CHAPTER 3 #3
It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut. Mother’s hissed words took shape as Merria’s childish dress and change of order at arrival clicked into place. I steeled my features and focused on the conversation.
“Do you mean to tell me you don’t even let your women speak?”
My brow raised at the challenge, and I glanced at my father.
If the dane was goading him, it was working.
My father glared at this beast of a man before him.
“I’m not sure what you’re implying, but we treat our women in Inra extremely well.
I am her father, and I will protect her how I see fit, including from speaking in a situation that might intimidate her feminine sensibilities.
” He turned to me abruptly, looking at me for the first time, his face a mask of kindness.
“My dear, would you care to answer a question or two from the dane?” he asked in a lowered voice, as if his words were for me alone and not a display for the gathered men.
“You need not be put on the spot. That was not the intention for this day.” His eyes were piercing in an alarming contrast to his kind smile.
“I could answer one or two, Father,” I replied carefully.
He turned back to the dane. “Proceed.”
The dane, however, did not speak right away. He stroked his long, glossy beard, every blond hair perfectly arranged in a neat braid.
“What do you think of living among the Riht, girl?”
The question caught me off guard. I was expecting to be grilled on my training as a wife, not on my feelings about living with these savages. He waited patiently, seated at our best table in black leather armor and thick boots.
“I will be quite happy there, I’m sure,” I answered, hating how soft my voice sounded next to his. I adjusted my glasses, needing something to do with my hands.
“And what do you know of the Riht that you think will be pleasing to your…feminine sensibilities?” His grin was all teeth.
I racked my brain. Surely, I knew something positive to answer about Rihtlond. I would not be thought of as incapable of answering two questions. Where even was Rihtlond? Across the White Sea, north of us, but what was the land like? I remembered seeing a drawing in one of my old primers.
“The mountains!” I blurted, causing both men’s eyebrows to raise. “Yes, I quite like mountains. And greenery.”
The dane looked me up and down again, like he could flay me open with his eyes alone. “I see.” He paused. “I assume you’re packed and ready to be off with our company. Are you a strong rider?”
“Yes, yes, she’s been riding since she was small,” my father cut in.
My lip twitched as the lie registered. I had not received any instruction until my sixteenth birthday—by Bale. Bale. I had not meant to think of him again. I dug my nails into my palms, focusing on the pain before my eyes could mist.
“She is packed and ready, but I asked you here first to speak with you man to man, father to father, before that’s settled. If you have no more questions for Serae, I’ll allow her to take her leave and oversee the final preparations of her things.”
“Aye, do allow her, Margrave.”
My eyes widened as they darted between the two men. The margrave’s face had gone ruddy, and the dane smirked back like a cat.
“Take your leave, Serae.” My father’s voice was clipped and cold.
A chill ran down my spine as I exited the room. Whether it was from the Rihtlondish men watching my retreat or from my dreading sense of the future, I couldn’t tell.
Time crawled on as the valets secured my traveling trunks onto carts.
At last, and yet far too soon, I was in my saddle, tears prickling my eyes as our party departed.
I glanced back one last time at the stone-and-glass building.
My mother and Merria stood waving from the steps.
My father gazed after us with hands stuffed in his pockets.
A tight ring of warriors formed around the dane as we passed through the gates.
A moment later, another ring encircled me and my maid, closing off my view.
It’s a prisoner’s guard. I clenched my jaw. The flash of anger was short-lived. In its wake, there was only the long and boring ride ahead. Gerta, at my side, remained silent. We rode on, like two guarded pillars of stone.
LONG AFTER night fell, we reached an encampment dotted with fires and filled with at least fifty tents by my best estimate in the dark. Gerta and I were shown inside a large tent, three times the size of most and holding more furniture than we could make use of.
The tent flap rustled, and Dane Auldren appeared, filling the entry with his colossal frame. Standing side by side, he was a full foot taller than me, and I was tall by women’s standards. His thick leathers were gone, replaced by a fresh brown tunic and black trousers.
My eyes flicked around the tent. Only two small beds, neither big enough to fit the dane’s bulk. I let out a sigh, which the dane caught, making him smirk. Thank the Creator we’d not be sharing a tent with the likes of him.
“Daughter,” he called me as if I were wed to his son already, “we will keep this encampment for no more than two nights, then we return to the Riht. A tray will be brought to you this night and in the morning. You’ll be confined to these quarters from sunset to sunrise for your own safety.”
I pursed my lips. It seemed I was a prisoner here after all.
“What am I to do during the day?” I asked.
“Do as you like. Enjoy your needlework or whatever you Inraens do to pass the time. I suggest you take advantage of it. Once we are home, your instruction begins.”
“I have already received my education, Your Grace.”
He snorted. “Your Creator’s grace has not placed me at the head of the Riht. You call me Dane or Sire. And you’ll not be learning your Inraen nonsense. You’ll learn how to be a Riht, and you’ll be expected to learn it well.”
“What does that entail?”
Ignoring this, he turned and left as unceremoniously as he came. Gerta and I exchanged glances.
“Martyrs, they’re rude.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumbled after the tent flap stilled.
“At least we have a rest on Inraen soil before we set sail. I expected to be carted off on a ship this very night!”
“But where are we? Surely Father would know about an encampment this size in Cavendaffe.”
“The Creator only knows.”
I sighed and ran a hand through my wind-blown hair. “I’d kill for a bath.”
“You’re in luck, milady.” Gerta stood beside a small wooden tub, one eyebrow arched.
“No water?”
She shrugged. “I’ll find some in the morning.”
I turned my attention to the inside of the tent, which Gerta was already inspecting.
It boasted two beds, a chest beside each, a standing mirror, and a table with four chairs.
It was as well-furnished as the traveling tents I’d seen set up for King Ruper himself.
Still, dents and spots of wear were visible on most of the furniture, matching my expectation of Rihtlonders and their more primitive lifestyle.
The corner of my mouth quirked as I pictured how Merria would react.
Gerta bustled around, unpacking our necessities while I took a seat at the central table.
Darkness had long since fallen, and we were closer to seeing the sun again than not.
Oil lamps were mounted to the tent posts, casting more shadows than light across the room.
A servant brought food and wine, laying out a wide spread before me.
I picked at the food. I should have been grateful for a hot meal, but my stomach disagreed.
Instead, I traced the table’s intricate carvings with my finger.
This piece of furniture was more ornate than the rest, inlaid with a shiny, rose-colored metal—an unusual design for a traveling piece, even in Inra.
Gerta joined me after a while to eat her meal. We sat in silence. The guards posted outside were speaking softly in Rihtlondish, but we were otherwise undisturbed.
Finally, Gerta whispered, “When do you think you’ll meet the prince?”
I let out a heavy sigh, tugging my fingers through my tangled hair.
“I wish I knew.” For the better part of an hour, I had been dutifully not wondering the exact same thing.
The burden weighed heavily on my heart, and doubt crept in.
The one flaw in my father’s plan was that I was not the sort of woman who distracted many men.
I lacked the honeyed curls that made Merria look like some sort of Jaedan angel.
I had none of her lithe, slender grace, that turned every head she passed in Inra—men with lust and women with envy.
Instead, I had rust-colored, unruly hair and a tanned complexion marred with freckles.
I was too tall to be called dainty, and so curved the dressmakers teased about needing extra fabric for my birthing hips.
Then, there were my glasses. While the copper frames were expensive, and I kept them meticulously polished, they were a deterrent to everyone except Tam.
As if sensing my line of thought, Gerta reached over and patted my hand. “I hope he knows how lucky he is to be matched with you.”
I smiled at what was now my only friend, but it quickly turned sour. A month with Gerta’s support would be far too short. She would leave, and I would be alone.
Refusing to dwell on the thought, I rose to dress for bed, but even in summer, there was too much of a chill.
Both beds had plush mattresses and thick quilts with vivid geometric patterns.
I lay down wrapped in my chape and cote beneath the quilt, facing my back to Gerta’s bed.
Despite the considerable comforts, sleep was hard coming.
A shiver ran down my spine as I snuggled deeper into the blanket.
My insides twisted into knots. Perhaps tomorrow, I would meet my so-called future husband and find out how the rest of my time in Rihtlond would be.
Please, Creator, let him be different.
The prayer was hopeless, but what else did I have?
I had no choice but to act the part, even with a monster for a betrothed instead of a man.
Suppose his hands had been the ones to slay my kinsmen.
Suppose he had led raids against the border villages that were now little more than piles of ash.
Worst of all, he could be the type of savage who took pleasure wherever he wanted.
Judging by the size of his father, what chance would I stand of fighting him off?
My mind raced and taunted me until the first pink light of dawn lit up the tent. Only then did my body finally give in to sleep.