She will be lucky to make it to the Drengr Stadium without one of her father’s men dragging her away. Isabel is not her parents’ favorite person, and sleeping with her will not go over well.
As she tugs on her trousers slung over the back of a chair, she can already feel the intensity of the day coursing through her veins.
Two winters ago, when Aura all but laid down her axe, Isabel Kilton—an initiated Drengr—convinced her not to walk away.
She glances at Isabel as she curls back under the blanket.
As the youngest princess, she has yet to be allowed much room to grow, creating tension between her and her father. While she loves her Pops, she finds many of her peers shirking her out of fear of his wrath. What she would give to have friends and someone to truly embrace her each night simply because they loved her most on the continent, rather than because of her bloodline as a Sigvidsson-Redwood.
The heir of Redwood will deliver. A child whose line shall live forever. Uniter of all, she whose blood strengthens them all.
If only her family prophecy did not haunt her as ‘the child whose line shall live forever.’ How did her parents, fuck it, the country, expect her to welcome such a fated life when her very name chases away anyone who might be willing to love her?
After too many broken hearts, she followed her brother Bjorn’s lead and now keeps emotionally distant bedfellows.
Life is simpler now because she limits the number of people she allows in.
Once she dons her leather armor, she collects her axe and shield, pausing to appreciate the moment she never thought she would see. She can already imagine her father smiling proudly through his auburn beard, the shade identical to Aura’s braid.
She much prefers to let her curls flow free like her mother’s, but her father’s tugging on her plait reminds her that she descends from a long line of Salt Warriors.
It was her sacred right to wear the braid.
“Will I see you after my trial, then?” Aura asks, her hand lingering on the door pull.
The Drengr rolls onto her side, the blanket dropping past her breasts and making Aura wish she had time to play.
“So sure of yourself?”
Aura’s smile falters. “Even if I fail, I shall still walk away with pride.”
Isabel shrugs. “What if your combat partner challenges you to a Death Match?”
Her throat constricts.
The final Drengr Trial includes single combat with an initiated warrior who has already pledged loyalty to her father.
No one has ever called for a Death Match.
“Improbable.” She answers with more confidence than she feels. She throws the door open into the summer air and glances over her shoulder to see Isabel falling back asleep.
After two winters, is that all the encouragement she can offer?
Even a hug would have fucking sufficed.
Aura secures her shield to her back and slides the axe into her belt loop as she begins the long march north from the city to the Drengr Stadium, her father constructed about ten winters ago.
The Princess's excitement fades, leaving only heavy uncertainty to hang over her like a storm cloud.
She is not the only recruit to undergo a trial today. However, as the daughter of the Lord Commander, she anticipates that she will be the most watched.
A prospect that twists her stomach as if someone were squeezing it.
As she strides down one of the cobblestone streets in Toftlund, she becomes uncomfortably aware that someone is watching her movements. Her hand slowly hovers over her axe handle as her peripheral vision checks for activity.
She is about to whip out her weapon when tiny arms wrap around her middle.
“Aura!” A high-pitched voice halts her steps. “You promised to stop by the house before your final Trial.”
