“Use it wisely,” I told him, winking.
I didn’t know much about orcs. I didn’t even know if they truly were our enemies. But in that moment, none of that mattered. All I wanted, deep in my heart, was for Krash’uk to get away.
Chapter 1
132 years later
The big day had arrived.
I watched, without much enthusiasm, as the castle servants ran back and forth like headless chickens, hurrying to finish the preparations for my wedding. The day was bright and warm, with an absurdly blue sky—the kind of weather everyone called perfect, except me.
I wished it would rain, that a bolt of lightning would split the sky and, with a bit of luck, strike my fiancé right on the head.
I adjusted the hem of my dress for the hundredth time, more to keep my hands busy than out of need. The wedding gown was huge, stuffed with petticoats, and far too heavy. It looked more like the layers of a frosted cake than a bridal dress. Sweat slid down my back in small drops that tickled before disappearing into the already soaked corset. My feet ached in the insane high heels, and my neck was stiff from the elaborate hairstyle—a fortress of pins and hairspray.
I let out a resigned sigh. I didn’t know what was worse: marrying a man I couldn’t stand or dying buried under silk and tulle. Behind me, footsteps approached, but I didn’t bother to turn; I already knew who it was.
“Wow, Fiona, you look…” Kristan, my best friend and lady-in-waiting, cleared her throat. “Beautiful.”
I snorted a laugh and glanced at her over my shoulder. She twisted her fingers, nervous as always, her eyes traveling over my dress with a mix of pity and outrage, as if she wanted to drag me out of here before the ceremony.
“Don’t lie to me,” I said. “I look like a fluffy cake.”
“A very elegant fluffy cake,” she shot back, trying to keep the humor, though the tension in her jaw gave her away.
Kristan was the only one who knew about my aversion to Jameson. My family had never noticed—maybe because I had always been great at hiding what I really thought. So good that my father had decided Jameson and I made a fine match, and that marrying us was an excellent idea.
For Ceilte, the marriage was indeed advantageous. Jameson was the son of one of the most influential merchant families in the kingdom; his father sat on Ceilte’s council and had a good relationship with mine. Even so, I had known him since childhood, and I had always found him dull, predictable, and painfully boring.
Kristan stepped closer and whispered, “If you want to run, I’ll figure something out. Just say the word.”
For one second—one treacherous second—the image was tantalizing. I, sprinting through the castle gates, heavy skirts gathered in my fists, the wind wreaking havoc on my perfect hair—freedom, right at my fingertips.
But then I remembered the weight on my shoulders: family, duty, and politics.
My father was the Lord of our kingdom, Ceilte. He wasn’t a king in name, but he wielded the power of one. As a sovereign territory, independent of the four seasonal courts—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter—we ruled our own lands. In return, we kept the Autumn and Winter Courts, two rival courts whose lands bordered us, apart. It was an ancient, brittle, yet necessary pact to preserve the peace, since Ceilte lay squarely between the two courts as a neutral territory.
My father already had his heir—Leone, my twin brother. As a female, I had only one purpose: to make a good marriage and produce children. My mother had wanted me to wed a prince from the Summer or Spring Court, but my father had found it more convenient to marry me to Jameson. My wishes and dreams didn’t factor into that calculation.
So, although the offer of escape was tempting, I refused.
“Don’t worry about me, Kristan. You know I’m like a cat sìth,” I said, forcing a smile. “I have nine lives.”
She arched an unconvinced brow. “That’s exactly what worries me,” she muttered. “You’ve used at least five since I met you.”
I let out a weak little laugh to try to hide my nerves, but she noticed, like she always did.
“Fiona…” She took my arm gently but firmly enough to make me face her. “You don’t have to do this. If you talk to your father—”
I shook my head and cupped her face with one hand. Kristan was my height, with pale blond hair, almost white, and deep green eyes. Her skin held a warm, dark brown tone, and her face was among the most beautiful I had ever seen. Delicate features, doe eyes, small freckles across the bridge of her nose, and full, red lips. Beautiful enough to kill for—and that was why they had chosen her early on to be my companion.
Her father, captain of my father’s guard, had been thrilled when his youngest, most cherished daughter received the post. It was perfect for the only girl in a family of soldiers. Thus, Kristan had become my constant companion. My soulmate. If we could choose our partners freely, I would have chosen her without hesitation.
“This is my duty, Kristan,” I murmured, my thumb brushing a brief caress over her soft cheek. “I won’t run from it.”
She clenched her teeth. “You’re not a piece in a game, Fiona.”
“Yes, I am.” I smiled sadly. “And I know how to move on my own at times. Better to marry Jameson, who only lacks brains, than some brute. You know that.”
