Everyone knew that today Lyssena would meet her knight.
Gods, she hoped he was a good man. She wished for a happy life and to be a happy wife.
Bees hummed in the wildflowers that edged the road, and somewhere nearby, a dog barked. Once, then again. The air carried a medley of smells: baking bread, smoke, sweat, and the sweet tang of ripe fruit. It was an ordinary day for everyone else but Lyssena.
As she neared her home, Lyssena finally lifted her gaze. She rushed past the garden, past the fat pigs snorting near the fence, and past the gate where vines curled like lazy fingers. Her mother stood by the open door, brushing flour from her dress, leaving pale streaks in scattered patterns across the fabric.
“Come, Lyssena, come!” her mother urged, already turning to lead her inside.
Lyssena followed, and the door closed softly behind them.
“Have you prayed for tonight?” her mother asked.
Lyssena nodded and reached up to remove the scarf from her head. “I did. And I was careful.”
“Did anyone notice?”
“The leader and the keeper, Mother. But no one else.”
She folded the scarf and held it out. Her mother took it with distracted fingers, her gaze flicking along Lyssena’s sides, never quite settling on her face.
“Don’t worry,” Lyssena added gently. “I haven’t lied.”
“What did you say?”
“I prayed for a good harvest.”
“It wasn’t a lie?”
“It wasn’t. I truly did pray for that.”
Her mother exhaled slowly, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“Your father said he’s a good man,” she said at last, clutching the folded scarf in both hands. “Yes. A very good man. I know we did well.”
She nodded, more to herself than to Lyssena, and there was something in the gesture that felt strange. Not unkind.
Just. . . odd.
The next few hours passed quickly.
Her father and brothers were out hunting while Lyssena remained home with her mother, preparing to welcome the man who would soon be her husband.
Most girls were married much younger than she was—at sixteen, mostly—but her father had waited. He wanted to secure their future properly, and with Lyssena’s green eyes and pretty face, that had been more than possible. This knight, Kaan, she had heard his name was, had been at war for many years. He had given their people a name to be proud of. He had coin, land, and reputation. Lyssena was afraid, but not too much. She knew her father would never lie.
“You have such lush waves, dear,” her mother murmured, coughing softly as she drew the comb gently through Lyssena’s hair. “I used to have that kind of hair when I was young. Yourfather once held it in his palm and said our children would have the same. And he was right.”
Lyssena smiled at her reflection in the mirror, its wooden frame carved with curling vines. She loved that mirror. Its frame was as light as her hair.
Lyssena and her mother sat in her room—hers alone—while her brothers shared the larger room across the hall. She had always been her parents’ little princess. In this quiet moment, she felt it more than ever.
Her hair fell in soft waves down her back, the color of fresh-cut wheat. Most summers, the sun would have kissed her skin with freckles across her nose and cheeks. But this year, she hadn’t worked the fields. This summer had been set aside. Reserved for preparing.
For meeting her knight.
“Do you think the knight is kind?” Lyssena asked, pulling the brushed half of her hair over one shoulder as her mother began working through the rest.
The room was quiet, save for the soft scratch of the comb and the faint crackle of a few lit candles. Her mother had already scrubbed her back until it gleamed.Glowing,she had called it. Lyssena must look her best for tonight.
