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  “So I’ve heard.” Valoria raised an eyebrow.

  He wondered if she knew the king’s undying love for Islador had driven his second wife into the minstrel’s arms. “This is his second wife, Sybil of Jamal. Although you may have heard the stories of her exile, she now lives in the farthest turret on the southern side of the castle and advises her daughter, the queen.”

  Sybil’s delicate, youthful face in the painting was much different than the wrinkled, sun-splotched old woman she’d grown into. Yet, she’d grown wiser as well, at least in Nathaniel’s eyes. Although not well liked by Ebonvale’s people, she was like a grandmother to him.

  “I’m not like others. I do not judge matters which I’m not a part of.”

  Nathaniel nodded, impressed. This minstrel woman would be a fair ruler someday. He pointed up ahead. “Next are the king and queen.”

  Danika stood with Bron at her side. Her fierce stare showed the passion underlying her regal composure, while her hand gripping tightly on Bron’s arm showed her undying love for her husband. She’d risked the kingdom’s safety taking Bron instead of Valoria’s father as her husband. She loved the warrior more than anything in the world.

  Nathaniel paused, studying the pair. Maybe someday, he’d find such a love.

  “Finally, here’s the portrait you’ve been waiting for: Braxten Thoridian, son of Danika and Bron.” His brother stood in his silver battle armor, brandishing his thick, jewel-crusted claymore as if preparing to slay a wyvern.

  Valoria paused at Brax’s painting. The paint revealed the hard lines of his massive jaw, sleek shaved head, and barrel-shaped nose. Some women were drawn to intimidation and strength. But her face gave away no emotion.

  Nathaniel leaned toward her, searching her silver eyes. He’d be lying if he told himself he didn’t care what she thought.

  Chapter 3

  Empty Throne

  Valoria struggled to keep a straight face as she beheld her future intended. With arms wide as tree trunks, a square nose and beady eyes, he reminded her more of a raging bull than a man. He oozed masculinity and strength, but lacked tenderness in his blunt features. He looked more apt to slice off her arm than bring her flowers.

  She glanced away, unable to hold Brax’s war-hungry gaze. One painting was missing from the rest. Where was Nathaniel’s likeness?

  The soldier stood at arm’s length, studying the painting of the king and queen. Still, she could feel his gaze burn her cheek when she wasn’t looking in his direction. “Why are you not on this wall?”

  “I have no place there. I am not of their blood. Come.” He gestured toward the throne room. “We should not tarry.”

  Valoria bit her tongue. Right. When the question focuses on him, he ushers her ahead. How could she tell him she wasn’t ready? Would she ever be?

  The large oaken doors spread open, inviting them in. Attendants wearing velvet robes in Ebonvale’s purple colors bowed as the procession passed and entered the main audience chamber. The pennants of the house of Thoridian dangled from lofty rafters, waving lazily in the breeze from open windows.

  On the floor, marble tiles depicted the galaxy above, with swirling cosmic clouds and glinting stars of mica. The artist’s work represented Ebonvale’s never-ending reach throughout the world, stretching throughout the universe. Valoria tried not to compare their arrogant design with the House of Song’s peaceful dome.

  At the center of the cosmos stood three thrones made from the pillars of Helena and Horred’s temple before the dead army stomped their palace to ruins. Ancient craftsmen had carved climbing ivy and wandering butterflies in the ivory. Some of the images had broken off or crumbled. Yet, by the places where the artwork remained unscathed, she could sense how beautiful the ancient temple must have been.

  The doors closed behind her, leaving her to face her new family with no way to escape. If only she had her harp to calm herself with soothing tones.

  King Bronford Thoridian sat on the largest throne to the right, wearing his battle armor. His shaved head gleamed pale white like his son’s. But this man had kinder eyes. Whether because of the slight wrinkles around them, or by a hint of sympathy, Valoria did not know.

  Beside the king sat Danika Thoridian, the woman who’d stolen her father’s heart. Even though the queen had aged past her prime, her blonde hair glowed golden in the sun, and her sharp green eyes sparkled like emeralds. A necklace of five violet pearls lay around her neck. She was gorgeous, and Valoria could see why her father had been taken with the former princess.

  The queen’s foxy features showed compassion where Valoria thought there’d be none. “Helena’s sword! Are you harmed, my child?”

  “No, my lady.” Valoria bowed slowly before them, ensuring all saw her bloodied dress. “But the House of Song has sacrificed much to come.”

  “As it always has.” Sadness weighed down the queen’s pretty face.

  Valoria straightened, studying her. What other emotions lurked in the furrow of the Queen’s perfect brow? Regret? Valoria crossed her arms. “And will continue to do to ensure our people’s union.” Her chest tightened. Had she said too much?

  Danika Thoridian’s lips pursed as she stood. “Hopefully, your sacrifice is at an end.”

  Hadn’t it just started? An uncomfortable silence reigned as Valoria struggled to keep that last thought to herself. As if to ease the awkwardness of the moment, the king stood and walked down the steps to take her arm. His fingers were rough with calluses and thick as sausages, but his skin was clean. She’d heard he hadn’t been in battle since he’d damaged his left knee running after raiders last year.

  His tone was soft and kind. “You’ve had a rough journey. Please, take my son’s seat by our side.”

  Valoria glanced at the empty chair resting beside the king. Where was Braxten? Should he not find the time to welcome her? Anger ripped through her, followed by a humiliating sense of relief. She’d have to face him some day, why not get it over with?

  “Braxten is defending our southern border with the Royal Guard.” The king showed her to her intended’s throne. She sat upon the white ivory, feeling like a child in a giant’s chair. Hard stone pressed against her behind, and the armrests were cold as winter’s chill. Hopefully, the man who sat there didn’t take after his throne.

  Nathaniel approached the king and queen, bowing before them. As he briefed them on the attack, Valoria tried not to watch him too closely. She found her eyes returning to the solid lines of his face every chance she got. He was the only one among the Thoridians who made her feel at home.

  But he wasn’t a Thoridian, now was he?

  The doors to the hall burst open, and Braxten strode through, his armor chinking with each step. The portrait had not done his size justice. He towered over the other men, wide as an ox with bulging arms and legs. A bloody gash crossed his left cheek, and he wiped the blood away as if it was sweat. His wide-set eyes were dark and fierce, his gait purposeful and swift. A brown sack dangled from his fist.

  Valoria’s throat constricted. Was it a gift for her?

  The underside of the sack dripped dark liquid on the marble floor. If it was a wedding gift, than it was a strange one indeed.

  Not even glancing in her direction, Brax approached the king and queen and upended the sack. A round head of wet black hair bounced twice, then rested with two glaring eyes staring at Valoria. Its mouth lay open in a silent scream. Horror and disgust rolled through her. She tightened her grip on the throne, fingernails digging into the ivory.

  “The leader of the resistance.” Brax’s voice was deep and velvety, growling with each word. It resonated deep inside Valoria’s gut. It was a voice she’d remember, a voice that would haunt her dreams.

  The queen covered her mouth. The king waved her back. His face remained stoic as he approached his son. “Have you forgotten what day this is?”

  “I thought you’d be proud, father.” Brax bowed his head.

 
“I am always proud of you, son.” The king put a hand on his shoulder. “But, now you must forget our battles. Your future wife has come.”

  The king gestured toward Valoria, and Brax turned in her direction. She tried to keep her face expressionless as his eyes bore into her, pulling her apart bone by bone. He seemed disappointed somehow, as if they’d given him a toy he didn’t need. Still, Brax bowed his head to her. “My lady.”

  She nodded once, acknowledging him, but she could not accept him in her heart.

  The warrior stood and turned back to the king. Although he spoke under his voice, Valoria’s trained minstrel ears could hear. “I expect a counterattack in the next few days. I must fortify the southern border.”

  The king sighed. “My son—always thinking of the safety of our kingdom.” He put a hand on Braxten’s shoulder. “Be back by tonight’s dinner feast. You must take your seat next to our future princess.”

  “As you will, father.” Brax nodded, then stormed off as quick as he’d come with his men following him. Awkward silence fell as his footsteps receded down the hall.

  Nathaniel took the sack and covered the head. He turned to the nearest of the Royal Guard and whispered under his breath. “Get that foul thing out of here.”

  Valoria hunched over in her chair as a sick pang hit her stomach. Panic rose inside her. Could she retain her composure, or would she explode from disappointment in front of the entire audience in the main hall? Grinding her teeth, she straightened and held onto the throne with both hands. She did this for her father, and for the House of Song.

  Nathaniel addressed the king and queen. “The princess has had a rough journey. Allow me to escort her to her quarters, where she can rest for the evening’s festivities.”

  “Of course.” The king smiled at her, and it was not unkind. If only his tenderness had passed to his son.

  Valoria stood and accepted Nathaniel’s arm. They exited the throne room in silence. Only after the doors closed behind her did she breathe again.

  “The king and queen have chosen the finest quarters for you and your handmaidens.” Nathaniel gazed straight ahead as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. Had her introduction to the king and queen disappointed him? Could he sense her reservation, her fear?

  “They are very kind.”

  “They have awaited your coming for a long time.”

  “As did the House of Song.”

  “I’m sure.” He glanced in her direction. “I’m not sure your father has told you, but as a young boy I fought at his side.”

  Valoria perked up. Any mention of her father—her home—raised her spirits. “No, he did not say.”

  Nathaniel smiled as if remembering a joke. “We barely escaped a battle with kobolds in the red woods. From there, we entered the caves of Darkenbite and met the albinos.”

  “Sounds like quite an adventure.” Why had her father failed to tell her of it? “Who else was on this quest?”

  “The king and queen. This happened before they were married, back when Bronford Thoridian was her bodyguard.”

  Valoria nodded. There was her answer. Her father stayed away from that time in his life as if it were poison. Yet, he could never bring himself to forget.

  “It was the greatest adventure of my life.” The hall ended in a corridor that parted both ways. Nathaniel gestured toward the right.

  At least some good had come of it. “So far.”

  Nathaniel turned toward her with a question in his eyes.

  She smiled for the first time that day. “You have many years left to have more.” Even though the story aged him about ten years older than her, for her mother had birthed her two years after the queen had stolen her father’s heart.

  A smile slipped through his lips before he turned back and showed her to an oaken door. “Your room, my lady.”

  Nathaniel opened the door to bright sunlight filtering through three large triangular windows. A four-poster canopy bed draped in light blue satin sat at the room’s center before a grand fireplace. Threaded rugs from Jamal spread across the marble floor in vibrant azure and vermillion hues. A porcelain tub and wash basin sat beside a mirror as large as the wall. On the other side hung a tapestry of Helena and Horred on their wedding day.

  Valoria swallowed hard, trying to remind herself this was not a prison. Or at least, not meant to be. Her trunks had been placed at the foot of the bed, and next to them sat her harp. She knelt beside it, feeling the strings under her fingertips.

  “Is it to your liking, Princess?” Nathaniel stood at the doorway, awaiting her approval.

  “It is more than enough.” She stood, remembering her place. If she was to be queen someday, she couldn’t throw herself at the floor whenever she saw her harp. “Thank you, Commander Blueborough.”

  “Lieutenant. But please”—he took her hand—“call me Nathaniel.”

  His fingers lingered on hers, and she gave him a questioning look. What did he desire? Her trust? Or was it something more? Would he tempt his own brother’s intended?

  Nathaniel pulled away. “I’m the second in command of the army. The name does not suit me.”

  As if that was the reason. Valoria inhaled sharply. “So be it.”

  He bowed before her. “I must take my leave. I’ll see you tonight at the dinner festival.”

  Yes, he would. But Brax would be there, and she doubted he’d talk to her while she sat next to that warhorse of a man. “See you tonight.”

  He left, closing the door behind him. Valoria surveyed her room again. The main room led to a smaller antechamber for her handmaidens. Although Cadence’s trunk was there, and her embroidery slung across the bed, the room lay empty.

  She probably looked after the wounded, which was where Valoria would rather be. But, future queens did not run around without bodyguards, tending to wounded soldiers. Her future was a lonely, secluded one. No matter, Valoria had her harp. She could play soothing arpeggios until dinner. She opened her trunk, choosing a plain red velvet dress and laid the fabric upon the bed. Better not wear the blood-stained monstrosity her betrothal gown had become.

  How befitting.

  Her intended was a monstrosity in himself. Had he looked at her for more than a few heartbeats, maybe he would have noticed the blood. Then, she might have earned a measure of his respect.

  Taking her harp in her hands, she strummed a chord and breathed deeply. Thoughts of the day disappeared as her music echoed through the room. She played an old reverie Echo had taught her as a child. One by one, the chords built upon themselves to reveal a lilting melody. The song never failed to warm her hands and calm her.

  Outside, the wind picked up, howling through the towers of the upper battlements. Her triangular windows snapped open, and the curtains flew over her. Valoria stopped playing and swiped the fabric away. She approached the window, dread eating her stomach away.

  Beyond the city walls and the blooming orchards lay the dark mountains of Sill. Lightning struck the highest peak as gray storm clouds clustered around the valley separating the foothills from the meadows. A storm brewed.

  She moved to shut the window. A voice chanting a strange language rode the wind, holding her still. Valoria leaned over the balcony, the wind whipping her hair from its braids. The stone turned her fingers to ice. For a moment, the voice became clear, and she could have sworn she heard her name.

  Chapter 4

  Simmering Meat

  Valoria’s velvet gown weighed her down as she hustled across the corridor. She dared not wear anything more revealing. Any show of skin would only make her more vulnerable, more pitiful in Brax’s cold eyes. She was not desperate for his attention.

  “It’s not my fault you’re late.” Cadence shouted after her.

  “No. But coming back soaked in blood did not help.” Valoria struggled to remember the path Nathaniel had taken her down earlier. Was it a right or a left at the large painting of King Thoridian cutting the head off the n
ecromancer?

  “I told you not to wait for me.” Cadence caught up and tripped on her hem, tumbling forward.

  Valoria caught her and hefted her upright. “I’m not attending this alone.”

  “Very well. But, I’m not following you on your wedding night. Sooner or later you’ll have to face him without my company.”

  Valoria preferred later. After witnessing an arrow pierce a minstrel’s back, Echo’s bloody shoulder, a man’s decapitated head bounce on the floor, and a spine-chilling voice call her name on the wind, she’d had enough unpleasantness to last a fortnight. “All I want to do is get through this dinner.”

  The stench of roasting meat hit her nose, and she coughed, covering her mouth with her sleeve. Unlike the minstrels’ plant-based fare, Ebonvale’s people savored their animal flesh. Just one more aspect of castle life she had to accommodate. “This way. I hope they have some roasted turnips or squash.”

  Cadence smoothed down her dress. “I wouldn’t count your wyvern’s eggs before they hatch.”

  They turned the corner into a room lit by flaming chandeliers. Two guards stood at duty, ushering them forward into a room filled with guests drowned in gowns and finery. As she entered, the people bowed before her, lowering their faces toward the floor. The royal family sat at a long table along the back wall below three stained glass windows.

  At the center of the table, a roasted hog sat on a silver tray. Brax sat above the snout, gorging on a piece of the hog’s leg. He glanced up, and put the leg down, chewing hungrily as he laid his uninterested eyes on her.

  Disgust sickened her stomach. Could anyone else be so ill-suited for her? Might as well deliver her to the undead. She could not expect them to wait for her to eat. Yet, she felt like a servant wandering into a ball with no serving platter in her hand.

  King Thoridian stood and extended his arm. “Dear Princess Valoria, your presence is a welcome sight. We wondered if you’d gotten lost. I was about to send Lieutenant Blueborough to check on you.”