Brusic’s stubbled jaw clamps shut. His eyes tighten in anger. Was that a trace of fear in his expression just now? “You’re lucky you’ve been promised to a Duthriss,” he growls. “If it were any other man, I would have given you what you deserved, you ungrateful bitch.”
Ah. Now you show your true colors. I smile; a thin, poison-tipped smile. “How delightfully enlightening. Too bad he’s not any other man. Now if you don’t mind, servant, I’ve changed my mind. I think I will go for a piss in the woods. Over there, behind that dense, thorny thicket. Oh, don’t worry about following me, Brusic. There’s barely enough light for me to see by. I’m not going to run off into the snow. Not in these bloody skirts, anyway. Besides, following me really isn’t worth the trouble if my future husband’s going to find out about your transgressions, don’t you think?”
The guard’s ruddy face turns pale.
To my surprise, he averts his eyes. “Shut yer bloody mouth, woman. Get going then, before the last of the daylight leaves us.”
My smile turns acid-sweet. “And please don’t speak so crudely in front of me again, Brusic. I’m a maiden. As His Imperial Highness is undoubtedly aware.”
In truth, I have no idea whether this Corvan Duthriss would care about my virginity or not. Some nobles make a terribly big deal out of it—as if a woman’s purity is somehow a thing to be coveted and seized.
Brusic’s mouth compresses into a thin line. His eyes are taut.
So different to his earlier demeanor.
Is my future husband’s name really all that powerful?
I’ll admit; I am a little naive regarding the affairs of the Rahavan Court. Being the daughter of a lowly baron, I wouldn’t know about half the things that go on in the capital.
But the mere mention of his name appears to be enough to protect me against my father’s nasty guardsman. Because of him, nobody’s going to touch me or my supposedly precious maidenhood.
So there’s that, at least.
Brusic takes a step backwards, keeping well clear as I hike up my skirts and alight from the carriage. The winter chill bites through my woollen leggings, but I don’t care.
It’s good to be able to stretch my legs after being cooped up in that awful cabin for so long.
My boots crunch the snow. I ignore the stares of the other guards as I walk away from Brusic, putting distance between myself and the camp.
They quickly return to their tasks; pitching tents, setting up a fire, watering the horses.
Janvia ignores me completely. She’s peeling shriveled potatoes and dropping them into an iron pot.
The darkness closes around me. For once, I’m grateful for it.
It hides me, cloaking me from these people who despise me.
Now I can just make out the outlines of the thicket. The woods stretch out all around me; it’s impossible to ignore my surroundings, because under the cover of night, they come to life.
My boots crunch on the snow.
A bird lets out a mournful cry. Insects chatter in the bushes.
Far off in the distance, a wolf howls.
I drop to my haunches and quickly finish my business, taking care not to dirty my dress.
Then I rise and walk a little further, straying deeper into the woods.
I don’t quite know what it is, but something about this place is darkly alluring.
Tyron is truly the wilds of Rahava. Our small barony of Ruen is tame in comparison; surrounded on all sides by picturesque farmland, dotted with small towns and bisected by the Imperial Highway.
I’ve never been in a place that’s so remote… so uncivilized.
It’s a completely different world out here.
If only I could keep walking… away from my father’s people, away from this stupid marriage.
Where would I go?
Not back to Ruen, surely.
I’d shed my identity; become a commoner, marry a farmer or a villager.
Then I’d have to deal with having nothing to eat in winter. I’d be forced to pay the crippling taxes imposed by greedy lords like my father.
If a troupe of soldiers was passing through the village, my husband would have to sit back and watch while they did whatever they wanted with me.
They could kill us where we stood and get away with it.
The wolf in the distance howls again, savage yet mournful.
I envy the wolf.
Unlike the wolf, there’s no way I can escape from here.
If I were left on my own out here, I would surely die. If the winter cold didn’t get me, the wolves and monsters surely would.
“Finley.” Janvia’s flat, emotionless voice cuts through the darkness. “What are you doing? Dinner is prepared. You must eat and then retire for the night. Get a good night’s sleep, girl. Tomorrow, we arrive at Tyron Castle.”
A chill wind races through the trees, dislodging small mounds of snow, echoing the wolf’s howl.
I scuff the snow with my thick boots and lift my skirts a fraction, walking across to the radius of light that forms the edge of the camp. The soldiers have a fire going now, but its warmth isn’t nearly enough to penetrate the coldness in my heart.
The only thing that keeps me going is the thought of my brothers.
Kastel and Aderick.
They always received warmth and love from my father, and they gave some of that warmth to me.
See, I raised them.
When my father was away on business and Lady Dorava was cloistered in her room, puffing elegantly on her lautani pipe because the children were giving her headaches, I was there, making sure the nanny didn’t beat the boys too badly or keep the best portions of food for herself.
Later, when they were older—eight and six to my twelve—they returned the favor, secretly teaching me the things they learned from their tutors—how to ride, use a sword, read and write.
By the time father returned from his long trip, it was too late.
I already knew things.
If this marriage secures their futures and saves them from the destructive grip of my father, then so be it.
I climb the rickety steps and haul myself back into the cramped carriage, pulling my snow-encrusted skirts up behind me. The smell of woodsmoke reaches my nose, but it gives me little comfort.
Night has fallen, and the winter chill is stealing through the air, right into my very bones.
It doesn’t matter, though.
Tomorrow, I’ll be sleeping in a castle.
I’ll become the Lady Duthriss.
I’ll endure whatever my husband throws at me.
And maybe…
No. Don’t you even dare think of that.
3
FINLEY
Thud.
I’m jolted out of sleep by a strange noise.
The horses stir. Several of them let out panicked snorts. Those nearest to me whinny in a high-pitched tone.
Clutching my blankets close to my chest, I sit up and stare out the window.
It’s still dark outside.
The campfire has burned down to embers. It casts a faint orange glow across the clearing.
My breath mists. It’s cold.
A deep growl reverberates through the windows.
The fine hairs on my arms stand on end. What was that?
Shadows move through the dim glow. Men grunt. The growls become louder.
Someone shouts; a guttural, unintelligible sound, laced with pure fear.
“At arms, men!”
I catch a glimpse of something passing across the firelight. Something big and hulking and furry; the shape of a wolf, only it’s much bigger than any wolf I’ve ever seen.