Kassian's POV
I should have killed the Duke the moment I took the throne.
That's what my second-in-command, Theron, said this morning after we executed the king. Malachai Thorne is a snake, Theron warned me. He'll scheme and plot. End him now.
But I didn't listen. I thought keeping one Valdris advisor alive might help the transition of power go smoothly.
Now, watching that snake present a starving servant girl as a diplomatic bride, I realize Theron was right.
I lean back on the blood-stained throne and study the girl kneeling before me. She's shaking so hard I can see it from here. The wedding dress hangs off her like a sheet on a scarecrow. Her arms show fading bruises yellow and green, a few days old. Her wrists are too thin.
They've been starving her.
Something hot and angry coils in my chest. I've spent three months at war, watching soldiers die, burning cities, doing terrible things in the name of revenge. I thought I was past feeling anything.
But looking at this terrified girl being used as a pawn makes me furious.
Stand up, I order her.
She struggles to her feet, wobbling. When she finally looks at me, I see her eyes big and brown and filled with fear.
But not just fear. There's something else there. Something stubborn. Like she's been beaten down a thousand times but keeps getting back up.
I know that look. I wore it myself once, thirteen years ago.
This is your diplomatic offering? I ask the Duke, not hiding my disgust. A half-starved girl in a borrowed dress?
The Duke's smile never wavers. She is a willing bride, my lord. A gesture of goodwill
I didn't ask for a bride, I interrupt coldly. I asked for Valdris's surrender.
I could refuse. Should refuse. Marrying some random servant girl makes no political sense.
But then I think about what will happen to her if I say no. The Duke will throw her back in whatever hole he pulled her from. Or worse he'll kill her for embarrassing him.
And suddenly, I know exactly what game Malachai is playing. He's not offering me a bride. He's testing me. Seeing if I'm the kind of man who'll execute an innocent girl for his wounded pride.
Thirteen years ago, Valdris assassins murdered my family during a peace negotiation. My father, my mother, my ten-year-old sister Elara. They killed them with magic and poison, then claimed it was an accident.
I've spent thirteen years becoming strong enough to take revenge. To sit on this throne. To make Valdris pay.
But I won't become like them. I won't kill innocent people just because I can.
What's your name? I ask the girl directly.
Aria. Her voice is barely a whisper.
Just Aria?
Just Aria. I'm... I'm a servant, my lord. I have no family name. I'm sorry.
The throne room erupts in whispers. Even my own soldiers look shocked.
The Duke's face flashes with anger before he recovers. A minor detail, my lord. Surely
You're giving me a servant? I let ice drip from every word. You're trying to pass off a servant as a noble bride?
Aria closes her eyes, probably expecting me to kill her.
Instead, I laugh.
It's a bitter, angry laugh, but it's genuine. The audacity of this Duke offering me a servant and calling it diplomacy after everything I've sacrificed to be here.
A servant, I repeat, shaking my head. After three months of war, after thousands of deaths, after I've conquered your entire kingdom you offer me a servant girl and call it diplomacy.
The Duke starts to speak, probably to offer someone else. Some actual noblewoman he's been hiding.
I don't give him the chance.
No, I say clearly. I accept.
Aria's eyes fly open. She stares at me like I've lost my mind.
Maybe I have. But I make my decision in that moment, looking at her bruised arms and terrified face.
If I refuse her, she dies. If I accept her, she lives. And maybe I can use this marriage to show Valdris that I'm not the monster they think I am.
We marry at dawn, I announce. Prepare the ceremony.
I stand and walk back to my throne, but not before leaning close enough to whisper to Aria: I'm sorry.
Her eyes widen, but I'm already past her, already sitting down, already turning my attention to Theron.
My second-in-command looks at me like I'm insane. My lord, he says quietly. Are you certain
It's done, I say flatly. Send word to the priest. Dawn ceremony.
The Duke bows, that snake smile still on his face. Very generous, my lord. I'll ensure the bride is properly prepared.
Guards take Aria away. She looks back once, confused and scared.
I force myself not to watch her go.
Hours later, I'm alone in the king's chambers my chambers now. They've cleaned out the previous king's belongings, but the room still smells like him. Like expensive wine and old blood.
I stand by the window, looking out at the conquered city. Fires still burn in some districts. My soldiers patrol the streets. This kingdom is mine now.
So why do I feel so empty?
Theron enters without knocking. He's been my best friend since we were boys, my second-in-command, the only person who can speak freely to me.
You're actually going through with this? he asks.
I gave my word.
To marry a servant girl you've never met.
Would you rather I killed her? I turn to face him. That's what the Duke expected. He wanted me to refuse her, to execute her for the insult. To prove I'm the monster everyone says I am.
Theron sighs and pours himself wine from the king's from my personal supply. So instead you're marrying her to prove you're not a monster. That's very noble. Also very stupid.
Probably, I admit.
You know nothing about her.
I know she's been beaten recently. I know she's starving. I know she's terrified but trying to be brave. I think of those brown eyes meeting mine. I know she's survived something terrible.
That describes half the people in this palace, Theron points out.
He's right. But there was something about Aria. Something in the way she held her head up even while shaking. The way she apologized for being a servant, like her existence was an inconvenience.
It reminded me of myself, when I was sixteen and suddenly responsible for an entire kingdom after my family died.
The marriage is political now, I say, changing the subject. It shows mercy. It shows I'm willing to integrate Valdris citizens, even common ones, into the new order.
Theron doesn't look convinced. Or it shows weakness.
Then let them think I'm weak, I snap. I'm tired of being strong, Theron. I'm tired of killing. I'm tired of revenge.
My friend studies me for a long moment. Did you get it? The revenge you wanted?
I think about the king dying by my sword this morning. About taking this throne. About conquering the kingdom that murdered my family.
No, I say quietly. It didn't help. They're still dead.
Theron nods slowly. Then maybe this marriage is a good thing. Maybe it's time to start building instead of destroying.
After he leaves, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Aria in that too-big dress. About her whispered I'm sorry, like existing was her fault.
I think about her flinching when I moved toward her. Someone has hurt her badly. Recently.
And I think about marrying her tomorrow at dawn, binding her to me legally and politically, and having no idea if that will save her or doom her.
Meanwhile, across the palace, Aria sits in the princess's old bedroom, still wearing the wedding dress because no one brought her other clothes.
She's completely alone until she hears a soft knock.
The door cracks open, and a girl slips inside young, maybe twenty, with kind eyes and nervous hands.
Aria! the girl whispers. It's me. Lyra.
Aria nearly cries with relief. Lyra is a kitchen maid, one of the only servants who was ever kind to her.
I brought food, Lyra says, pulling bread and cheese from her apron pockets. Eat quickly before anyone sees.
Aria tears into the food like a starving animal. She is a starving animal. Three days without food.
Lyra watches her with worried eyes. I can't believe they're making you marry the Warlord. This is insane.
I don't understand why, Aria says between bites. Why would he accept me? I'm nobody.
I don't know, but Aria Lyra leans closer, her voice dropping even lower. I was serving wine to the Duke's men earlier. I heard them talking.
About what?
About you. About the wedding. Lyra's hands shake. The Duke is planning something. I don't know what exactly, but it's bad. One of them said, 'Once the ceremony is done, everything falls into place.'
Ice floods through Aria's veins. What does that mean?
I don't know, Lyra admits. But be careful tomorrow. The Duke never does anything without a reason, and I don't think he's trying to help you.
She slips back out before Aria can ask more questions, leaving her alone with bread crumbs and rising terror.
Aria walks to the window and looks out at the dark city. Somewhere out there is the Warlord Kassian who accepted her for reasons she doesn't understand. Who whispered I'm sorry like he actually meant it.
Tomorrow at dawn, she'll marry him.
And somehow, the Duke is using that marriage for something terrible.
Aria's hand drifts to her chest, where she can feel a strange warmth. It started during the wedding presentation, when the Duke mentioned the ceremony. Just a tiny flutter, like her heart skipped.
She presses her palm flat against her chest and gasps.
There it is again that warmth. That flutter. And beneath it, something else. Something that feels almost like... magic?
But that's impossible. Her magic has always been small. Gentle. Just enough to heal minor cuts and grow flowers.
This feels different. Bigger. Like something is waking up inside her.
What is happening to me?
A sound outside her door makes her jump. Footsteps. Guards changing shifts.
And then, carried on the night wind through her window, she hears it:
Chanting. Low and rhythmic. Coming from somewhere deep beneath the palace.
It sounds like a ritual.
It sounds like blood magic.
And it sounds like it's calling her name.