Over my dead body.
The crown'sdelegation arrives exactly three days later, at midday.
I'm waiting for them in the main courtyard with my full garrison assembled—two hundred soldiers in battle armor,weapons sharp, faces grim. A show of force. A reminder that Blackwood Fortress doesn't bow to threats.
Annora stands at my side.
Not behind me where she'd be "safe."
Not hidden in some tower where she'd be "appropriate."
Beside me.
Where she belongs.
She's wearing a dress I had commissioned for her—deep green wool with silver embroidery, fitted to actually suit her frame instead of hanging like a sack. Her hair is braided and pinned, and there's a knife at her belt that Rurik gave her three days ago.
"Just in case," he'd said.
She'd smiled and promised to aim for soft spots.
Now she stands straight-backed and steady, and if she's afraid, she's hiding it better than most soldiers I've seen before their first battle.
The gates open.
The crown's delegation rides in like they own the place—twenty soldiers in royal livery, a handful of officials in ceremonial robes, and at the center, a thin man with calculating eyes and the kind of smile that makes me want to check my coin purse.
Lord Chamberlain Corvus. The king's personal envoy.
Dangerous in the way poisonous things are dangerous—not through strength, but through knowing exactly where to sink the knife.
He dismounts with practiced grace and approaches with that smile fixed in place.
"Lord Vorak." His voice is smooth. Pleasant. "How good of you to receive us."
"Chamberlain." I don't move. Don't smile. "You've come a long way for nothing."
The smile flickers. "I beg your pardon?"
"You heard me."
He glances at Annora, and I watch his gaze sharpen with recognition. With assessment.
Calculating her value like she's livestock.
My claws flex.
"The Compact is quite clear, my lord," Corvus says, pulling his attention back to me. "Thirty days. The Crown is calling the return clause early—because they don’t like losing control. The bride must be returned to crown custody for... evaluation."
"No."
The word falls like a stone into still water.
Ripples of shock spread through his entourage. Murmurs. A few hands drift toward weapons.
My soldiers don't move. Don't flinch.
But I can feel them coiling. Ready.
