She was a temporary thing to him. He'd live at least another century and a half after her death.
To him, she was a brief indignity to suffer through and once she was gone, he could marry an elf and have his heirs and spare his country from war without having to subject his people to half-human heirs—or worse, an alchemist.
“Of course, thank you,” Hellebore murmured as she set the plant down and allowed the maids to help her out of the dress and into a nightgown.
As they went to leave, she caught Phoebe and said, “Bring me any books you have in the library on Iubian Elvish and Chymesian.”
Phoebe startled, eyes widening. “But Your Highness, your wedding is tomorrow. You need to sleep.”
“I just want to make sure I get through that first. My Iubian...” Hellebore gestured in the air, indicating her accent.
The two maids exchanged another look, this one indecipherable to Hellebore. But then they turned back to her and nodded in perfect unison before scurrying off to meet her request. She wandered back to the table to eat, digging in while she opened the note attached to the Sunrise Iris.
In an elegant script was:
Hellebore,
I see now that you did not have any idea of the significance of uprooting and taking a Sunrise Iris. These plants are quite sacred to my people. We never take them from the ground, but for one occasion. The day before his wedding, a groom goes on a quest to find one, and if he is successful, he gifts it to his bride on their wedding night. It is a sign of fortune over their union, and of the utmost importance to care for it the way they are called to care for their spouse and their marriage. Finding them has become few and far between for many elves as of late. Despite the fact that you are the one who found it, and I'm gifting it to you now, I hope that it might still be a sign of good fortune for our union.
Into your care I trust this iris.
Yours,
Taiyo
Hellebore glared at the glowing flower. But she still found a spot in the sunlight for it.
Her husband-to-be had no idea what she was. She wasn't a botanist. She didn't have a green thumb.
Her only interest in the iris had been how quickly she could rot it from the inside out.
Phoebe and Elaine returned with the requested books and to take away the dinner tray once Hellebore was done with it. Hellebore snatched the books from the maids and started to head for the bed to dive in when Elaine cleared her throat.
“Your Highness, do you want these letters?”
Hellebore looked over her shoulder to see the girl wasn’t holding up Taiyo’s note to her, but a different sized envelope entirely. She must have missed it before. She reached out and took it wordlessly as the maids bid her a good night.
She bit her tongue. What was so good about it being the last night before her fate was truly sealed?
Instead, she set aside the books and turned over the envelope, heart stopping at the seal.
The Chymesian royal seal.
There were only two options. Her father or Callahan.
Hellebore broke it as she clambered onto the bed, leaning close to the candlelight to read by.
One glance at the handwriting smashed her hopes. It was her father’s handwriting.
Hellebore,
You understand by now what it is that’s expected of you. However, in case it wasn’t clear, or you have doubts whether you can trust King Taiyo’s word, I will make it plain again. He will be your husband. You will go with him to Auror where you will be married.
Hellebore snorted. If only her father had had the foresight that she wouldn’t get the chance to read this until she’d already been forcibly carried off to Auror.
There will be no arguing. I will be hearing no protests, not from you or my sister. The decision has been made, and King Taiyo will be leaving with you before the end of the day. He has my permission to use whatever means necessary should you fail to see reason and cooperate.
While that alone should be sufficient, I will continue as necessary to cover all objections.
