The marquis purses his lips. “Perhaps it’s easy for the inheritor of such ancient power to speak so lightly, especially when darkness has not touched Lundenwic. The promise of such magic is the only thing keeping the Usurper and his dark creatures at bay.”
“That’s exactly why I’m here, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of our kingdoms’ alliance,” I reply, plastering on a reassuring grin. “It’s time to find my queen and fulfill the agreement with a wedding, sealing the alliance of Loegria and Alarice just as my father’s and mother’s marriage united our lands.”
That’s the cue the marquis is waiting for.
He claps his hands, and a door opens. A long line of girls rushes out, hands clasped tightly in front of them, eyes lowered. They wear ornate dresses that look as if they were ordered straight from the capital, all brocade and heavy velvet and fur. They all have the same coloring as the marquis, save for his white hair—the same ruddy cheeks, the same pointed nose, the same thin lips. If I were a betting man—and I am—I’d say they’re all his daughters and nieces. Possibly some granddaughters, too.
“Without further ado, Prince Dietan, may I introduce to you some of the finest ladies in the land: the ladies of House Breadalbane.”
Called it.
They line up against the wall, their heads bowed from the weight of their hair piled high on their heads, threaded with jewels and ornaments.
The one at the end can’t be older than fourteen. My practiced, perfect smile falters for just a moment. I blanch at the thought of the marquis offering up his own ward so young.
“Oh—meet them so soon? I’ve barely arrived,” I say, feigning surprise.
“We’ve not a moment to waste,” the marquis insists, his enthusiasm unwavering. “The harvest festival begins shortly, and we’ve arranged the festivities in your honor. It’s best to introduce you to our finest now, so you can decide who you’d like to get better acquainted with.”
I glance at Jared, silently begging for rescue, but his smirk only deepens. Marcus remains stoic, offering no help, either.
Great. I’m on my own.
Suppressing a sigh, I step up to the first girl in the line. She curtsies, offering me a demure smile as I kiss the back of her hand. “What a lovely gown,” I say, my voice steady, my expression polite. “And your hair—so beautiful.”
The platitudes flow effortlessly, practiced over countless encounters like this throughout my youth. I move to the next girl, repeating the process. My smile remains firmly in place, and Jared’s smirk and Marcus’s stern expression ensure that no one can guess the truth: this entire tour is a farce.
Even if I wanted to marry, no woman in Albion would have me once she learns the truth about me on our wedding night. I carry a dangerous secret that my two closest friends, my father, and I have conspired to keep from the rest of the world—and especially from my mother—for half my life. My father distrusts her still, and our kingdom would be imperiled if I were exposed.
By the time I reach the end of the line of Breadalbane women, I’m struggling to maintain my composure. The youngest girl, the fourteen-year-old, curtsies, and I keep our interaction brief, offering her nothing more than a polite nod. The marquis is beyond disgusting.
“What a warm welcome!” I declare, turning back to the sorry excuse for a man with a broad smile to hide my irritation. “But I must admit, I’m utterly exhausted. I would be eternally grateful if you could show me to our lodgings.”
Marcus steps forward, taking over the conversation with his usual efficiency. “This way, sire,” he says, gesturing toward the door.
I follow him out of the town hall as quickly as I can without sprinting, trying not to step on his heels. My retinue forms a protective barrier around me as we cross the square, intent on shielding me from the curious stares of the townsfolk, but I motion for them to stand down. Let the people look for a few moments more; that’s why I’m here. Faces peer out from windows, and a few onlookers crane their necks, eager to catch a glimpse of the visiting prince, soon to betheirprince. I keep my head up, face forward. I’m tired. I want this to be clean, simple, and quick.
The inn—a two-story building on the edge of the square—isn’t much, but it’ll do. Right now, my only concern is getting to my suite, away from the prying eyes of the village. Once safely indoors, I’ll be free to focus on what really matters.
I didn’t come here to find a bride. I came here to find a mage.
Her last known whereabouts were reportedly near this town. She’s the only one who might be able to help me—not just for my sake but for all of Albion.
For the Rings of Fate are not resting safely behind glass in my father’s war room. Gods no. They’re buried under my shoulder blades, fused to bone and blood.
My life depends on getting them out of me. And so does the fate of the world.
Chapter Four
Dietan
At nightfall, I manage to slip out of my room without anyone noticing. Marcus and Jared both pushed to join me for my protection, but I convinced them to stay behind. It’s easier for one man to move about without drawing attention than three.
Most of my men have set up in the inn for the night, preparing for my bride search in the morning. To avoid being seen by the guards stationed outside my room, I quietly make my exit out the window, just like we used to in our school days. Even though nobody has the authority to stop me, even a prince is powerless to quell the spread of gossip amongst his men. However, I doubt they would guess that the future king needs to meet with a sorceress.
I creep across the grass, pulling a well-worn cloak around myself, hiding my hair underneath a wide-brimmed felt hat. A neckerchief obscures my face.That should do it.I look like a farmer—or at least I hope I do.
Even with the little information my father’s spies were able to provide, I need more to find the general location of the sorceress, and I have to start somewhere.
