But everyone knows the story of the crown prince; the former Imperial Commander who waged a brutal campaign in the north to defeat the barbarian hordes.
Everyone knows he was a changed man when he returned from the war. Once highly respected; a swordsman without peer and the most eligible bachelor in all of Rahava, he refused to present himself to the Court.
Without warning, without giving reason, he relinquished his claim to the throne and became a recluse, accepting the dukedom of Tyron— the territory that nobody wanted.
It’s a vast and inhospitable land. Cold and barren. Crawling with monsters and terrifying beasts.
Rumors swirl around the capital. That the ravages of war drove him mad; that he was cursed by some barbarian witch.
What kind of horrors does a man have to endure to make him give up the entire world that once lay in the palm of his hand?
They say he did terrible things during the war.
They say he is even more ruthless than his father.
Some even say that he has succumbed to the temptations of the arcane.
That he drinks the blood of his enemies.
Not that I believe that.
Since he returned from battle, Corvan Duthriss hasn’t returned to Lukiria once; not even for the Midwinter Ball.
It’s as if he just wants the world to forget about him.
“Y-you can’t send me to Tyron.” The words fly from my lips before I even realize what I’m saying. “Corvan Duthriss is a brutal man… a madman. And Tyron…”
It’s as remote and forbidding a place as I’ve ever heard of. If I set foot in Tyron Castle, I’ll never escape.
Baron Solisar sees my distress. I can tell that it satisfies him. My father, I think, always resented the fact that, I, his firstborn, turned out to be a girl.
And he hates the fact that I can do all the things my brothers can.
I can ride a horse. Shoot a bow. Read and write.
As well, if not better than them.
My brothers were the ones that taught me when my father wouldn’t allow it; when he was off on one of his many business trips.
My dear brothers, Aderick and Kastel.
Now I understand why they weren’t summoned here for lunch.
They would be livid.
Father’s gaze crystallizes. “No matter what state of mind he is in nowadays, he’s still the crown prince. Do you understand what it means for our family to marry into that family? Do you know what we gain in exchange for you gaining such a powerful husband? Emperor Duthriss has agreed to admit Kastel and Aderick to the Imperial Knights’ Academy in Lukiria. When each of them graduates as a Knight of the Empire, they are to be granted their own lands and titles. They are to be given the rank of Viscount.”
My eyes widen in surprise.
My brothers don’t care about Imperial Academies and titles. They’ve said so themselves. But they are young and naive, and even I can’t deny the magnitude of the emperor’s offer. In Rahava, it’s almost unheard of to cross ranks.
It’s a once-in-a-century opportunity.
A life-changing opportunity.
But not for me.
Bitterness rises in the back of my throat. “And what about you, father? What do you gain from all of this?” I should bite my tongue right now, but I can’t. “Did Duthriss agree to pay off your mountain of debts?”
Baron Solisar is already out of his chair. He crosses the floor, his boots ringing loudly on the cold stone.
His hand connects with my cheek, hard.
Stinging pain rips through my face. I cradle my cheek, staring up at him in disbelief.
Bloody bastard. Maybe living with the Cursed Archduke of Tyron will be better than staying with you.
“Lucar, enough,” my stepmother says softly.
As always, father ignores her. “You do not get to question my authority, child. Ever. I will not hear another word of dissent from your impudent little mouth. If you wish to survive in Tyron Castle, then you will do your best to learn to hold your tongue. For your own benefit, Finley, I would strongly suggest that now is the time for you to develop a shred of common sense and learn to act like a proper fucking lady. The Archduke is not kind to those that disobey him.”
Why do I feel like throwing up all of a sudden?
“And do not say a word of protest to your brothers, Finley. Do you want to lay waste to their futures; to burden them with unnecessary guilt? As far as they’re concerned, you have agreed to this union.”
My insides twist. Tears prick my eyes. I want to scream, but I can’t.
Hold your tongue.
I hate that I have to heed father’s words.
If not for this betrothal, Aderick, the eldest of the two, would inherit a disaster; a barony in ruins, crippling debt that will take a generation to pay off, and the wrath of the Duthriss family.
Kastel would have nothing.
Just a dire future.
All because of my father’s pride and stupidity. The extension to the castle he commissioned lies in half-finished ruins, marble columns cracked and exposed to the elements, water and mud and snow pooling on the crumbling stone floors.
“At least let me stay a little longer,” I plead, my voice cracking. “Just a few weeks… until spring.”
Father stares down at me, his expression cold. “No. The Emperor has made it clear that you must reach Tyron before winter’s end. After you finish eating, you may go down to the stables and say your goodbyes to the boys. Then you will go to your mother’s chambers and allow her to choose attire that is a little more appropriate for your station. I will not have you presenting yourself to the Archduke in trousers and a fucking tunic.” He shoots my mother a stern look. “I don’t know how you raised such an unladylike daughter.”
“I don’t know, either,” Dorava says softly. “But I will ensure that she is dressed in a manner that His Imperial Highness should find pleasing, at the very least.”
I glare at her, but she refuses to meet my gaze. Dorava has never said anything nasty to me. She’s never raised her hand in anger or been blatantly cruel. But she never stands up to father, either.
“Good.” My father returns to his seat. He picks up his silver fork and starts to eat.
Silence hangs over the dinner table like a cold, damp fog.
I force myself to eat. The food sticks in my throat. I can’t taste anything anymore.
I knew this day would come.
I just didn’t think it would come so soon.
But I suppose all things must end sooner or later, and people like me, who have no power, will always be at the mercy of the ones that rule.
I can only hope that Archduke Corvan Duthriss isn’t as terrible as the stories make him out to be.
2
FINLEY
I shift around on the hard, narrow bench, trying to make myself comfortable.
The carriage creaks and groans. There’s a vicious jolt, and I’m thrown off-balance as the wheels hit a dip in the road.
I raise my hand, pressing against the window to steady myself, feeling constricted in my suitable attire.
This cursed bloody dress. The shoulders are too narrow, and it’s too tight at the neck. What did Dorava do to the bloody thing? Although I’ve loosened several of the cloth-covered buttons at the back, it still suffocates me, thanks to the rigid boning.
The bodice is stiff and ridiculous; too narrow for my waist and too roomy for my chest, even though Dorava has pulled the laces as tight as she possibly could.