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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 herlautanipipe because the children were giving herheadaches, 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 alreadyknewthings.
If this marriage secures their futures and saves them from the destructive grip of my father, then so be it.
