At every turn, I’ve neglected my duties to daydream like a boy, but now that the night of The Presentation has arrived, allthe hesitant hopes I let take root inside me are tangling into thorny doubts and worries. Maybe if I—or even Val—had the chance to meet my bloodsworn bride before tonight I’d be more sure.
Of course, that’s not how the Dealmaker does things.
“The soup is phenomenal,” Val says after slurping on the spoon Morwen is too shocked to withdraw. Her normally-scrunched expression falls into slack surprise; Val doesn’t acknowledge it, but I see the glint in his eyes when he turns to face the woman on my other side. “Let’s go with the solaris blossoms—they’re imported, but we can’t get around that these days. They send a stronger message.”
One by one, Val satisfies the demands and requests of my palace staff, deftly handling the buzzards that have swarmed me for the better part of the past two days while all I do is wear a groove into the floor beneath my window. My constant pacing hasn’t brought me any clarity or revelations, but sitting still has never been a luxury I’ve been afforded, and I don’t know what to do with it now that I have it.
“There,” Val says with a satisfied sigh after dispatching the last of my staff. “You really should try the soup. Thunderroot is a treat this far south. These tarts aren’t half bad either,” he adds, scavenging through the samples.
“I have no interest in eating,” I grumble. “And my interest in this ridiculous pageant is quickly fading.”
“Oh, come now,” Val says with a teasing lilt. “The announcement of your nuptials should be a joyous occasion!”
I grip the windowsill, claws digging deep gouges into the wood as I bite back a curse.
Brushing crumbs from his lips, Val sighs, stepping to my side. “I know it’s not the deal you’d expected,” he says, gentler. “But the Dealmaker isn’t wrong; a bride will endear you to your subjects. It could be exactly what your reign needs.”
“Why? Because it will show them that there is someone willing to keep my company?” I scoff.
Val hops up to sit on the windowsill, blocking my view of the frozen wastes beyond.
“That’s part of it,” he chuckles. “Having a softer touch attached to you will give them confidence that you’re more than just a conquering brute. And The Unveiling will give the reach a chance to meet you, judge for themselves. Once you’re seen in action, the rumors will be put to rest, and opinions will shift.”
I wish I had even a fraction of the confidence Valenar possesses. He has a bottomless well of faith that I’m meant to be king, that the reach will accept me, that the cold will finally break and spring will return. I’m not sure where he sows those seeds of hope with all our fields gone fallow.
“And how do we know that she’ll be a softer touch? It could be a ploy, someone after the throne herself.”
Val barely contains his laughter. “And what would the Dealmaker have to gain from that? Don’t you think he’d like to collect on his debt with you sometime in the future?”
I grumble an unintelligible response. He’s making too many good points for my liking.
“That still doesn’t address what kind of demon she’ll be, what she’s traded for this arrangement,” I say.Or why she’s so desperate that she’s willing to marry me to solve her problems.
“You know that’s not for us to know,” Val says, examining the backs of his hands before shining one of his claws on his sleeve. “The terms of a Dealmaker’s contract are only known to those involved in its creation. I shouldn’t even know your deal…though I suppose I only know what you’ve gained, not what you’ve given up.”
While my friend muses over the technical intricacies of the Dealmaker’s contractual contortions, I’m cursing our lack of foresight. We had a week to prepare for this after signing the contract—why didn’t I send someone to spy on her? The customs of the bloodsworn bride tradition dictate that we don’t meet before The Presentation, and it would be risking breach of contract to do extensive reconnaissance, but we could have learned enough to ensure I’m not going to make a fool of myself in front of my new subjects. Maybe called off The Presentation entirely…not that the Dealmaker would stand for that.
No, I foolishly stepped into this cage, and it’s a waste of my energy to search for an escape now. By taking the throne, I hoped I’d be able to restore some of the lost stability of Emerald Reach, strengthen our borders where the Wilds encroach, and rebuild alliances that rotted under Farandir’s watch.
“There are dozens of ways I could better serve the reach than being paraded around like a prized hog marching off to the butcher. Is this really why I took the throne? To join the frivolous parties, languishing, feasting, preening at my own self-satisfied reflection while ignoring the world falling to waste beyond my walls? Surely, there’s a more worthwhile use of my time.”
Val fights—and fails—to hold back a smirk, steering me away from the throne room toward the sounds of the party. “It may not be the form you’re used to duty taking, but this is yours now.You will excel here just as you have at every other post you’ve held.”
Of course Val sees through my annoyance, his keen eye able to spot my nerves through the gruff camouflage. “If my competence was all that’s required for success here, you wouldn’t have had to convince me so thoroughly to take the post. We both know I can lead soldiers, but nobles?”
His grin grows. “And that, my dear friend, is why our brilliant Dealmaker has delivered unto you a bride.”
“A bride I will surely disappoint,” I mutter, turning away from the party again. “Has she any idea what’s in store for her? What has the Dealmaker told her to expect? Some well-bred prince prepared to give her a royal welcome? She’ll see through me the moment we’re on the dance floor.” The closest I’ve ever been to a ball like this one was as security. I don’t think tripping over myself will make the strong show of power I’m after.
A laugh escapes Valenar, and I whip around to glare at him. He smothers his mirth, looking apologetic even as it fights to resurface. “Is that what this is all about?” he teases. “You’re worried aboutdancingwith her?”
Mercifully, he doesn’t laugh again when I say nothing, but keeping his grin at bay seems to cause him physical pain.
“You can’t be serious?”
“If this is meant to be reassuring, it’s a pisspoor attempt.”
He chokes back a laugh, forcing his expression toward sobriety. “What is dancing but fighting without weaponry? You never second-guess your feet on the battlefield. When you would move to strike your opponent, embrace her instead. Stay on your toes, as if you’re being tracked—don’t stop moving and keep hold of your bride, and you will do just fine.”
