Chapter One
OnthemorningofTaegan’s wedding day, he arrived at the archery range at sunrise. It was not a joyful or even pleasant morning, and it was only the repetitive exercise keeping his attention that pushed down his frustration. Never in his life had he imagined his wedding day would be like this.
A few hours after sunrise, he was joined by Kelvhan, a warlock in the service of the royal library. They did not speak, but Kelvhan watched quietly as Taegan fired arrow after arrow, most hitting the bullseye of each target, but some not quite hitting the center. As the morning stretched on, they remained silent; everything that needed to be said had already been spoken, and Taegan knew they were only enjoying their last secret moments together. Although, he could hardly say he was enjoying the moment—the tension unspoken between them was far from pleasant.
Around mid-morning, Taegan’s attendant approached them from the castle.
“Prince Taegan, the king has requested your presence in the main courtyard,” he said, keeping his gaze carefully away from Kelvhan. “The procession is arriving.”
Taegan sighed, and pulled the quiver off his hip, ignoring the way his fingers trembled. “I’ll be there in just a moment,” he replied, his eyes flicking over to Kelvhan’s for an instant. “Leave us. I’ll catch up.”
“Of course,” his attendant, Aerik, replied, bowing his head before walking back the way he came. Taegan watched him leave, then turned to face Kelvhan again. The other man’s face was grim.
“This is goodbye,” Taegan said slowly, stepping toward him. He touched Kelvhan’s arm; Kelvhan met his gaze for only a moment before looking away.
“For now,” he replied tersely, and Taegan lowered his eyes. Each time they had spoken, he still clung to the hope things would change, lingering in denial about what was happening. But Kelvhan seemed to sense his thoughts, and added, “I know. It is your duty. But I... I will miss this.”
“I know,” Taegan said. He could think of nothing else to say.
Kelvhan helped him retrieve the rest of his arrows, and took his bow and quiver so he could leave quickly. Their hands touched as he passed over the equipment, and they shared one last look before Taegan turned, and was gone.
He pulled a formal robe over the clothes he was already wearing—no point in changing now, when his servants would bathe and dress him in the early afternoon in preparation for the wedding. It took only a few moments for him to make his way to the main courtyard, where his father and a small cohort of royal guards were waiting.
King Ruven was already dressed in his finery, although it was rare for him not to be dressed exquisitely anytime he might be seen in public. The elven king nodded at him as he approached, his long dark hair falling in front of his face as he did so. Taegan responded with a polite bow of his head, coming to stand at his father’s side.
“Were you at the archery range?” the king asked. Taegan nodded, and Ruven sighed before reaching over to touch his shoulder lightly. “I know this is not ideal,” he continued, still looking toward the main gate of the castle grounds. “But our responsibilities are a double-edged blade. They come with duties as unpleasant as the privileges they allow us to enjoy.”
“I understand,” Taegan replied, and truly he did. As the only child of King Ruven and the late King-Consort Alain, his other father, he had known since childhood that it was all but impossible that he might marry for love alone. But he had expected to marry another elven noble, perhaps even a human royal, to strengthen the ties between nations. To marry a sworn enemy of the elves, the enemy he had trained since his youth to fight against and to lead armies to conquer—this was unprecedented in all aspects.
“You are bringing about a new era to our people. Hopefully, an era of peace that will outlive us both,” the king continued. Taegan nodded tersely, hoping his frustration was not as apparent on his face as it felt. A small, petulant part of him protested that he did notwantpeace; he wanted to be a war hero, to lead his people to victory, to achieve the destiny he’d always been told was his for the taking and that he had worked toward for as long as he could remember. This did not feel like a victory, even if the peace treaty was certainly a milestone achievement in its own right.
The king squeezed his shoulder briefly, then pulled away from him. They both stood, watching the gate—in the distance, they could hear the sound of cheering and music drawing ever closer.
When the celebratory sounds were nearly upon them, the gate to the castle grounds opened, and one of their soldiers rode in on horseback. The warrior was in full elven regalia, wearing a polished silver helm adorned with two delicate, antler-like protrusions—though any elf would know the horns were far more deadly than they appeared with their ends sharpened to a wicked point. The soldier pulled her horse to a stop, and shouted,
“Presenting the Warlord Hrul Bonebreaker, and the full Bonebreaker clan. Do you welcome these guests, my king?”
“I welcome our guests,” Ruven replied steadily, and the soldier rode on toward the castle. Behind him, the orc procession followed, led by the man who must have been Hrul Bonebreaker himself.
Taegan had never seen the warlord in person, but Hrul was the largest orc he had ever witnessed—easily pushing eight feet tall, he was a fearsome sight with massive tusks protruding from his mouth, tattoos covering his body and creeping up his shaved head. Even the horse he rode was the tallest beast Taegan had ever seen, and most of the orcs arriving were on horseback as well. He observed the group closest to Hrul, presumably his wife and many children, one of which he was to wed later that very day. A female orc rode to the right of Hrul, and to the left another male, just as large and brutish looking—likely his eldest son. Taegan did his best to ignore the cold, sinking feeling that coursed through his whole body before settling in his gut.
But before he could get a close look at the rest of the procession, Hrul raised up his massive greataxe—though the weapon looked as tall as Taegan and twice as heavy, he lifted it as easily as Taegan might raise a broom over his head.
“King Ruven,” the orc called out—his voice was gruff, but he was speaking clear elvish. “I have come to honor the terms of the peace treaty between our people.”
“I welcome you, and your clan,” the king replied; though he spoke loudly, he did not shout, and the rest of the din had died down so he was still clearly heard. “Today is a day of celebration, one I hope will be recognized as the beginning of unity between our nations for generations to come.”
“We shall feast!” Hrul exclaimed, and a roar of agreement rose from the orc procession. King Ruven nodded in acceptance, and he glanced toward Taegan, who nodded quickly as well.
“We will meet in the great hall,” Ruven said, before turning to go. Taegan followed, as did the royal guard. He got one last look at the orcs before proceeding down the castle hallway—Hrul appeared to have many children, but one figure near him seemed smaller than the rest. Taegan did not get a clear view, though, before he turned to follow his father back into the castle.
The great hall was already prepared for their arrival—in fact, servants and workers had been preparing it for the past several days. It was decorated for celebration, although there were fewer tables spaced out much further apart than usual, to accommodate the size difference of their guests. Ivy crept along each window, flowers adorned the walls, and magical globules of light floated near the ceiling to illuminate the room like many tiny moons. The room was peaceful for only a moment until the opposite doors swung open and the procession of the Bonebreaker clan and the accompanying elven warriors entered, followed by an entourage of elven nobles attending the wedding.
It was not the elven custom to feast before a wedding, but the orcish custom, so as an act of good faith, they would first dine then prepare for the ceremony, which would then occur in the early evening. Though the appetizers set out looked splendid, and from the smell of it, he knew the rest of the food would be just as delicious, Taegan had little appetite. He sat next to his father at the highest table and took a small sip from a goblet of honey-wine.
“Warlord Bonebreaker,” King Ruven said after everyone had found a place. “I present to you my son, the sole heir of Aefraya, Taegan Glynzeiros.” Taegan raised his glass and nodded his head in acknowledgment as a few cheers rose from around the room.
“And to you, King Ruven Glynzeiros,” Hrul Bonebreaker replied. “I present my third son, Zorvut the Relentless, to join our families.” He gestured to the orc sitting across from him—the smaller figure Taegan had seen. While the orc was still certainly nearly seven feet tall, if not more, he was noticeably shorter than his father and siblings. His features seemed somehow softer, his tusks less pronounced—while the sides of his head were shaved and the remaining jet-black hair pulled back into a short ponytail, he did not have any of the visible tattoos Hrul had. The smaller orc, Zorvut, nodded in acknowledgment as well—like Taegan, his tight-lipped expression was barely passable as a smile.
