“No. I chose her to forge more strength for our people. Safety and trade and peace.”
“And has your reckless rebellion attained this?”
“No. But she is a capable partner.”
Drazha snorted.
Khal’s visage stayed calm. “You chose Father because he was pleasing to you.”
“That was different.”
“Pray tell me how.”
“It was different because I was not being selfish on the edge of war!”
“So if the Val Drak were marshaling then, you’d have been right to reject the call of your heart? You’d have been right to walk away from my Father?”
“Yes!”
“Then you have raised a more selfish warrior than you were. Because I am doing as you did.”
“I will throw her out!”
“Then I will leave with her.”
“You do not know what you’re saying.”
“Do you? Have you thought through banishing me? Mother?”
Her nostrils flared again. Her knuckles were white on her bowl.
His voice softened. “You raised me to keep my word. If I am foolish, I am foolish. But I have given it.”
She made a sound like disgust was phlegm in her throat. “Their ceremonies mean nothing.”
Piotr chuckled, soothing, “Well that can be easily remedied, my love. They can take the orc rites?—"
“It’s already done,” Khal snapped, and he flinched.
Now even Piotr was staring.
“...it's not necessary,” he amended, quieter.
“You want to keep the enemy's daughter at your side, but you can't be bothered to take her as an orc?” Drazha glared.
“It has been done. To fulfill their customs.”
“But not for ours.”
“It's the same.”
She bared her teeth. “It is not.”
“Can someone tell me?” I asked. “What this means?”
And Khal was not meeting my eyes.
“Well, my dear,” Piotr said, a forced jollity. “There are promises, a bit of ceremony, gifts are exchanged?—"
