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“Irissa, this is Sedric Praetor.” My father’s voice cuts through the awkward silence and draws my attention to the dais. His expression is still stone cold, but less menacing. “His son was killed last night in one of the minotaur attacks. I’ve just finished telling him how your betrothal to the heir of Ulleh will bring peace between our kingdoms and prevent anything like this from happening again.”
The blood drains from my face as reality slams into me, and my head swims.
Oh shit.
Lizette doesn’t have to give me her “I told you so” speech, because my skin is already crawling with guilt. I interrupted their meeting to complain about my betrothal, to demand that my father renounce it, which was probably the last thing any of these villagers wanted to hear. They’re counting on me, hoping that my marriage will bring long-awaited peace and safety to our home.
And here I am, whining about having to do that for them.
Embarrassment heats my skin. I want to crawl into a hole and never show my face again.
“I-I am so sorry for your loss.” The shock has my heart slamming against my ribs and the room crashing down around me. An invisible chord tightens around my chest and as it gets hard to breathe, I place a hand on my stomach, as if it will help.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low. “We look forward to a day when no one will suffer, when we aren’t constantly under attack. Your wedding will make that possible.”
Nausea threatens to bring me to my knees, and I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched. How could these people still have so much respect for me after I showed my royal ass in front of them? Could their hope outweigh their resentment? They’re counting on me to make their future safer, better, brighter.
I curse internally.
If there’s one thing I will always fight for, it’s my people. They didn’t ask for this war, and the way I see it, it’s my duty to protect them in any way I can. It’s my job, my birthright. I might not do this for my father, and I’m certainly not doing it for myself, but if my betrothal is what my people need to keep fighting, so be it.
I’ll hate every second of it, but I’ll do it.
“I will ensure peace between the kingdoms,” I say as gracefully as possible, even though I don’t entirely believe it. I doubt the heir of Ulleh will change his opinions over a few vows, but maybe we can come to a diplomatic arrangement. Hopefully.
One by one, the people gathered in the hall drop to their knees and bow their heads the way they typically do for my father. I’m rarely awarded the honor, but today, they believe I’ve earned it. I, on the other hand, feel like a giant pile of crap and I need to lie down. My head is swimming, dizziness threatening to send me toppling over.
Without another word, I turn on my heel and race past Lizette out the door.
CHAPTERTHREE
Nor
“Nor.”
I look up at the sound of my brother’s voice and find his stocky form filling the open doorway of my room.
“Just because the door is open, doesn’t mean I want to be bothered, Oryx.” My gaze falls to the map laid out on the desk again. I’m too busy studying the lands bordering our kingdom to entertain his banter.
As next in line to the throne, it’s my job to help the kingdom persist, and more specifically,grow. Figuring out where to expand next is no easy task, but by the time I’m king, I plan to have it worked out.
He snorts and steps into the room, the sound of his footsteps grating on my nerves as much as his voice. “I’ll just tell our parents you declined their meeting. I’m sure that will go over well.”
Clenching my jaw, I tear my eyes away from the map again to find him smirking.
“What?” I growl.
He comes closer, leaning against the desk. His weight makes it scoot backwards, and the sound of the feet scraping the floor makes my hairs stand on end.
“Father sent me fetch you,” he says as he crosses his arms over his bulky chest. “What have you done this time?”
Of my four siblings, Oryx looks the most like me. He has gray skin, upturned horns, and a permanently low-drawn brow that gives him an intimidating presence. His short stature and broad build set us apart, though, along with his obnoxious behavior. He can be such a dumbass.
“Are you sure it’s not somethingyoudid that I’m being blamed for?”
He chuckles and raises his shoulders. “No promises. Are you coming?”
Regardless of the reason, making Father wait is never wise. He’s impressively ill-tempered and dangerous when angry. That’s where I get my short fuse from.
