Danger walking amongst the Gentry

Adelia would have stopped thinking about the monster she had housed if not for the raven that visited her, bringing an offering that it presented to her. It carried a beautiful, prettily-painted hair pin made of wood in its beak, blooming flowers carved at the end in its beak.

Adelia refused the bird, knowing who had sent such a gift. She was unwilling to accept something from a creature that already must have so little to give and simultaneously, secretly, she was a little worried it might be a trap.

There were countless of stories after all, in which unassuming people were tricked into contracts or deals simply by accepting something innocuous. She had no idea what kind of monster she had harbored or what magicks it was capable of, but she wasn’t going to risk anything.

The raven returned again soon, this time with a single button made of bone and carved delicately to look like a swan. Adelia gently refused it once more, thanking it for its efforts and sending the bird on its way again.

It came back to her every other morning after that to offer something new, and every time, she told the raven, "I want nothing from your or your friend; there is no debt to repay."

The bird would look at her with too-intelligent eyes, dip its head in a clear bow, and leave, only to return again with something else. Always something simple and useful; one time it even brought her a beautiful iron fork.

Adelia got so used to the raven’s visits that she left a bowl of water and some seeds and nuts outside for it to peck at. While it hadn't touched either bowl yet, she still switched out the water and food to keep it fresh.

She had no idea how far the bird traveled each day, but it carried objects no normal bird its size should be able to drag around for any length of time. The least she could do for its fruitless efforts was to offer it some refreshments.

Today, the raven showed up, as well, though she didn’t have as much time as usual. She had to get ready for the ball at Lord Ullion’s decadent castle, ensuring she was dressed appropriately and showed off the right amount of jewelry and wealth for her station.

All nobility would attend, even the king showed up, for he and Ullion were old friends, and her parents intended to announce her upcoming marriage to Tirn during the banquet after the ball. Adelia mostly looked forward to seeing her friends again, to speaking face to face with them rather than waiting for letters to arrive.

She barely noticed the raven as she got ready for the ball, picking her best dress and adorning herself with the sort of fine jewelry that was sorely reserved for these occasions. If all went well, she’d return with a new ring on her finger and a future she had planned quietly and secretly with Tirn.

The raven squawked loudly to get her attention and it didn’t sound upset but rather very curious. It had brought a pretty embroidered ribbon this time, carefully placing it on the balcony railing. However, as pretty as it may be, Adelia still wasn’t going to accept it.

She offered the raven a smile. "I ask that you return it. I wish for nothing from you and your friend; there is no debt to be repaid."

The raven warbled softly before it offered its usual polite little bow-nod and took flight again, the beautiful ribbon held securely in its claws.

Adelia hoped the raven’s friend would soon cease its efforts, though she found that she did hope the bird might still visit her from time to time. She had grown rather fond of it.

She had always loved animals, though her father had made sure she had learned her lesson to not get attached to any ever again where he could see. She still ached terribly over the loss of her horse, one that had been at her side since she had been young.

She had loved that gelding with all her heart and the bond they had shared had brightened even her darkest, dreariest days.

Her father had sold him to the butcher a couple of months ago, to be made into meat and glue. His fury over Adelia not only being taught by the blacksmith behind his back but her also arguing with him over the man's fate had sparked like a wildfire that had burned nearly everything around her to the ground.

The blacksmith had been an older man with boundless kindness and knowing eyes, who had spoken softly with her with a gentleness that she had never heard in her own father's voice. At first, he had allowed her to watch, and then he had offered to let her help. To learn.

Father had come by unexpectedly one day when he was meant to be in his study to deal with his correspondence, and she'd never forget the utterly frightening expression on his face the moment he had seen her with a blacksmith's apron on, holding the hammer aloft, the blacksmith instructing her how to strike hot iron.

The price for that mistake had been steep, and whatever love she had still had for her parents had been swallowed whole, replaced with something aching and a deep-rooted seed of anger.

She had been very quiet since that day, had hidden her little metal toys even better and only spoke to her father if he spoke to her first. Just the way he liked it. In his eyes, she had finally become a polite little doll on the shelf, one that danced at his command and otherwise stayed silent and obediently still.

There was no way she'd ever tell him about the raven. The next time she might upset him, he could decide to have it shot down by one of the guards.

Julie soon bustled in to help her with her hair and cosmetics, and Adelia was content to listen to the maid giggle bashfully as she retold how a knight’s scribe had gifted her a rose at market day and had even brought her a poem.

The young man's hands had fumbled with the parchment with nerves, but he had been determined to recite what he had written, and Julie said he had been nothing but kind and sweet. She had certainly been charmed by him and had agreed to meet him for a walk through town tomorrow.

Adelia was happy for the maid, who was a kind and bright young woman with a sharp mind and watchful gaze. She would hate to see her dulled by someone who did not care for her.

"Will you return again tonight from the festivities?" Julie asked and Adelia nodded.

"Father does not care to stay overnight," she answered.

Usually, the journey to Lord Ullion’s castle would take them a fortnight, and that was with fast horses that were switched out often, but for his grand balls, Lord Ullion readily offered the services of his mage. He had his guests transported to and from his halls within mere moments.

Father, while always graciously accepting of Lord Ullion’s offer of transport in public, privately fumed every time it was extended to him. He hated that he had no mage of his own despite having tried to find one for years now.

He felt as though everyone upstaged him when they arrived with their own mages, as if his own worth was diminished through this fact alone.

She met her parents in the entrance hall. Her mother wore a sweeping, spring green gown embroidered in gold. Mother's hair was carefully braided to resemble a crown and decorated with emerald-tipped hair pins.

Father was in darker colors, though still the green and gold of his house and the vest beneath his elaborate tailcoat was embroidered with sprawling gold leaves and flitting golden birds.

"I will not need to accept that man’s charity for much longer; I will have my own mage by winter," her father spat, angrily tapping his ebony cane onto the stone floor.

Mages knew their worth very well and chose to work for whoever paid them the most and sponsored their studies and experiments. Of course, there were stories about a few rogue mages here and there, but for the largest part, they were happy to live in the luxury nobility provided.

Adelia knew Father wasn’t rich enough to hire a mage of his own, no matter how he liked to pretend otherwise. He came from an old and respected family, and his name and voice held weight, but the truth was that they did not have the sort of funds to pay a mage’s salary without ruining their lands at the same time.

Father huffed in frustration, "How long does that mage intend for us to wait, anyhow?"

Her mother, meanwhile, was a little restless for an entirely different reason. She was excited about the upcoming marriage proposal and hid her nerves and anticipation by relentlessly criticizing Adelia, from her posture to how limp her hair looked today.

Adelia suffered through it with as much dignity as possible. Her parents were in a mood, and there was nothing to be done about it. Or rather, nothing she could do about it. Soon, she would give her hand to Tirn and leave the grasp of their control behind, at least for the most part. She couldn't wait.

"Chin up," Mother muttered when the first shimmer of magic appeared in front of them. "You are a daughter of your father’s house, act like it."

Lord Ullion’s mage appeared a mere second later, a wiry man with billowing, decadent robes and bejeweled rings glittering on his slim fingers.

The mage swept into a polite bow. "Duke and Duchess Aria, thank you for welcoming me into your home. Would you like to depart to my master’s castle?"

"Certainly, lead the way," Father spoke, haughty and prim as always, and Adelia offered the mage a quick, soft smile. The man offered a polite smile back as he created a portal for them to step through.

Secretly, a petty part of her hoped that she and Tirn would have enough money at some point to hire a mage of their own. It wasn't very realistic, not without a lot of hard work and living very frugally, which Tirn despised, but she still liked to imagine her father's face if such a thing did happen. His impotent rage when she managed to achieve what he could not, all without the fear of punishment.

They arrived at the castle with no trouble, retrieved ahead of the houses of lower rank and status, as was courteous and proper. Father still wasn’t happy, but he hid all his emotions behind a polite mask, as did Mother.

Adelia took a deep breath as they were led towards the ballroom by footmen, while the mage disappeared to fetch the next nobles on his list. In all fairness, calling Lord Ullion’s home a castle was probably a bit too humble, for it was almost a palace in its own right.

The ball would last the entire evening, until the clock struck midnight, though many stayed beyond those hours. They could make use of Lord Ullion’s guest chambers once the celebrations truly ended, but Father never saw the sense in staying. Or in drinking beyond what was reasonable.

Usually, any sort of useful or interesting conversation was utterly exhausted by the time dinner was served, and all that was left was politely feigned interest. Adelia had to admit that she was often quite tired by the time Father decided they would take their leave.

Musicians played a soft, drifting melody as they entered the ballroom and tables with little cakes and refreshments were set up in the corners and by the windows, while servants dressed in house Ullion’s colors swiftly wove through the slowly growing crowd to directly serve whoever had any wishes or demands.

Adelia attended polite conversations as they joined the other nobles, her parents socializing with her at their heel. She smiled as prettily as she knew how and dipped into perfect curtsies, long hours practicing under Mother’s watchful eye making every movement smooth and elegant.

Finally, Adelia was allowed to head off on her own and she wasted no time finding Katrina and Izabel, who had arrived a few minutes after she had. Her friends were glad to see her, clasping hands and pressing brief kisses onto each other’s cheeks.

Katrina was a graceful young woman, a delicate lady any noble strove to find as a wife. She was born with the sort of gentle beauty that was put into songs and skills in embroidery and poetry few could rival. She was like a freshly-bloomed flower, soft and lovely to gaze upon and strong enough to withstand the winds of the world.

Katrina always had a kind word for those around her, and she had helped Izabel and Adelia many a time through difficult situations with her loving encouragement.

Izabel was the tallest and oldest of their little group, with elegant hands that played the sweetest of songs, and a voice to match. She had a smile that immediately brightened any room she was in and made people forget entirely that she had a slightly crooked nose.

Izabel was like a songbird, colorful and bright, making everyone around her more cheerful by her mere presence. She had brought laughter to her friends during even their gloomiest days.

Adelia loved and adored her friends, these two wonderful souls who had looked past her polite mask and her measured words and impeccable manners and had seen someone worth their while.

"Will your father announce everything tonight?" Katrina asked in an excited whisper, clasping Adelia’s left hand tighter when she nodded. "I am so happy for you."

"As am I," Izabel murmured with a grin that showed her dimples, giving her right hand a squeeze. "It seems you’re going to be a wedded woman before either of us."

Izabel was the only other one in their little group who had an arranged marriage waiting for her, though her intended was five years her junior. Her fiancé would need another two years or so before he was ready to claim and govern part of his father’s lands and organize the wedding.

Katrina’s parents were currently looking to rise in station through marriage, chatting up various lords and powerful dukes to see if any of their sons were in need of a good wife. Last Adelia had heard, they were even trying to get King Harold’s attention, hoping one of his sons might fall in love with and wed their beautiful girl.

"If all goes well, he will announce everything during the banquet," Adelia whispered back and her friends smiled, genuine and happy. They knew what she and Tirn had planned, how they had mapped out their life together to make it work in the best possible way. She was genuinely looking forward to it.

"He hasn’t arrived yet, though," Izabel said, briefly looking up to glance about. There was a hum of noise filling the hall as the nobles mingled and chatted.

A handful of noble families still had to arrive, and Adelia wasn’t worried; she would have heard it by now if there had been an accident of some kind with Tirn’s family. They were most likely running late for one reason or another. King Harold wasn’t present yet, either, though he was often fashionably late and arrived with much aplomb.

She and her friends wandered over to a window to eat some of the tiny cakes, exchanging what news they had and giggling over silly stories. They fell into shallower, more polite conversation whenever someone joined them or one of their parents called them over to socialize.

Adelia noticed the arrival of Lord Emmertal, who had his own mage to transport him, and she carefully avoided going anywhere near him. There were enough people around, thankfully, and enough conversations to join that it was an easy enough feat.

Lord Emmertal wasn't ugly, far from it actually, his face comely, and he was considered nicely tall by many. He was very educated and cultivated, as well. And as always, he had shown up handsomely dressed, his dark hair shiny and healthy. He was in his mid-forties and moved with the sort of grace that spoke of power and arrogance while holding a cool disregard for those around him.

Despite his appearance, she knew he was a man who was every noble girl’s nightmare, the sort of monster that was worse than whatever had crash-landed on her balcony weeks ago.

The sun was starting to sit low in the sky when she finally caught a glimpse of Tirn and his family, only to bite back the urge to frown. Her intended looked a little anxious and his parents ushered him away to speak with another family before Adelia or her parents could even begin to approach them. Had something happened?

Adelia’s attempts to reach Tirn's side were swiftly thwarted as King Harold arrived with fanfare. His wife looked gorgeous at his side, a tall woman in a sweeping red gown, white roses embroidered up her bodice. Glittering jewelry decorated her, making her look as though she had stepped straight out of a fairytale.

The king boisterously greeted everyone, glitter trailing in his wake, a feat of illusionary magic that was woven into his enchanted, red coat bordered with white roses. King Harold moved from person to person, from conversation to conversation, and the magic surrounding him ensured he drew everyone's gaze without fail.

The king and queen did not have their children with them, though Adelia had heard they had gotten a bit sick recently and had been sequestered away so they wouldn’t cause their parents to fall ill as well. They were expected to make a full recovery soon.

Her parents, of course, wasted no time fetching her and weaseling closer to the king, briefly ignoring Tirn’s strange avoidance. Adelia made sure to offer the right curtsy, to dip low enough that her skirts pooled around her in an elegant circle.

Mother did much the same, while Father bowed at the waist, sweet words of praise for their sovereign falling from his lips like they could mask the hunger for power that was ever alive in him. The hunger for more, and who else but the king could offer the most of it?

Lord Ullion swept in before Father could sweet-talk the king too much, easily diverting King Harold’s attention. The pair moved along with the queen dutifully trailing in their wake, her posture perfect, and her eyes sharp as she cast a subtle glance about.

Adelia had only noticed the queen doing so after watching her a while last year. Previously, she had thought that Queen Nina held neither love nor interest for these shindigs, but her demure softness allowed her to hide behind King Harold’s brash and loud forwardness. Adelia was certain the queen saw all that her husband missed.

Whether or not she told him any of the things she noticed was another matter, but Queen Nina was not to be discarded, no matter how quiet and unassuming she liked to present herself as.

Father didn't dare speak angrily of the king's dismissal of him, but Adelia caught the flash of heated, acidic emotion in his eyes that said it all. It was swiftly hidden away again so he looked as polite as everyone else. He made her and her mother move away with a flick of his hand.

And finally, at last, Adelia and her parents managed to meet up with Tirn and his family, who stood nearby. Tirn's little brother, barely twelve years of age, was doing his best to look like he belonged, but he was all awkward limbs and flyaway tips of hair that looked as though someone had valiantly tried to make it all lay flat but had ultimately failed.

Tirn, when Adelia tried to meet his gaze, steadfastly refused to look at her, and the worry that niggled at the pit of her stomach grew into an insistent gnaw.

"My friends," Duke Warren greeted them, sounding pleased and polite just like everyone else. "What a lovely gathering, wouldn't you agree?"

He was about to say more when King Harold raised his voice. "We shall dance!" the king declared, loud and boisterous. The only hint that this part of the event had been planned for later, not now, was the brief twitch in Lord Ullion’s jaw.

"I tire of this jabbering and it has grown quite late already. Musicians, jig away!" With those words, King Harold pulled Queen Nina towards the middle of the dance floor, and people were quick to join as music rose over the chatter. Those who had no desire to dance swiftly pulled back to the cake tables to stay out of the way.

"Marvelous, go on, you two," Tirn’s father said, giving his son a nudge that looked a little sharper than usual. "You have much to catch up on, I’m sure. My friend, if I could have a word?"

Tirn silently offered his hand, still looking anywhere but at her. Adelia allowed him to lead her towards the dancing pairs, while Duke Warren stepped aside with her father.

She and Tirn took up their respective positions. Adelia had practiced these dances over and over until she had been able to perform them perfectly. She also liked to add flourishes here and there whenever possible, if her partner was amenable, for it brought her joy. Tirn usually was amenable, but tonight, his shoulders and back were stiff.

"What’s going on?" she whispered as they began to dance and fell in step with the other pairs around them, never so much as brushing up against someone else.

Over his shoulder, Adelia briefly caught a glimpse of Lord Emmertal speaking with Katrina, her friend looking tense and quietly worried, but she was thankfully swiftly saved by her father.

"I’m sorry," Tirn said after a heavy second. "Really, I am."

"You know I prefer candid words when possible," she murmured into his ear as the dance brought them close for a moment. "Did something happen?"

Tirn looked guilty and apologetic and troubled. He wet his lips and admitted, in a slightly croaky whisper, "I messed up. I was meeting with Lady Damira and I fear I…" He trailed off, making a very vague motion with the hand that held hers.

Adelia felt her stomach drop. Tirn didn’t have to say much more; he had never made a secret out of seeing the ladies of the night or his servants if they were amenable, and she honestly hadn't cared. However, she had expected him to have more sense than to start an affair with a noble lady.

"Is she…" Adelia tilted her chin down a little, and he offered a tiny, chagrinned nod. She kept the anger and worry that began to bubble up locked tight behind her teeth, no longer looking at him. Some emotion still bled through, despite her best efforts, as she said, "We’re not going to get married, are we?"

"My parents found another match for you," Tirn was quick to say, as if that made it all better. As if that made him breaking their pact alright. The agreement he had made with her and the future he had destroyed simply by not keeping it in his pants. "They’re speaking with your father about that right now."

"Who is it?" Adelia forced herself to ask, her visions and plans for a hopeful future shattering like glass around her, tinkling to her feet and crunching with every step she took. How could he do this to her? The betrayal hurt worse than she expected. It hurt in a way that made it harder to breathe. "Do you love her?"

He was quiet for the longest moment and then offered an uncomfortable shrug. "She’s pretty."

Adelia resisted the urge to whack him over the head or rip herself away from his hold and walk away with anger and betrayed pain in her every step.

She would have understood it a little better if Tirn had fallen in love and the other woman had loved him as well. She would have been able to forgive him in time because she had never wanted to stand in the way of his happiness.

But this did not sound like love. This didn't sound any better than the deal they had made previously, the only difference being that she would not let him rub his hands all over her unless they intended to make heirs.

"Please keep it quiet," Tirn whispered. "We want to get wed before talk of the child comes out."

He was asking her to not cause a scene, to not bring his family shame when he had not cared one iota about her. Adelia lifted her chin and offered her coldest smile, the one she had learned from her mother. "Please excuse me, Your Grace."

The song ended just in time for her to dip into a shallow, slightly impolite curtsy and she swiftly took elderly Baron Izna’s hand, when she saw him looking for a partner a few steps away from where she stood. It was all she could do to keep her decorum and not create some sort of trouble by showing just how upset she was.

The old man was happy to just shuffle along to the music, humming under his breath. He did not bother with meaningless small-talk, and as long as Adelia allowed him to lean on her a little to keep his balance, he was a surprisingly pleasant dancing partner.

This offered her the chance to stew in her thoughts, fuming and worried in equal measure. There were few eligible bachelors available that she knew of, at least those both old enough and of appropriate station.

There were, of course, younger sons and cousins of other families, but Father would be unwilling to wait much longer to reap the benefits of raising a daughter. He wanted to get her wed soon, and he wanted as advantageous a match as possible. Most of all, he wanted her to bear enough sons that he could whisk one away to keep for himself and raise to take over his house.

Adelia wasn’t going to cause trouble, she decided in the end. As much as Tirn deserved it for being a buck-horned blighter, the young woman he had gotten pregnant would bear the brunt of the scandal.

If anything, people would congratulate Tirn for his vitality and virility while shunning Damira, whispering behind her back and never, for as long as she lived, would she be allowed to forget or move on. No, this was not the way to get back at Tirn.

In all honesty, there was no way to really get back at him, not for her. Betrothals weren’t broken often, but it happened occasionally, and he hadn’t truly been beholden to her. Even if he had been, many a noble man was expected to take a mistress some time after getting married.

Under other circumstances, Adelia would have welcomed it. Tirn could have his fun where he pleased, as long as she could do what she had always dreamed about doing. She had looked forward to having a bit more agency, to making things better for their people. She maybe would have even gotten to tinker a little more, to see if she could make more than little toys.

That dream was dead with Tirn marrying another lady. Who would her parents choose for her now?

Adelia was distracted enough that she danced three songs with Baron Izna, who chuckled at last and gave her hand a gentle pat. "That’s quite enough kindness now, my dear. Go, enjoy yourself. I shall return to my wife, lest she become cross with me."

Adelia stepped back and, after glancing around, saw that her friends had all joined the dancing as well by now. She couldn’t spot her parents anywhere nearby. She knew that she should probably seek them out to ask them what would become of her now, but she didn't wish to speak with them when she felt so tumultuous inside.

It was getting late, candles were being lit all around and she anxiously twisted the ring she wore on her index finger as she watched the last bit of golden sunlight disappear behind the far away mountains.

The banquet would begin after some more dancing, and there would be no announcement for her wedding. Her future was shrouded in uncertainty, and she clung to the desperate, limping hope that her parents would find her a husband with whom she could strike up a deal, as well.

Adelia caught sight of Lord Emmertal once again, and she felt a jolt of icy, barbed fear when it looked like he was heading towards her. He was most likely looking for a dancing partner, one young and pretty enough for his tastes. She was about to try to hide when the doors to the hall opened and one last straggler was announced.

King Harold cried out in joy and immediately abandoned his wife to head towards the newcomer. Nobility parted before their liege, eyes focused on the man stepping into the dance hall unhurried and with a brief, sweeping glance over the gathered crowd: Lord Rowan Morrow, a warlord of the Wilds.

The Wilds were untamed lands along the northern border of the kingdom, and they belonged to no one but those powerful enough to cling to power. It was said a council of warlords decided what happened in those lands and claiming one of them as a friend meant having quite the ally.

Lord Morrow was an imposing man, snow-pale and tall, who mostly dressed in black and blood red. Whenever he wore a white ruffled shirt, it looked startlingly bright in comparison to the rest of his dark attire.

Today, however, his ruffled shirt was a dark, ruby red. He had left his coat with an attendee upon entering, revealing a black vest with fine, golden embroidery on it, the only bright accent to this dark outfit.

While Lord Morrow wasn't quite as wide in the shoulders and chest as some of the palace guards, something about his presence made him appear bigger. Maybe it was the casually powerful way he held himself, like he had nothing to prove and he knew it.

As if he knew, from experience, that he was dangerous, maybe even the most dangerous one in this room. And he most likely absolutely was. There was something about him that made people shift out of his path before they were even fully aware of moving.

Adelia had often heard the story of how he and the king had become close friends, how King Harold had been traveling with his family, visiting towns and cities, and how they had gotten caught in an ambush.

Their enemies had managed to catch them at a time when their royal mage had been away on business for just this one evening, and their guards had gotten cut down fast.

They had thought themselves dead when Lord Morrow showed up. The warlord had been traveling himself, taking a shortcut through the kingdom, and had happened upon the scene.

Lord Morrow had single-handedly defeated the foes and saved the lives of the king and queen and their five children. King Harold hadn’t hesitated to extend a pact of peace to the warlord along with naming him a friend of the crown.

Adelia knew such a friendship hadn't been born out of mere gratitude alone, that King Harold was surely trying to weasel more advantages out of his strange, unsettlingly powerful, and intimidating friend. Whether or not he was successful, however, she didn't know.

"My dear friend," King Harold called out, sweeping forward while Lord Morrow took only one measured step to meet him in a brief hug. "I am so glad to see you could make it, fashionably late as always, I see."

Lord Morrow tipped his head slightly, long black hair shining silky-smooth in the candlelight. There was a snow-white strand amidst the black, though Adelia had no idea if a very early onset of graying hair was the cause or if he had been born like this.

Lord Morrow offered a mild, closed-lipped smile. "I have a reputation to uphold."

King Harold laughed and ushered him along. "That you have, come, dance with us, and tell us all about your latest exploits over dinner!"

As Lord Morrow followed the king, all eyes seemed to be glued to him. He was impossible to ignore, and Adelia had never been able to put a finger on why. She had seen the man a number of times ever since he had saved King Harold’s life, but there was something about him that made her keep her distance.

She wasn’t the only one, either. As unfailingly polite as everyone was to the man, they were also wary. They were more careful with their words around him, curter with their small talk, and they were glad to leave him in King Harold’s company. Lord Morrow only seemed to show up for the king, anyway, and never sought out anyone else. He never danced with others and rarely left the king's side.

Adelia herself felt no desire to converse with the warlord, and at King Harold’s demanding call, the music started back up. A little louder and more energized, as though the musicians were determined to chase away the slightly tense atmosphere caused by Lord Morrow's appearance.

Adelia cast a quick glance about for her parents, not spotting them anywhere nearby. Instead, she saw Lord Emmertal yet again, who continued to make his way towards her. She managed to slip past another handful of people, pretending as though she hadn't seen him and wasn't running from him, before he caught up to her.

"Your Grace," Lord Emmertal said, and she forced a smile onto her face as she turned around towards him. Her stomach felt as though it was filled with wriggly, slimy things, making her simultaneously a bit nauseous and very anxious.

Lord Emmertal's voice had been calm and downright pleasant, and Adelia found herself meeting his gaze as he looked down at her. Her skin started to crawl at the glint that she spotted lurking in his eyes. He tipped his head a little, adding, "Running from your intended?"

A wash of icy fear took her body, making her feel as though she had suddenly been dunked into a lake in the middle of winter. There was only one thing he could mean by those words, but that was impossible.

Resisting the urge to wet her lips, she said, "Pardon me, I fear I do not know who you mean, My Lord."

"Have they not told you yet?" There was a strange note to his voice, and a hint of a smile was visible now as his lips stretched faintly. "How lovely, I get to be the bearer of good news, then. We are to be wed, Your Grace."

No. That wasn’t possible. Her parents would never do that to her, surely they wouldn’t. For all their callousness, for all that her father's heart was made of ice and disregard and all that her mother never spoke out against him, not even in Adelia's defense, this was a step too far. Even for them.

Adelia forced herself to speak, "I haven’t heard of such a thing, My Lord."

He waved a dismissive hand, sidling a step closer, and she found herself taking one back instinctively. His eyes gleamed, and she realized she had given him exactly what he wanted: she had shown him that he frightened her. And he did, very much so.

Lord Emmertal continued speaking, eyes now fixed unerringly on her, like a hungry creature about to quench a horrible thirst, "Duke Warren recently reached out to me, worried your father might be cross with him for breaking off such a long-standing betrothal. I offered myself in exchange."

He smiled, a slimy, smarmy thing. "A well bred, perfectly well-behaved young woman is any gentleman’s dream, after all."

She felt like she was going to throw up. "My father agreed to this?"

Lord Emmertal took another step closer, and this time, she forced herself to stand still, while dread and nausea churned through her gut. "He found my offer to be satisfactory and will announce everything tonight. I will plan a beautiful wedding, don't you worry."

Adelia felt as though the floor was crumbling beneath her, her breath catching in her chest. She didn’t know what her face gave away, but the vile hunger in his eyes that made her hands tremble grew. She wanted to run away, but there was nowhere to go.

He offered his hand and asked, perfectly polite and perfectly pleasant, "May I have this dance?"

"My apologies," an entirely unexpected voice behind her cut in, and she didn't flinch in surprise only because Lord Emmertal's words and presence had her body tensing in fright. Glancing back stiffly, she was surprised to see Lord Morrow standing an arm’s length away, dark eyes unerringly fixed on Lord Emmertal. "I fear I was promised a dance."

By whom, Adelia found herself wondering numbly, but maybe Father had agreed to yet another thing she personally wouldn’t have.

Lord Morrow was known to never dance with anyone, no matter who asked. He wasn’t interested in anyone but the royal family, and the other nobles had long since given up trying to marry their daughters off to him in hopes of gaining a powerful ally and better standing with the king.

"My apologies, but my future wife simply must honor my request first," Lord Emmertal said, drawing her full attention once more as he tipped his chin up in arrogant confidence.

She heard Lord Morrow take a step closer behind her, and Adelia couldn’t see what expression was on his face or what he was doing, but for the first time, she saw Lord Emmertal still. She watched the man who terrified her swallow as he blanched, his haughty composure crumbling faster than wet paper.

"I’m certain it can wait," Lord Morrow said, voice low and almost soft and still it caused a sharp, cold shiver to crawl down her spine. There was an unspoken warning in those words, like a fine, sharp blade held against an easily bleeding throat by a steady hand. "You will have all the dances in the world once married, after all."

Lord Emmertal swallowed and offered a curt, jerky nod as though his control over his body had disappeared with Lord Morrow's words. There was a slight sheen of sweat appearing on his brow as he said, "Certainly, return her to me once you’re done."

He spoke as if she already belonged to him. As if she was an item to be traded and handed around. Adelia watched as he stepped away stiffly and quickly, sharply ordering one of the servants to bring him something to drink. It was bizarre, to say the least, to watch him flee with his tail between his legs, especially when he so loved to terrorize others.

She felt the prickle of tears, and an ugly, terrible feeling churned in her stomach when Lord Morrow stepped up to her side and a gloved hand was offered to her.

She glanced up at the warlord whose dark eyes were fixed on her, and he tilted his head slightly towards the dancing nobility. "Shall we?"

She took his hand because it was better than being forced to return to Lord Emmertal’s company, and she was too shaken to do anything else. Besides, Father would have her hide if she did anything that might upset the king’s most cherished friend.

"He seems to be an unpleasant fellow," Lord Morrow said, curling his gloved fingers around hers, and Adelia bit back a laugh that might as well have been a sob.

Distantly, she was aware of feeling the tips of his nails through the glove and she couldn't help but wonder briefly when he had cut them last. Maybe he wore gloves because he hadn't wanted to bother with that task before arriving here.

"He has his eccentricities," Adelia forced herself to answer, and Lord Morrow huffed a darkly amused sound as he led her towards the dancing nobles.

"I suppose that is one way to describe him." He pulled to a stop and waited for her to settle into position in front of him, his free hand coming to rest lightly on her side. "I fear I must admit, however, that I do not remember your name. Please forgive my rudeness."

"I am Adelia Aria, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she answered, the words coming without much thought as they started to dance.

She had never been particularly grateful for all the strict and relentless lessons in etiquette she had received growing up, but right now, she found herself glad for it. She wouldn’t have known what to say with the turmoil roiling inside of her otherwise.

"The pleasure is all mine," he answered with another mild smile. "Does Lord Emmertal bother you often?"

"No, My Lord," she whispered. Adelia would have never admitted otherwise even if he had, since she knew better than to badmouth a man of higher standing. Doubly so when her father might hear of it.

There was more than enough proof that no one cared about what Lord Emmertal did, and she wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking that things would be different just because she was the one speaking up.

After a moment she added, "Besides, it seems I am his wife-to-be, so it would hardly count as bothering if he spoke to me."

Lord Morrow hummed a soft, low note. "I see." He was quiet for a beat. "Do you wish to marry him?"

This time a tiny noise did slip out before she could stop herself, though she managed to bite back the rest of the hysterical, anguished sound that wanted to escape. She was glad for the cheerful music now, for it meant Lord Morrow couldn't have heard her slip up.

Taking a slightly deeper breath that almost hitched in her chest, she said, "I have no choice, My Lord."

The words sounded bleaker and more honest than she had intended, any sort of attempt to carefully brush off his question failing entirely. She stared at Lord Morrow’s dark, ruffled cravat and the brooch pinned there, a flower made of rubies and set into dark gold, shimmering in the candlelight.

Lord Morrow fell silent and Adelia still had no idea what to make of him, though it didn’t matter nearly as much as what Lord Emmertal had said. She was supposed to marry him.

She was going to die.

Her hands trembled, and if Lord Morrow felt it, he said nothing. She stared at his chest, and when the song ended and he kept dancing, she didn’t say anything either. No one would refuse the king’s best friend, not even Lord Ullion, who had known King Harold since they had been children.

She did notice that people gave them a bit of a berth, and she tried to calm her pounding heart. The steady dancing and the careful bit of polite distance Lord Morrow kept between their bodies as they moved helped a little. He never tightened his grip, and his hands never wandered.

Adelia decided to hide in this dance for as long as he would let her. As intimidating as this man was, he was nowhere near as terrifying as Lord Emmertal in this moment. Especially now that her hand was promised to the murderous lord.

Adelia wracked her brain, trying to figure out if she could do anything to save herself. Maybe she should run away. The jewelry she wore would be enough to ensure she wouldn’t go hungry or suffer the cold for years if she was very frugal, but where would she go? Where could she flee without people handing her back over to her parents or Lord Emmertal?

Besides, mages had many means to track people down, and Lord Emmertal had one in his employ. He could hunt her to the ends of the earth if he so pleased.

A shivering hopelessness began to nestle into her bones, leaving her blinking back tears. Whatever joy had lived in her this evening was gone completely and all that was left was grim fear.

Lord Morrow quietly danced with her for six songs, and he finally brought them to a stop with a little flourish that made her skirts spin and billow out.

"Thank you for this dance, it was delightful," he said as he stepped back and offered a bow that was a little deeper than it had to be. "I’m sure we’ll see each other again."

She dipped into a mindless curtsy and watched him leave. Mother appeared mere moments later, ushering her off to the side. Adelia cast a quick glance about, exhaling with relief when she didn’t see Lord Emmertal in the immediate vicinity.

"Did he want something?" Mother asked, craning her head to stare after Lord Morrow's retreating figure. The nobility readily parted before him again, curious stares following him.

Adelia grabbed her hand. "Mother, tell me you haven’t yet decided who I’ll marry."

Her mother fell silent, still staring after Lord Morrow, who rejoined King Harold and Queen Nina, his silhouette easy to spot even through the crowd.

That he alone wore such dark colors was enough to make him stand out amongst everyone else, never mind his imposing presence. At the moment, it was considered fashionable to avoid black entirely and to show off far more embroidery than the warlord ever did. He was, by all accounts, terribly unfashionable, though he also didn't seem to care one bit.

"Mother," Adelia whispered, a plea woven tightly into her voice.

"Your father has made his decision, and that is final," her mother answered, crushing any bits of wilting hope that had still existed within her. "Besides, Baron Warren wasted no time informing everyone of his son’s new bride. They are going to marry soon. Now, stand tall, Adelia, you’re starting to slouch."

Adelia stared at her and let go of her mother's hand, taking a step back. "You can’t mean that," she whispered, voice rough and cracking around the edges. "Do you know what he’ll do to me?"

Mother cast her a chastising glance. "He is a fine man and the lord of a powerful house. He has made us a very generous offer."

"I’m not a cow to be sold," she found herself saying sharply, some of the nearby nobles glancing over, most likely hoping to see something unfold that they could gossip about later. She felt her sight blur with tears, her voice coming out in a choked whisper, "Do I mean nothing to you?"

Of course, Adelia had known that she would not marry for love, few nobles ever did, after all. She had never loved Tirn, nor had he been in love with her, but she had liked him and had gotten along with him. They had agreed on enough topics, and enough of their values had mostly aligned that she had been rather optimistic about their future together.

Never, not even in her wildest nightmares, had she expected to die because of the man she married.

Mother grabbed her arm in warning, hissing in a low voice, "You’re a daughter of house Aria, do not bring us shame by behaving like a child." She looked ahead, and a pleasant smile appeared on her face. "Baron Izna, how good to see you, have you danced already?"

"Well, you see," the elderly man began, but when Mother offered Adelia’s hand insistently, he accepted with a little shrug and a smile, while his wife beside him sighed fondly.

"Go on, you know I no longer care to dance," the old woman ushered them off. Adelia allowed Baron Izna to once again lead her through a bit of circle-shuffling that masqueraded as dancing.

"You’re a good daughter," he said afterwards, giving her hand a grandfatherly pat. "Your parents are rightly proud of you."

She forced herself to smile, face numb and heart full of darkness and excused herself, finding Izabel and Katrina waiting nearby. Her friends looked worried as they pulled her aside to stand by one of the windows, the night sky outside covered in a multitude of stars.

"Did something happen?" Katrina asked, gentle and soft, and Adelia viciously bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying.

Haltingly, to keep her shaky hold on her composure, she told them everything. Her friends were silent, shock and horror and fear written across their faces.

"I’ll hide you," Katrina offered in a sudden burst of quiet, urgent words. "You can stay with me and I’ll never tell anyone anything, and then you’ll be safe."

As tempting as it was, Adelia knew it wouldn’t work. Any mage worth their salt could find her easily, and since Lord Emmertal had one, there was nowhere she could go.

"I’ll be alright," she lied in a whisper, but neither Izabel nor Katrina believed her.

They held her hands instead, tears in their eyes. Adelia allowed herself to breathe, now that her two friends were with her, and kept an eye out for Lord Emmertal.

Izabel, the tallest of the three, had an easier time keeping watch, and quietly moved them away whenever she spotted the lord somewhere. They managed the task well enough so that Adelia didn’t see him again until Lord Ullion had the first course of the banquet made ready. The nobles flocked into the adjoining dining hall, the long, grand table already set and waiting.

Silver tableware shone in the light of dozens of candles, while gold-rimmed and rose-painted plates were ready to be filled with delicacies Adelia, for once, had no desire to eat. She sat down, staring at the porcelain dishes, hands limp in her lap.

Servants stepped forward to fill their goblets with fine wine to accompany the equally fine meal that had been prepared. Adelia wasn’t sure if she was going to throw up if she ate anything or if she should get drunk enough first to hopefully stop feeling anything.

King Harold unexpectedly remained standing, clearly eager to make an announcement, causing the guests to fall quiet as all turned towards him. He picked up his goblet, a smile on his face.

"Gathered lords and ladies, I have truly marvelous, surprising news for you tonight." He gestured grandly at Lord Morrow. "My friend has expressed his desire for a wife!"

Soft murmurs broke out, and Adelia saw a number of young women glance nervously at the warlord, while some parents exchanged calculating glances as they tried to figure out who had managed such a feat. Lord Morrow hadn't shown interest in anyone before, after all.

"And not just any wife, he has fallen for one particular beauty right this evening," King Harold declared, while Lord Morrow didn’t look even remotely in love.

If anything, he was busy swishing the wine in his goblet, seemingly contemplating if it was up to his tastes or not. Louder murmuring accompanied King Harold’s words as the nobility grew a little more excited and curious.

King Harold turned towards Adelia's father and said, "Duke Richard of Aria, seeing as the betrothal between your girl and the Warren boy has been broken, I have marvelous news indeed!"

Father sat stiffly, a polite smile fixed on his face and confusion in his eyes. Adelia watched as the confusion was rapidly getting replaced with startled realization.

"Allow me, Harold," Lord Morrow said and raised his head to look from his goblet straight at Adelia across the table. "Adelia of house Aria, would you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Adelia couldn’t help but stare, dumbfounded, and her emotions felt like such a mess that everything just went a little fuzzy around the edges.

King Harold laughed. "Looks like the girl is speechless with joy! Let us celebrate their upcoming nuptials!"

Father was about to speak, she could see it from the corner of her eye, but he shut his mouth. If King Harold wanted something, he would get it, and Father wasn’t powerful enough to refuse the king’s savior and cherished best friend anything, especially when the king so clearly supported those desires.

Under other circumstances, her father would have voiced his protest, but in this situation he had no control. He clearly wanted to sell her, and he wanted to do it for the highest price, the greatest gain of power, and the biggest climb up the social ladder possible.

An arranged marriage with Lord Morrow offered little of that, unless he managed to wriggle his way into the king's good graces very quickly, so the king would let him haggle about the details of the marriage contract.

With no chance to actually speak with Lord Morrow beforehand to try to come to a favorable agreement, her father was essentially giving her away for nothing. The king clearly had already accepted whatever proposal Lord Morrow had offered in their stead, and the marriage contract would decidedly and heavily work out in the warlord's favor.

"Your Highness," Lord Emmertal spoke up, crisp and with a faint undertone of dismay. "I fear Duke Aria and I have already come to an agreement pertaining to the girl and I."

King Harold waved a dismissive hand, while Lord Morrow cast a look at Lord Emmertal. This time, Adelia got a glimpse of Lord Morrow's face as he stared the other lord down.

There was something truly chilling in his gaze, something too sharp and far too dangerous to ignore. For just a breath, it felt like death sat at the table with them, unavoidable and powerful.

Adelia's breath caught in her throat and an icy shiver crawled down her spine as she found herself feeling so utterly mortal again for a moment. It was a similar feeling to the one she had had when facing down the large, winged monster. Was this the power of a warlord of the Wilds?

Lord Emmertal faintly tensed up where he sat, and the full force of the stare must have been even worse than an outside glimpse, for his complexion paled a little. A light sheen of sweat rapidly began to appear on his brow once more.

"You’ll find another girl, if you like," King Harold said, a warning tone to his voice that had all the nobles fall quiet. "If I say this union will happen, then it shall be done."

The king sat down with finality and waved at Lord Ullion to proceed with the banquet. Lord Emmertal was silent now, staring down at his hands, his shoulders stiff. He didn’t so much as glance in Lord Morrow’s direction again.

Adelia's attention was diverted as the servants arrived, balancing big silver platters on their hands, setting them down along the long table, and removing domed covers to reveal freshly-cooked and -baked decadent food.

She sat still as they were served, and Mother beside her reached for a fork, the faintest of furrows between her brows, as though she didn’t quite know what to think of this turn of events.

"Will I marry him?" Adelia asked softly once the servants had stepped away.

Father answered just as quietly, though with a dark, hard tone, "You will do as King Harold demands."

Father picked up a piece of steamed and seasoned vegetable with his fork. Even as viciously unhappy as she knew he must be, he kept any kind of emotion off his face and out of his gestures, looking polite and well-mannered.

In a low tone he added, "As we all do."

"Did you already decide on a date?" Baron Warren asked, loud enough for Adelia to overhear, and she glanced up to see him look at Lord Morrow.

"Autumn," Lord Morrow answered curtly, taking a measured bite of a slightly bloody piece of meat, "before winter begins."

There were some unhappy glances among the womenfolk, and Adelia remembered the rhyme an old lady had taught her a few years ago:

Spring’s bride shall marry as plant and life are raised and born,

and she’ll live long and rich until her final morn’.

Summer’s bride shall be wed in sun’s golden glow,

and her happiness and beauty will be sure to grow.

Autumn is a poor choice for any future bride,

for misfortune and death are nothing from which she may hide.

Nobility never married in winter, so there was no verse for the season. The bride-to-be could hardly travel through snow and ice to join households with her intended, after all. Even the few nobles who had mages in their employ and weren’t as restricted by the seasons respected those customs.

Besides, it was hard to create big feasts and flower decorations and to have everyone show up in their finest clothes while the world was blanketed in snow.

Autumn carried a long string of superstition with it, and it was considered bad luck for anyone who chose to marry in the months in which the world slowly died in preparation for winter’s mourning veil.

She had no idea if other folk did things differently, if farmers and merchants sang more cheerful rhymes, or if the Wilds held no such superstitions in the first place. Maybe that was why Lord Morrow suggested autumn, because to him and his people, it was just a season like any other.

"Autumn seems a bit unfortunate," Mother said, slightly hesitant and voice careful. She leaned back a little in her seat, her fingers tightening the faintest bit around her cutlery, when Lord Morrow glanced at her, his eyes dark and faintly amused.

"It matters not to me, but the Wilds are colder than your lands, and I am certain my future wife will appreciate spending the warm months somewhere more comfortable," he answered.

If the Wilds were considered less comfortable even when it was warm, she did not wish to find out what the winters were like. Though, if this marriage really took place, she'd soon find out, whether she wanted to or not.

"Autumn, it is," King Harold decreed and Mother fell silent with a demure nod. "Let us celebrate this most joyous decision!"

Adelia briefly caught sight of Baron Warren’s slightly sour expression. He clearly must have hoped to draw attention with his son’s upcoming marriage, but now, no one was even remotely interested in that. They were far too busy whispering while casting glances at Lord Morrow, who did a marvelous job of pretending he noticed none of the attention.

Adelia ate slowly, barely tasting anything, and she looked up to find Izabel and Katrina trying to get her attention, their eyes wide and confused and worried and tentatively hopeful.

Was Lord Morrow better or worse than Lord Emmertal? To her knowledge, Lord Morrow had never had a wife or betrothed, so who knew? Maybe he liked to abuse his servants and had realized he might as well get a wife to do such things to.

Maybe he just wanted to upstage Lord Emmertal; he certainly seemed to take some sort of pleasure in making the man cower. And what did it say about Lord Morrow if even a man like Lord Emmertal was frightened of him?

Adelia did not know what to think and neither did she know what to feel. Should she be relieved to have slipped Lord Emmertal's noose or would Lord Morrow be her end anyway? Was he a better choice or would she lead a small, miserable life regardless?

Mother was satisfied as long as she ate a little to still appear polite, so Adelia wasn’t forced to partake in every dish since her stomach was churning badly enough as it was. She feared she might have thrown up if she had been told to eat a full course.

She glanced up and watched as Lord Morrow listened to King Harold chatter away, sedately eating his bloody lamb and sipping on his equally blood-red wine. His eyes were as dark as lakes during moonless nights.

She had no idea what to think, none at all.