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So, he was eight at the time, and it was not exactly a vow. My heart still wants to linger in a fool’s notion that there is an escape route from this future bearing down upon me.
Also, he is an alpha, and they don’t marry, they mate.
I shouldn’t mind being mated, missing a fancy wedding that I do not even want, instead being claimed, because that is what a barbarian does. They woo their intended, bringing her gifts and taking her for walks, even lavishing her body with carnal attention if she is receptive.
“Have you considered any suitors yet?” Dara asks casually, as she pours me fresh tea.
“I don’t want to think about suitors.” I haven’t told her about the wedding. If I mention it, then it will be real, and I can’t bring myself to burst the perfect moment or even the smaller dream where I am free to visit Dara again. A part of my soul was forever lost when my mother sold the old, rambling home with the princess tower.
And a part of me will forever be here, in this pretty village with these warm people who live simple yet joyful lives.
“But you’re a woman now,” Dara points out. “You must think about such things, especially with” —she pauses, her eyes softening with sensitivity as they meet mine— “your family situation.”
I swallow the lump of honey cake that has turned dust dry in my mouth. “We don’t have any money for a dowry,” I blurt out, before I can think better about how I’m opening the door to the painful and unavoidable future.
Her lips form a little O before her hand reaches across the table and squeezes mine. “Your people have strange ways,” she says. “No clansman expects his wife or mate to come with money. It is his duty to provide a suitable home for her, ready for when they have their first babe. It sounds like nonsense to me, but I understand it’s your way. Has no man shown interest?”
Before my father died, I had suitors aplenty, even though my dowry was small. A small dowry is assuredly better than none at all. I shake my head, hating that I lie to my best friend, yet I fear I might break down in tears if I utter Marshal’s name.
Her eyes narrow. “Well, that is bollocks.”
I choke out a laugh. “Dara! Have you been listening in on your brother again?”
My chest squeezes even as I smile. I promised myself I wouldn’t ask about Aston. There is no chance I can hide my feelings if she tells me he is mated.
“What?” Her lips tug up. Then she shrugs, and her smile fades. “I think bollocks is perfectly appropriate and fitting for this nonsense. Aston said as the king owes your family. Your father fought for him for years—a decorated hero. And yet your family was forced to leave your home and there is not enough money for you to find a husband… Even though I think it’s also bollocks that these weak Hydornian men expect their women to come with funds.”
I lose all my appetite for the delicious cake. The conversation is taking a dangerous turn, one I promised myself I would avoid.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That was insensitive of me. Only I’m appalled by your treatment. I overheard Aston speaking to Papa. He said it was bollocks, and our father did not disagree with him. Meanwhile, a bard came through a week ago, saying how your king is throwing lavish parties to celebrate the turn in the war and not caring that the families of those who once served him loyally, who fought battles for him and died, are forced to sell cherished homes because they can’t afford to repair the roof.”
“I didn’t realize you knew about that,” I say quietly.
“Papa offered to send one of our builders around to repair it, but your mother turned him away. You know my mama considers yours a friend.”
“She does not like charity,” I say. The reality is that we could not afford the upkeep either way.
“Nobody does,” Dara agrees. “But we could have helped. The offer came from a place of love and concern.”
“The roof was just one of many problems.” My eyes turn to the left, where the first flurry of snowflakes is coming down beyond the window. We are closing in on winter. Lor spoke true when he said the snow would soon arrive making the road between the city and the clan close, which makes me curious as to why something seemed to come up every day such that it took nearly two weeks before he could bring me.
“It looks like the snow is finally coming,” Dara says, following my line of sight.
I don’t want the day to be over, yet I sense it already is. “You’re right. I should leave in case it settles.”
I rise from my seat. As does Dara, coming around to hug me. I squeeze her just as fiercely. She has been a big part of my life. I always imagined some impossible future where we might be forever friends. Yet even without us moving away, we had different paths before us. Her father is a skilled stone mason, and her family is highly regarded. I know she has many offers of companionship… and is not innocent like me, for young clan women yet to choose a mate are free to sample many. Although she has not shared full intimacy, she has enjoyed pleasure, and I’ve listened to her many tales with unbridled interest.
A terse knock sounds before the door opens. “Time to go,” Lor announces like he is my master and not a man who works for my mother.
Dara bites her lip and shares a look with me. “We best not antagonize the beast.”
Lor grunts and narrows his eyes. The alpha is not blessed with grace or charm. Something must be wrong with me that his uncivilized demeanor and brooding presence bring a flutter low in my belly.
He is also a barbarian and a shifter, although not of the Baxter clan… perhaps they are less civilized where he hails from.
“We were just coming,” Dara says, slipping her arm through mine and leading me toward the towering alpha.
“Good,” Lor says, an ever-present scowl in place. He turns and stalks away.
