“Your Majesty,” Sorka protests, the lines tightening around his mouth. “They’re young. I’m certain they meant no harm. Perhaps, let them—”
“Are you questioning my ruling? Ourlaw?” Father snaps, fixing Sorka with an icy glare. The room grows quiet and still. Most of the advisers stare at their laps. None look at me.
“Of course not,” Sorka says placatingly. His voice drops to a low whisper. “You know they were—”
“I will hear no more,” Father says sharply, his gaze flitting to me.
With a wave of his hand, the prisoners are dragged away, the door slamming shut.
Father’s sharp eyes cut to me again. I resist the urge to shrink into myself. “As for the other pressing matter … the Arbinji crown prince arrives tomorrow.”
My heart stops.
“Tomorrow?” I manage. My knuckles bloom white as snow. “We weren’t expecting him for another two weeks.”
Father shrugs. “Scouts spotted their carriages. They will reach the palace tomorrow. I’ve already instructed the servants to prepare for the betrothal ceremony. You will be ready, Daughter?”
I wish I could turn and look at Daak, but Father’s cold gaze pins me in place. My heart hammers in my chest, and a shrill ringing sounds in my ears.
Tomorrow? I thought I had more time.
“Mayah,” Father snaps, and I flinch. “Youwillbe ready.”
“Yes, Father.” It’s a battle to keep my voice firm.
After the meeting adjourns, the council shuffles out of the room, but I linger behind. Daak shoots me a questioning glance, but I just shake my head. The doors close behind him with a heavy thud, and silence stretches across the council chamber.
I don’t move. I remain seated beside Father, hands clasped in my lap.
He rises, walking away, but I speak before I lose my nerve.
“Father.”
He pauses. Doesn’t turn.
“The betrothal means I leave Tundrayn tomorrow.”
“Yes.” He still doesn’t face me.
“I—I’m afraid.”
That’s what finally makes him turn.
“You are a woman of twenty-five. Not a frightened, sniveling child.” Something inside me shrivels. Father’s mouth opens and shuts, and then he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mayah,” he sighs, shoulders dropping slightly. “You are giving Tundrayn a new future. The one it deserves.”
I flinch beneath the weight of his heavy gaze.
“I know. I’m ready. And I’ll—”
He steps closer, then slowly, almost reluctantly, removes one of his fur-lined gloves. With bare fingers, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear—an unfamiliar gesture, awkward and uncertain.
My throat tightens.
“I didn’t want this for you, Daughter. But there is no other way.” He doesn’t wait for my response, just turns away again as if he can’t bear to be in my presence alone.
“Father,please.” I freeze him in place with my words once more. “Before I leave, I—the nonwielders. Their treatment is—”
“Not this again, Mayah.”
