PROLOGUE
Lovers’ hearts are equally powerful, as they are pathetically weak. The bond formed between individuals is one difficult to sever, but if managed, it can cause destruction to not only one heart, but two.
Queen Cayleen knew this when her most loyal spy and her greatest apothecary fell in love. She saw it before they ever did—in the slightest of glances, the way they tensed when the other’s name was spoken, even in the sly touches exchanged as they passed one another in the corridors.
It came as no surprise when the couple had requested to marry and live out the rest of their days away from court.
Anger exploded inside the Queen, for all members of the Foxes knew love was against the rules. She knew her response had to be calculated. Any sign of condemnation and she could destroy two yearning hearts. Of course, she cared little for their affection, but a saddened heart would wither away their skills, skills that made them ever so valuable.
Instead of denying their request, she granted the couple permission to marry and leave court, but they had to stay within the boundaries of her kingdom. As payment for her graciousness, she made them vow that if ever there came a time, whether a year or a hundred from now, in which she needed their assistance once more, they would offer it with no hesitations.
The couple agreed, but love is blinding and gives little visibility into the future. In their adoration, they forgot that all debts must be paid, especially a debt with the Queen of Haymel.
PART ONE
PROPOSITIONS
1
ARIAH
Over a dozen available chairs take up space in the near-empty lobby of the council building, and of course, my soon-to-be husband takes the seat next to me.
We aren’t officially betrothed, but I refuse to pretend that’s not our purpose here. The saddest part about this situation, other than a lack of consent on my end, is that I don’t even know his name. Nor do I want to. And despite living in a fairly small village, his face is not one I recognize. He is an utter stranger to me.
Tugging at his chamomile yellow overcoat, as he adjusts in his seat, particles of dust rise from the patches of soot scattered on his clothing.
The man sneaks a peek at my embroidered design as my needle slips through lilac linen, finishing another daisy. While I work the needle, he begins sucking at his teeth.
It’s a rather vexing noise that he incessantly carries on with. When the sucking isn’t enough, he uses the nail of his right pinky, an exceptionally long nail, to pick at his teeth. Evenwith its length, he struggles with whatever object is between the crevices.
Wanting him to stop, I dig through my bag and find my old worn canister of needles—a necessity I always carry with me.
“Here.” He frowns at the metal sliver I point at him. “Might work better than your nail.”
His smile is weak, but he takes my offer and digs at the disturbance in his mouth. With a flick of his wrist, he gives one final suck.
Just as my hand begins working my needle again, something wet and green hits my arm.
Absolutely disgusting.
Flicking it away, I fall back in my seat.
He doesn’t notice the old food particle he flings onto my skin, and therefore makes no attempts at apologizing. Instead, he hums a little too loudly while watching passersby out the window.
Side-eyeing him, I take in more of his frame and realize his coat is a few sizes too big, swallowing him whole. It’s probably not even his. It looks second-hand and rather dated, perhaps something he borrowed from his father or an older brother.
His skin reminds me of the raven trees that grow around the back of our cottage. When I was a child, my father used to make the finest furnishings from their dark, enriched trunks. I’ll give it to him, his skin is nice, like black silk. However, his brightly colored clothes completely drown out the cool undertones of his complexion, and while it shouldn’t be an issue for me, it is. He needs something more like a cobalt blue or dark gray. I bet even a deep purple would do well. Before losing myself in color palettes that would suit him, I pull myself out of those thoughts.
He clears his throat, and my eyes drop to the marble floor before he catches me staring. He releases a few coughs, and then the sound of hacking has me staring again. Much like mycat, Ella, it sounds as if he has hair of his own stuck in his passageways. The hacking is phlegmy, and I suddenly realize what he is trying to cough up. He stops when mucus pools into his mouth. With nowhere to spit, he lets it go back to where it came from, and I think I’m going to be sick.
The thought of having this man touch any part of me makes me want to regurgitate every meal I’ve had for the past week.
“You have to be open to the idea,” Jaleese, my older sister, advised me before coming here. And to that I had said, “The hell I do.” I don’t want any part of this. The system may have worked for her, but my doubts are solidified and I want out.
“Ariah Tyddle,” an older woman summons me, poking her head out of the grand doors of the lobby. She has a smile that beams like the sun. Warm and inviting. At least one of us is happy. “It’s your turn, dear. Council will see you now.”
Before I can stand, my husband-to-be is out of his seat and standing next to me.
