Page 9 of Bride of Ash & Dust

“I’m so glad you found me,” I declare, speaking loudly for the benefit of the Vsenrog guards outside the tent. “I’ll feel better now that you’re traveling with us.”

Elrick shakes his head. “I can’t stay,” he says.

His voice is flat and even, and it makes something inside my chest crack open. I hadn’t realized how much I was looking forward to his company until this moment, when it’s taken away. I open my mouth, but I can’t even find the words to protest.

“Father,” Elrick says, spitting the word out, “requires my services. I’m to continue my diplomatic tour and then pay a visit to Ethiria to appease their king after Father dissolved your marriage contract to Prince Laurance.”

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath.

Elrick smiles weakly at my unladylike vulgarity. Gods, I love him so much it makes my heart ache. For the first time, I wonder what my new husband will think of my foul mouth. The thought makes me feel cold; I try to swallow it.

“You’ll make a wonderful king,” I whisper to my brother.

He frowns. He doesn’t like to talk about his ascension to the throne, one of many topics that infuriates our father. But it’s true. I don’t think our father has ever spoken to the mayors outside of the castle. He probably couldn’t recognize the different villages of his kingdom. Elrick knows them all. He knows their worries, their fears. Hells, he even knows the mayors’ wives’ names.

Elrick will be a spectacular king. And, apparently, I’m going to be his spy.

“I’ll visit Vsenrog as soon as I can,” Elrick says, glancing at Anura with a forced smile that only makes him look more miserable. My chest aches as I realize how close those words are to what Blayne said the last time I saw him.

“Congratulations, Lilias,” Elrick continues, speaking loudly so the guards won’t miss a single word. “I hope you and Prince Zarek are very happy together.”

He steps closer, then pulls me into his arms. His voice is low and soft in my ear.

“Whatever you do,” he whispers to me, “don’t trust the snake.”

Chapter 6

Zarek

NO GOOD OPTIONS

I’ve been watching the caravan since before the sun rose. They were supposed to arrive yesterday, but the weather over the last three days has been terrible, cold and wet with howling winds from the north. It should have stopped them completely. Instead, it looks like it only slowed them down.

All the guards in the approaching caravan appear to be from Vsenrog, which is interesting. If the king of Marion had a drop of sense, he’d have insisted that his own soldiers accompany his daughter into the much larger and stronger kingdom on his borders.

Perhaps he doesn’t think his daughter is worth protecting. Which makes sense, I suppose, if she’s pregnant. And if he’s a complete asshole.

My horse stamps the ground. I shiver beneath my cloak. The wind this morning is freezing, showing that winter still holds its blade against spring’s throat, but at least it’s dry.

I narrow my eyes at the caravan approaching the palace, but I still can’t make out the probably pregnant woman who’s going to be my bride. If I claim the child she’s carrying, King Malrik will have yet another screw to tighten around my balls. But if I send her home, we’re both fucked.

I snort, and my horse imitates me. There are no good options here. And why should that surprise me? I haven’t had any good options since I was marched down the mountain and handed over to Malrik’s court.

I pull my hood up and begin the slow descent through the terraced farmland that surrounds Vsenrog’s capital city. The sun spills over the mountains, revealing tiny green sprouts poking through the earth. In a month or two, the ground will be covered with new life, the orchards will be blooming, and even the gulleys by the road will be filled with flowers.

That’s the time to have a wedding, the peak of spring.

With a pang, I remember my father pushing the door open and walking to the hearth to pull my mother into a deep, slow kiss. Behind his back, he held a bouquet of wildflowers in his massive, rough hands, and as I watched, I thought, so that’s what love is.

I shiver again. That memory hurts; I shove it back down, even as my fingers come to my neck and trace the metal vial on the chain around my throat. Slowly, birds begin to sing from the bare branches around me. The caravan approaches the city walls, and people emerge from the houses near the road to watch them pass. A princess from another kingdom coming to marry into King Malrik’s court is entertainment enough for a raw, early spring morning.

Dogs bark as the Vsenrog soldiers march up the street on their horses, and people lean out of their windows as the houses get thicker. Gods, the caravan must have traveled through the night to get here so early. Their exhausted horses move slowly, and again, I wonder what in the name of the nine hells is worth this rush. Is it just to cover a pregnancy?

And there she is.

The princess of Marion is wearing a thick crimson cloak, the color of brides. She’s riding a tall, dark horse in the middle of the caravan. I can’t quite make out her features at this distance; all I see is a smudge of dark hair, the hint of bright cheeks, and dark eyes.

She must be cold and exhausted if they’ve traveled all night. I wonder how the city walls look to her, or the acres of bleak farmland struggling to push off the veil of winter.