She rested a hand on the box. “A token to shame the traitor. Rangar Barendur humiliated me, and I wish to humiliate him in return.”
Captain Carr nodded along, though he watched her carefully. “I must say I’m surprised by your degree of hatred for the Baer prince, given the rumors we heard.”
“It’s precisely those false rumors I wish to crush.”
The banquet stretched on interminably, and Bryn couldn’t stand the line of nobles offering their blessings to her and prattling on about the good of the Mirien. She ended up drinking more wine than she’d intended just to get through it.
The afternoon sun was sinking by the time a line of soldiers entered the great hall.
The crowd quieted except for a few murmurs of speculation. Bryn sat straighter in her chair, the prattling lord at her side talking to her about gourd harvests forgotten.
She pressed a hand to her tight dress, feeling breathless.
A clatter of iron chains echoed as the soldiers led in Rangar. He was shackled at the wrists and ankles, as Carr had commanded. Half a dozen soldiers surrounded him, one hand already on their swords. Rangar’s clothes were so filthy it was hard to tell what color they’d once been. His hair was caked in dirt and sweat, a messy tangle that shadowed his face.
But when he lifted his chin, his brown eyes burned bright.
Bryn felt the breath slip from her lips. Her heart twisted like a knife at the sight of him. In the dark dungeon, she hadn’t seen the deep bruises covering one side of his face, nor fully observed how gaunt he’d become.
Their eyes met over the crowd.
Bryn held his gaze, wishing more than anything she could touch that bruised face, wipe away the grime.
“The prisoner, Prince Rangar Barendur of the Baersladen,” the dungeon master announced.
The crowd broke into heated chatter. Bryn could only imagine the salacious rumors being bandied about. Here he was, a rival kingdom’s prince who had once dared to believe a Mir princess belonged to him, chained now like a dog.
She closed the ring box in her palm has her pulse raced.
“Here he is,” Captain Carr said, rising to his feet. A mean streak marred his face, brought on by too much wine. “The first of your three engagement presents.”
Rangar must have heard Captain Carr’s pronouncement, but he showed no reaction to the news of Bryn’s supposed engagement. His shoulders were bowed, hands clasped by iron, but his head remained lifted.
Bryn recalled mere weeks ago when he’d stormed into Barendur Hold and punched Trei in the jaw for daring to offer Bryn an engagement. Little did all these gossiping nobles realize how true the rumors were: She did belong to Rangar. And he belonged to her. Not for the reason anyone thought, but for the look that ran between them now.
Captain Carr pointed a long finger in Rangar’s direction. “Did you hear that, prince? You may have wanted her for yourself, but Lady Bryn has agreed to wed me. She knows the Mirien will always be her home. Not some hovel where she’s defiled by a savage.”
Bryn flinched at the harsh words. Captain Carr must seriously be deep in his cups to speak so plainly. The whispers grew bolder among the crowd.
“That is how you speak of your future bride?” Rangar said in an even voice.
Bryn cut him a hard look. Of all the times to lose his temper, this wasn’t it. Rangar saw her look and clamped his mouth shut, though rage still churning deep in his eyes.
Captain Carr barked a laugh. “Says the man who treated a princess like a common whore.”
Bryn stepped forward, feeling the situation was getting too heated. Now it was her own temper she was worried about; there was only so long she could take Captain Carr’s insults.
“What this prince says about me bears no merit,” she announced, keeping her eyes fixed on Rangar. “He is just asbrutish as everyone says. It gives me nothing but pleasure to see him now in chains.”
Rangar remained silent as she approached, narrowing her eyes at him as she paced slowly in front of him.
“Calling him a savage is too kind,” she insisted. “The land he comes from is untamed, yes. The barren soil, the wild animals. But the nature of his home does not turn one’s heart black enough to imprison a princess and call her his own, make her sleep on the floors with animals.”
Bryn was the only one close enough to see the small flicker of amusement dance in Rangar’s eyes. She’d come to like sleeping with the goats in the great hall, and he knew it.
“He’s a rogue,” she pressed. “And I thank the Saints that our places are now reversed. I have something to give you back, prince. The ring you forced on me. I have no need for it now that I have a new one.”
She shoved the ring box in Rangar’s hand with a look of disgust, then held up her hand to show off Captain Carr’s glittering diamond.
