“Father, please?—”
“Perhaps, if you were not such an essential piece in carrying on the royal bloodline, you could dally as you pleased with scribe’s daughters. But this is your role, Cion.”
Soren watched the princess’ face slowly drain of color at the mention of Lady Anabeth, but she said nothing this time, letting her father continue.
“This is what will occur, my daughter. You will attend the coming Choosing ceremony and bond to a dragon. Your term as a rider will run three years, or until you are injured in any matter of severity. Upon that time, you will return here and marry Prince Kellmere Hale, heir to the throne of Meesling. Your dragon can remain in the capital if it wishes.”
Soren could not help the small puff of air that escaped her. Several other servants in the room had similar reactions. Prince Kellmere was currently engaged to Princess Hessa of Mise. The marriage pact was a large part of the reason Mise still held any real chance against Aren and their dragons.
Meesling had wyverns in their ranks. They were smaller than Aren’s dragons, and there were fewer of them, but without Meesling’s support, without their extra resources and wyverns, Mise was lost. King Johannas had to know this. King Nektas, Prince Kellmere’s father and Meesling’s king, had to know this, which meant Soren was privy to a secret betrayal.
To her credit, Princess Cion did not react with much shock or surprise. Perhaps she was just used to her father carrying out such acts of cruelty.
She bowed her head and said in a low voice that was anything but submissive, “As you wish,my king.”
Soren knew the princess well enough to know this fight was far from over. She wondered if King Johannas knew that too. By the tick in his strong jaw, Soren ventured to guess so.
“Know,” the king said as he stood, his gravelly voice thick with the promise of violence, “that if any one of you spills the secrets laid out in this room today before they are ripe to the world, you will not simply be executed.”
And with his threat hanging in the air, he swept from the room, his heeled boots clicking against the stone floor. The other small council members stood too, and for a brief moment, Soren memorized their faces.
The Master of Coin, a small man with a white goatee, tiny circular glasses, and quizzical brow. The Master of War, with his hulking form, shining bald head, and terrifying thin-lipped smile. The Master of Trade, with his opulent jewels, long black braid, and sparkling green eyes. They were as much responsible as King Johannas for what was sure to be the end of the war. Someday, if Soren was ever free, she might describe these men to an assassin. It was a fool’s dream to even hope for freedom now.
Not ever before today.
Butnow.
Now, with her kingdom’s princess in danger where she stayed in Meesling, unaware of the end of her engagement. Now, with the coming end of the war and the taste of defeat a bitter sting on her tongue. Now, she finally felt something after years of numbness.
The dream ended, though, the moment Princess Cion said, “Come, Soren.”
Soren dipped her head, reality crashing down upon her in violent waves. She was no warrior, no spy or assassin.
She was what these people had made her.
Nothing at all.
Chapter 3
The thin whiteveil obscured her vision. She hated it, but she hated the man looking at her through it even more.
“You’ve grown to look like your mother,” the god king said dryly.
She lifted her gaze to his crackling amber eyes. “Does that bring back memories?”
Kronos’ jaw tightened, and he stood to his full height, looking down on her with a sneer. “I prefer my betrothed to not have an attitude.”
“Well, I prefer not to be here.”
His hand struck her cheek before she could even blink again, quick as a bolt of lightning. She bit off a cry as she stumbled back. Blood stained the veil as she ripped it from her face. Kronos looked at her blankly, his eyes flat and his face expressionless once more.
“You’re dismissed.”
She narrowed her eyes but did not give him the dignity of a reply or a bow, fleeing the throne room as quickly as her feet would carry her. When she was finally free of the palace grounds, she broke into a run, heading for the barrier. She didn’t stop when she reached it, leaping through theshimmering wall of magic and landing in a heap in mortal lands.
She wept in a farmer’s field until nearly sunset.
For nearly a full moon cycle, this repeated. Kronos called on her, claiming he needed to ‘examine’ his promised bride. Her mother, not wanting to incur the wrath of him or Sol, sent her. Each time, she mouthed off to Kronos, and each time, he struck her. She healed quickly, but the reminder of the power he held over her cut deep.
