CHAPTER 1
VIVIENNE
The throne beneath me is as uncomfortable as the company. I shift, adjusting my green silk gown. The bodice is embroidered with delicate golden filigree, emphasizing my slim waist and royal poise, and my red hair is braided with pearls and emeralds to match my eyes.
It’s a complete waste of effort. Because every single one of these so-called suitors is an intolerable bore.
On my right, my father, King Edric of Aryndale, radiates proud patience, though his grip tightens on the armrest of his throne every time I open my mouth.
On my left sits my older brother—Aldric. He gives me a pointed look, reminding me that I should be on my best behavior. Because this weekend, I must choose a husband.
I shudder at the thought. I know that I must marry. I’ve known it my entire life. My parents needed an heir, so they made a bargain with the Goblins. They would have a son to inherit the crown, and a second child—a daughter that would be wed to theGoblin King if she is still unmarried by her twenty-third name day.
I’ll be twenty-three in a few months, which is why Father invited every eligible king, prince, and lord from near and far. Unfortunately for him, I’m not thrilled about any of them.
I hate that my choices consist of powerful men who want me for my title, and a dowry the worth of a small kingdom… or a monster who considers me something due to him in payment for a bargain.
I've seen what marriage does to some women. Even ones who thought they were choosing freely. It was different for my mother. She and Father were a genuine love match, but that is the exception, not the rule.
Every man in this room sees a crown when he looks at me. A political alliance… an heir-bearer. Not one of them has asked me a single question about who I am, what I think, or what I want. They present their assets like merchants at a stall, waiting for me to select the most favorable transaction.
And if I select none of them, if I fail to choose before my twenty-third birthday, I won't be choosing at all anymore. The Goblin King’s bargain will choose for me.
That thought lives in my chest like a cold stone. I push it down, the way I always do, because if I let myself feel how frightened I actually am, I won't be able to sit here and smile like a prize waiting to be claimed.
So I don't smile. I sharpen instead. It's the only weapon I have.
I’ve always known I’d have to wed to meet the terms of the Goblin deal, but I’d hoped I could at least marry for love. Even so, I haven’t given up. Maybe my father is wrong about the terms of the bargain. Surely there’s a way to escape this fate I never asked for and definitely do not want.
Sighing heavily, my gaze sweeps over my suitors. The High Elf Prince Veldren of Wyndemere is all flowing golden hair and angular arrogance. He tips his chin up as if he’s already won.
“Princess Vivienne,” he says, voice rich and smooth, “my kingdom is strong and wealthy. If you choose me, you shall have the finest gowns, the most exquisite jewels, and most importantly, the pleasure of a husband whose beauty is unrivaled across the realms.”
Ah, there it is. The High Elf Prince is known for his vanity. And while he isn’t exaggerating about his appearance, surely I cannot be expected to marry a husband who finds himself more attractive than me.
I blink at him, then glance at my father.
His expression is neutral. But beneath it, I can see the familiar frustration beginning to stir.
He was so upset when I rejected Prince Theron last month. The entire kingdom has been waiting for me to choose a husband.
Well, they’ll just have to wait longer. If I must be bartered, I will not make myself easy to claim. Let them think me impossible to win. It’s better than being owned.
“Tell me, Prince Veldren.” I tilt my head to study him. “If I married you, would I need to commission a second mirror for our chambers, or do you plan to spend all your time gazing at yourself in mine?”
The entire room falls deathly silent, and someone chokes on their wine.
Prince Veldren stiffens, his ethereal beauty marred by a twitching brow. “I assure you, Princess, I am not that vain.”
I sigh dramatically, waving a dismissive hand. “No need to lie, Veldren. It’s clear you love yourself far more than you could ever love a wife. Next.”
Father mutters something beneath his breath that sounds suspiciously like “for the love of the gods.”
The next suitor steps forward, a towering Bear shifter king, all broad shoulders and thick, braided hair. King Rorik of Vardheim. He looms above me, his fur-lined cloak shifting as he bows.
“Princess,” he says, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I seek a strong mate, a queen with fire in her blood. You will bear my heirs, rule at my side, and—”
I hold up a hand, cutting him off as he speaks to me as if he’s offering me a position to be filled instead of treating me like a person to be known. “Apologies. Rorik, was it?” I wrinkle my nose. “You smell like damp fur and wet stone. I’d rather marry my father’s warhorse.”
