The soldier stood at arm’s length, studying the painting of the king and queen. Still, she could feel his gaze burn her cheek when she wasn’t looking in his direction. “Why are you not on this wall?”
“I have no place there. I am not of their blood. Come.” He gestured toward the throne room. “We should not tarry.”
Valoria bit her tongue. Right. When the question focuses on him, he ushers her ahead. How could she tell him she wasn’t ready? Would she ever be?
The large oaken doors spread open, inviting them in. Attendants wearing velvet robes in Ebonvale’s purple colors bowed as the procession passed and entered the main audience chamber. The pennants of the house of Thoridian dangled from lofty rafters, waving lazily in the breeze from open windows.
On the floor, marble tiles depicted the galaxy above, with swirling cosmic clouds and glinting stars of mica. The artist’s work represented Ebonvale’s never-ending reach throughout the world, stretching throughout the universe. Valoria tried not to compare their arrogant design with the House of Song’s peaceful dome.
At the center of the cosmos stood three thrones made from the pillars of Helena and Horred’s temple before the dead army stomped their palace to ruins. Ancient craftsmen had carved climbing ivy and wandering butterflies in the ivory. Some of the images had broken off or crumbled. Yet, by the places where the artwork remained unscathed, she could sense how beautiful the ancient temple must have been.
The doors closed behind her, leaving her to face her new family with no way to escape. If only she had her harp to calm herself with soothing tones.
King Bronford Thoridian sat on the largest throne to the right, wearing his battle armor. His shaved head gleamed pale white like his son’s. But this man had kinder eyes. Whether because of the slight wrinkles around them, or by a hint of sympathy, Valoria did not know.
Beside the king sat Danika Thoridian, the woman who’d stolen her father’s heart. Even though the queen had aged past her prime, her blonde hair glowed golden in the sun, and her sharp green eyes sparkled like emeralds. A necklace of five violet pearls lay around her neck. She was gorgeous, and Valoria could see why her father had been taken with the former princess.
The queen’s foxy features showed compassion where Valoria thought there’d be none. “Helena’s sword! Are you harmed, my child?”
“No, my lady.” Valoria bowed slowly before them, ensuring all saw her bloodied dress. “But the House of Song has sacrificed much to come.”
“As it always has.” Sadness weighed down the queen’s pretty face.
Valoria straightened, studying her. What other emotions lurked in the furrow of the Queen’s perfect brow? Regret? Valoria crossed her arms. “And will continue to do to ensure our people’s union.” Her chest tightened. Had she said too much?
Danika Thoridian’s lips pursed as she stood. “Hopefully, your sacrifice is at an end.”
Hadn’t it just started? An uncomfortable silence reigned as Valoria struggled to keep that last thought to herself. As if to ease the awkwardness of the moment, the king stood and walked down the steps to take her arm. His fingers were rough with calluses and thick as sausages, but his skin was clean. She’d heard he hadn’t been in battle since he’d damaged his left knee running after raiders last year.
His tone was soft and kind. “You’ve had a rough journey. Please, take my son’s seat by our side.”
Valoria glanced at the empty chair resting beside the king. Where was Braxten? Should he not find the time to welcome her? Anger ripped through her, followed by a humiliating sense of relief. She’d have to face him some day, why not get it over with?
“Braxten is defending our southern border with the Royal Guard.” The king showed her to her intended’s throne. She sat upon the white ivory, feeling like a child in a giant’s chair. Hard stone pressed against her behind, and the armrests were cold as winter’s chill. Hopefully, the man who sat there didn’t take after his throne.
Nathaniel approached the king and queen, bowing before them. As he briefed them on the attack, Valoria tried not to watch him too closely. She found her eyes returning to the solid lines of his face every chance she got. He was the only one among the Thoridians who made her feel at home.
But he wasn’t a Thoridian, now was he?
The doors to the hall burst open, and Braxten strode through, his armor chinking with each step. The portrait had not done his size justice. He towered over the other men, wide as an ox with bulging arms and legs. A bloody gash crossed his left cheek, and he wiped the blood away as if it was sweat. His wide-set eyes were dark and fierce, his gait purposeful and swift. A brown sack dangled from his fist.
Valoria’s throat constricted. Was it a gift for her?
The underside of the sack dripped dark liquid on the marble floor. If it was a wedding gift, than it was a strange one indeed.
Not even glancing in her direction, Brax approached the king and queen and upended the sack. A round head of wet black hair bounced twice, then rested with two glaring eyes staring at Valoria. Its mouth lay open in a silent scream. Horror and disgust rolled through her. She tightened her grip on the throne, fingernails digging into the ivory.
“The leader of the resistance.” Brax’s voice was deep and velvety, growling with each word. It resonated deep inside Valoria’s gut. It was a voice she’d remember, a voice that would haunt her dreams.
The queen covered her mouth. The king waved her back. His face remained stoic as he approached his son. “Have you forgotten what day this is?”
“I thought you’d be proud, father.” Brax bowed his head.
“I am always proud of you, son.” The king put a hand on his shoulder. “But, now you must forget our battles. Your future wife has come.”
The king gestured toward Valoria, and Brax turned in her direction. She tried to keep her face expressionless as his eyes bore into her, pulling her apart bone by bone. He seemed disappointed somehow, as if they’d given him a toy he didn’t need. Still, Brax bowed his head to her. “My lady.”
She nodded once, acknowledging him, but she could not accept him in her heart.
The warrior stood and turned back to the king. Although he spoke under his voice, Valoria’s trained minstrel ears could hear. “I expect a counterattack in the next few days. I must fortify the southern border.”
The king sighed. “My son—always thinking of the safety of our kingdom.” He put a hand on Braxten’s shoulder. “Be back by tonight’s dinner feast. You must take your seat next to our future princess.”
“As you will, father.” Brax nodded, then stormed off as quick as he’d come with his men following him. Awkward silence fell as his footsteps receded down the hall.
Nathaniel took the sack and covered the head. He turned to the nearest of the Royal Guard and whispered under his breath. “Get that foul thing out of here.”
Valoria hunched over in her chair as a sick pang hit her stomach. Panic rose inside her. Could she retain her composure, or would she explode from disappointment in front of the entire audience in the main hall? Grinding her teeth, she straightened and held onto the throne with both hands. She did this for her father, and for the House of Song.
Nathaniel addressed the king and queen. “The princess has had a rough journey. Allow me to escort her to her quarters, where she can rest for the evening’s festivities.”
“Of course.” The king smiled at her, and it was not unkind. If only his tenderness had passed to his son.
Valoria stood and accepted Nathaniel’s arm. They exited the throne room in silence. Only after the doors closed behind her did she breathe again.
“The