of Thornhide tribe.”
My cheeks burn so hot I think I might faint. “I’m just Annie.”
“Just Annie,” he repeats, smiling slightly. “It’s a pleasure.”
I fold my hands in my lap, trying not to look out at the ring where Fenric is standing now, all strength and sunlight and laughter. I’d been so stupid to think—
No. I won’t cry here.
I focus on my fingers. On the little pouch of herbs tucked into the folds of my skirt. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but I smile politely and try to be invisible.