Page 10 of Bride of Ash & Dust

Maybe she was warned. Maybe this is what she expected, tall stone walls and people gawking at her as if she were a captured animal in a cage.

What has she heard about me, this woman who’s just been ripped out of her home and forced to ride through the predawn chill? Has she heard that I murdered the prince of Lisal because he took my seat at the banquet table, or that I killed Aning’s finest general over a game of chess?

And I did kill those men. Not for those reasons, but I doubt that would be much comfort to the woman who probably feels like she’s being marched into the arms of a monster.

I kick my horse forward and trot into the road just as the first soldiers reach the curve before the wall. I nod, and they nod back. I don’t know all of them, but I make it my business to be on good terms with as many of Malrik’s soldiers as possible. I join the procession, then drop back as the forward guard enters the city walls.

When the crown prince’s future wife arrived from the Kingdom of Aning, there was music. Hells, there were streamers and flowers; the marketplace closed for three days so that people could celebrate in the streets.

Now, there’s a nod from the guard at the gates, and nothing but the cold blue sky ahead. Just in case I had any questions about my place in the scheme of things.

I pull back on the reins, and my horse slows. Another pair of guards moves in front of me, and then a third pair with a scowling woman on a brown horse sandwiched between them. The princess’s handmaiden, I would guess. I believe she was only allowed one.

And then I see a flash of crimson in the corner of my eye. I cluck under my breath, and my horse moves closer to the woman I will marry tomorrow.

I’m not supposed to be here, of course, but it’s not like anyone in the crowd is close enough to King Malrik to rat me out, and the soldiers couldn't care less whether I sneak in one whispered conversation with the woman who is about to swear her life to me. Malrik might be annoyed, but hells, he needs me more than ever now. I just wish I knew what exactly he hopes to gain from this.

She might know.

And that’s why I’m taking this risk, isn’t it? Not out of curiosity, but to give myself an advantage, however slight. That’s how I’ve survived for so long in the palace, a snake among the royalty.

I turn toward the woman beside me, my future bride, and smile.

Chapter 7

Lilias

THRUST, PARRY, RIPOSTE

He must be someone important, the man in black who just entered the procession as if he belongs here. The guards don’t seem concerned, and he knows how to handle his horse. He falls in next to me. In response, the guard who spent the night outside my tent pulls his horse up ahead, until he’s riding beside Anura.

The man in black smiles at me.

He has a face like a mask, with high cheekbones and dark eyes that make me think of those bedtime stories about elves who lure young women into the forest. Something flutters uncomfortably in my gut, a strange little whisper that makes me remember the jousting lessons I took as a girl. I feel like he’s about to draw a blade.

“Welcome to Vsenrog,” the man says, almost in a whisper.

And then his eyes fall to my chest. Of course. I swallow the impulse to roll my eyes, and give him a tight, silent smile instead.

“I trust your journey was as pleasant as possible, given the circumstances?” he continues in that low voice.

I have no idea what circumstances he’s referring to. Traveling with Vsenrog soldiers? Riding through the night to make sure I arrive in time to marry a man I’ve never met?

Thrust, parry, and riposte, my mind whispers. Sword fighting is not so different from polite conversation, after all.

“It was lovely,” I reply.

He smiles. His gaze snags on my chest a second time. It makes me think of Blayne and how I unlaced my bodice before I begged him to teach me how to kiss, but that memory is sour in the shadows of Vsenrog’s city walls.

“I hear Marion is lovely,” the man says. “Their horses are famous.”

I don’t reply. Perhaps he’s trying to impress me by showing he’s capable of reading simple facts from a book.

“As are their mines,” he finishes.

Our eyes meet, just for a heartbeat. That strange flutter ripples through my core again, as if something deep inside is urging me to run. He has a beautiful face, this man. Somehow, he manages to make it look threatening.

He must be part of the royal court. He knows about the new gold mine, and he’s fishing for information. But why? Is he a spy trying to pry information out of me?