Curse of Shadows and Thorns: A Dark Fantasy Romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 1)
Curse of Shadows and Thorns: Chapter 3

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Married? Matched? Forced to become my mother, an ornament on the arm of a man.

I’d avoided this moment, but with my twentieth turn on the horizon, it was only a matter of time. What men would bid once the king opened the dowry barter?

A distant cousin from the west cliffs had no less than twenty potential matches. It took nearly two months to narrow it down to her husband, a man twenty-seven turns her senior who refused to give up his favorite consort for the marriage.

Timoran culture was archaic. Dowry barters reminded me of some primal competition on who had the most wealth and strength.

No doubt the king would select someone haughty and pompous. Most dowry barters were overseen by fathers, but my father could hardly leave his bed chamber most days. It had been known for some time Zyben would oversee the Lysander daughters.

Doubtless the man who purchased my hand would be someone who would not take kindly to his wife spending her waking hours lost in books on Night Folk lore or wandering in the slums.

“It will be all right, Kvinna,” Bevan whispered.

His tone was rife with pity. Bevan knew as well as I that life would not be the same. In fact, everything would change. Timoran wives were given purses to spend at their leisure, they turned heads when their husbands took mistresses, kept silent over matters of state. A voice? No, thinking was better left to the men.

I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, and took a deep breath before I strolled into the ballroom.

Three crystal chandeliers lined the gold filigree on the ceilings. Noblemen, women of the High court, high ranking military, and business brokers were drunk with spiced liquors and freshly squeezed juices from the orchards in the back of the manor.

All along the walls were serfs. Masked in black netting. Nameless. Forgotten. Some bore the tattooed raven on a wrist, or a throat. Artistic, as if the bird were flying, but a symbol of servitude to the Ravenspire empire.

I shook my head and allowed myself to be swallowed by the dancing. My mother, Mara, stood at the head of the room, glamorous, condescending. On a velvet chair, my father, pallid with heavy circles beneath his weary eyes, drank one of his pungent tonics. Unaware of his surroundings. Such a proud man once, Leif Lysander had been fading for four turns.

Over his drinking horn his sharp blue eyes caught mine. We shared the same color, but his cut through me. Ill as he was, it seemed my father tried to glare me into compliance for what was to come.

Lifting my chin, I crossed the room to the dais where the king was seated above the rest of us. Zyben only mingled with the loyal families, and an alliance with his sister’s daughter and his second son was reason enough for him to make appearances.

Zyben stared down his bent nose, his knife-sharp cheekbones raised when he sneered. His blond hair was braided down the center of his skull, the sides shaved close. Runes tattooed the sides of his scalp, and a silver briar circlet adorned his head. Beneath a black mantle of heavy pelts, Zyben wore chains of silver and gold and jade.

I lowered to my knee, then pressed a kiss to the sharply cut onyx ring on his finger.

“Well wishes, niece,” he said, voice like gossamer silk. Soft. Memorable.

I wished to spend as little time as possible with the king.

His presence brought a tight pressure in the center of my chest, one that left me constantly looking over my shoulder as though he might be watching. But I played the doting niece, smiled, and bowed my head.

“I ask you to stay close. You will want to hear me speak,” Zyben said. “You understand?”

My mouth tightened. “I believe I do.”

Zyben wore a cruel grin. He leaned over one elbow onto his knee, voice low. “I am not a fool, niece. I see how troubled you are. But refuse and—” His gaze turned to the seat of my father. A hacking sound came from my father’s throat; his body shuddered. A medik, dressed in royal blue, quietly tended to him while the room wholly ignored the master of the house.

I swallowed past the tight knot in my throat. “I understand, My King.”

Zyben slouched back in his seat and waved me on with a flick of his fingers.

I hurried down the line of dignitaries and ended my greetings on two of Zyben’s consorts who paid me little attention. I paused to greet a girl donned in a shimmering red gown, hidden beneath a wrap of fox fur. A silver satin cloth shrouded her face, but by her height and figure, I assumed she was young. Possibly still a child. I settled on a simple curtsy.

“A good heart,” her soft voice flowed from behind the veil. I was certain now, she was young. “Interesting.”

“Excuse me?” I’d heard rumor of Zyben’s interest in seers and witches. Not exactly Night Folk, but if books were to be believed, more than fae carried fury in their blood.

“Your heart does not live here,” she whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There isn’t much time.” A desperate plea was buried underneath the soft hum of her voice. Pulse racing, palms sweaty, I bent closer. “Don’t fear the past, trust those undeserving of it—”

“Kvinna,” a guard grumbled. I’d begun to stall the procession of guests greeting the king and his household.

I took a step to the side, reluctant to leave a child who seemed distressed. A gasp escaped my throat when the masked girl gripped my wrist. A hum of warmth bled from her fingers. “When you see the beast within, let him in to let him go.”

“Cursed gods,” I breathed out as the warmth transformed into something needle-sharp before fading and the child released me. Who was this girl? Before I had a chance to press, two of Zyben’s guards stepped between us, silently nudging me to move on. I lowered my eyes and stepped away from the dais to be swallowed by the gowns and doublets.

“Elise!” Runa bounded across the ballroom.

My sister was a beauty. Blonde curls, pink lips, a pale blue gown. She giggled when she embraced me. For show, of course. We were not the sort of sisters who spoke regularly.

I almost forgot Calder was at her back, stirring his drink as he cast judgment on everyone in the room. My cousin looked more like his mother, the third consort to the king, with emerald eyes, auburn hair, and teeth too big for his mouth.

“I told you, Calder,” Runa said. “She wouldn’t miss our party.”

More like I couldn’t.

Runa sipped from a delicate flute of wine. “Calder said you’d found something more important than us.”

My sister laughed, her words slurred from drink, but my stare fell to Calder. He returned the smirk with equal intensity. A wretched man who loathed everyone except himself.

“I would never replace anything more important than you, Runa,” I said.

My cousin clicked his tongue and swigged more of the clear drink with a counterfeit smile. “Lovely Elise, I only spoke in jest.” He sneered at Runa before turning his eyes back to me. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you.” My voice was flat and uninterested.

All at once, Runa urged me away, a shimmer of thrill in her eyes. “Eli, have you heard?”

My stomach clenched. “I have an inkling that the king is going to make an announcement, yes.”

Runa squealed. “But have you not noticed who is in attendance?” Her eyes traveled through the many spinning couples to a tall captain. Dark curls, a marble chiseled face. My throat went dry. My fingertips numb.

“Jarl Magnus,” Runa whispered. “He’s come all this way from the Eastern Kingdom.”

Zyben had great influence, even reaching across the Fate’s Ocean to foreign dignitaries. The most I understood from eavesdropping on my father’s conversations with traders was when the ships left our docks, they returned with new foods, new coin. New Night Folk to use or kill. Strange kinds with different fury, different accents.

The Eastern Kingdom, according to maps, was made of four regions surrounding a smaller sea. With four regions in one kingdom, I had no doubt they were a diverse kind of folk. I’d always wanted to visit, but a woman traveling—unheard of.

“Are you listening?” Runa tapped my cheek.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m listening.”

“Well, what do you think?”

My mouth parted. “Wait, Jarl is—”

Runa clenched her fists and squealed. “Do act surprised, won’t you? Oh, can you imagine if he makes a bid? Think if he wins, the places you’ll go. Skies, you’ll dine at the king’s table.”

Jarl Magnus had climbed to a formidable station in the Timoran military. He came from a noble family, had a face carved of stone, and more than one lady had pined for his attention. No, I could not imagine a more prestigious match.

Jarl was young and not a harsh man. He had always spoken kindly and had the right amount of wit.

“Jarl was just telling us how interesting it is to handle the Eastern Kingdom’s Night Folk,” Runa barreled on, “and how different the lands are. He suspects it won’t be long until there is an alliance made with Timoran. Skies, do you think one of their princes or princesses might become consort to the king? Gods know how many he has.”

Heat flooded my cheeks at the idea. I didn’t know much about the royals of the different kingdoms, but I imagined I’d rather be a sovereign of my own land than consort to the King of Timoran. Last I knew, Zyben had at least ten lovers to take at his leisure. I didn’t dwell long on the thought before Runa wrenched me across the room toward the handsome captain in his leather officer’s coat.

“Jarl, look who I’ve found,” Runa announced.

I swallowed a lump in my throat when Jarl faced me. Half his mouth quirked into a handsome grin. My breath hitched as he kissed the top of my glove.

“Elise,” he said, his voice a deep timbre. “A pleasure to see you again.”

“What an unexpected surprise,” I replied, hoping he understood my meaning.

“I hope it is not a disappointing surprise.”

He knew what I meant, and I didn’t know what to say. But no matter, my king was watching and took the opportunity to gather the attention of the crowd. With a wave, Zyben silenced the music and all eyes turned to the front of the room.

“You honor my sister’s house,” he said, “on this special night to celebrate the upcoming vows of my eldest niece, Kvinna Runa Lysander and your future king, Calder.”

A polite applause rippled through the crowd, and Runa was beside herself. She fanned her pink cheeks and clung to horridly stupid Calder’s arm like he was the only real thing in the room.

The king went on, his nose in the air. “Our family has more than one reason to celebrate. As king, and overseer of the second royal house, I have opened up dowry negotiations for my youngest niece, Kvinna Elise.”

Gasps, more applause, and congratulatory smiles found me like a thorn amongst roses. I stiffened until Runa dug her elbow into my ribs, then I forced a flush as if this moment were the sweetest. Zyben raised a glass, offering his approval.

“Furthermore,” my uncle went on when the voices quieted. “As Kvin Lysander’s weak disposition will prevent him from selecting suitors, and such tasks are beneath the duties of a king, it is my honor to introduce an overseer of the dowry. No doubt his expertise will call for an interesting bidding. The honor falls to the young, Herr Legion Grey.”