To Wed a Warrior (Brides of Prophecy)

Chapter One

Wurrakia

Lady Kestrel Goshawk sat on the thin cot in her prison cell and clutched her thin, scratchy blanket tight.

Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her throat was raw.

No matter how many times she prayed to the fates that the past twenty-four hours were naught but a bad dream and that she’d wake up in her bed in her family’s cozy manor at Raptor’s Roost, every time Kestrel opened her eyes, she found herself still here, at the capitol, in the palace dungeons.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. For most of her life, all she’d ever wanted was to leave her home in its remote village far from Wurrakia high society. Were the fates punishing her for not appreciating what she’d had?

Maire, her old comportment tutor, had warned her that could happen.

Anytime Kestrel spoke of attending fancy balls and feasts at the palace, she’d made a tsking sound against her teeth and repeated her old litany.

“People who keep their eyes so far ahead to their desires that they don’t see all the good things in their lives are just asking to lose something. ”

Where was Maire now? Had she heard what happened? Word had to have spread fast. Everything had happened so fast, so publicly.

Fresh flames of humiliation licked and burned her face at the memory of the gasps echoing around her, the pointing fingers, countless pairs of eyes narrowing in suspicion. And worst of all, the pure hatred in the faces of people who’d lavished her with praise and kindness only last month.

The main door to the cells opened with a rusty shriek before the weasel-faced guard marched in with a dented metal tray containing a plate of gray meat in congealed fat, some sickly-green beans, a slice of bread that looked like it would chip her teeth, and a tankard of some liquid.

“Suppertime, little princess,” he said with a leer.

Kestrel’s stomach lurched at the sight “I’m not hungry.”

The weasel laughed. “Fine then. I’ll take it back. You’ll be begging for ole Billy to bring you kitchen scraps before the night is out. I bet you ain’t missed a meal in yer life, traitor.”

Traitor. The word had been hurled at her countless times before she’d been roughly torn from her father’s side and hauled away to the dungeon.

To hear it from this lowly jailer who she wouldn’t have even noticed yesterday stung in a very different way.

Kestrel opened her mouth to either protest that she wasn’t a traitor, to ask what treason she had been accused of, or to beg for mercy, she didn’t know. All three were humiliating prospects, so she closed her mouth and turned back to face the wall.

Another snort of laughter and taunting words came from the weasel before she heard his footsteps fade away and the door down the hall close with an echoing clang.

“Good riddance,” she whispered, and immediately regretted it. The air from her words agitated her throat, sore and dry from crying.

Perhaps she’d been a fool to decline the tray. Though she wasn’t hungry she could have had a drink. Even if whatever had been in that tankard was foul, at least it would have cooled the burn in her throat.

Only a few minutes later, the door shrieked open again. Was the weasel coming to torment her again?

No, the footsteps were heavier, longer, and were accompanied by the creak of leather and clink of chainmail.

A warrior was coming. Perhaps even a knight. Either way, they ranked higher than the unarmored jailer.

Kestrel’s heart sang with hope. Perhaps whichever of His Lordship’s men who was in charge of arrests had discovered that a mistake had been made and she’d be released with fervent apologies.

Or maybe it was her betrothed come to rescue her!

The Wolf came into view. Kestrel’s heart dropped into her belly at the sight of his horrific scarred face.

He was the royal enforcer. The one in charge of doling out lashes, capturing fugitives, launching retaliation attacks on anyone foolish enough to go against His Lordship… and interrogating prisoners.

And yet, that wasn’t what sent her into a spiral of terror so heavy that she couldn’t hear a word he said to her, or see what he carried in his gauntleted hands.

Seeing that fearsome face threw her into memories of the day when she’d first seen him. A day that had started love story perfect, and had ended in terror and carnage, yet still hadn’t been as terrible as this.

The Wolf spoke again, his raspy voice raising to a growl, but Kestrel didn’t hear what he said. In fact, she couldn’t even see him anymore, for she’d transported herself back in time.