Chapter 2 The Betrothal

• I made it to my chambers before the rage exploded.
• The ancient oak door slammed behind me with enough force to rattle the stone walls. My ceremonial dagger flew from my belt to embed itself in the wooden target across the room—a wedding gift from some long-dead aunt who'd thought a princess should learn 'ladylike pursuits.' The blade struck dead center, joining a dozen other scars that marked my frustration over the years.
• "Fucking politics," I snarled, pacing before the tall windows that overlooked the kingdom I'd spent my life preparing to rule alone. "Fucking alliances. Fucking men who think a woman needs a husband to wield power effectively."
• The skull at my belt grew warm, my great-grandmother's spirit stirring with my agitation. Her voice emerged like wind through old bones: "Language, child. Queens don't curse like tavern wenches."
• "This queen will curse however she damn well pleases." I yanked the dagger from the target and spun it between my fingers, the familiar weight helping to center my scattered thoughts. "Besides, you cursed worse than a sailor when you ruled."
• "That was different. I earned the right through sixty years of bloodshed." Amusement colored the spectral voice. "You're still young enough to have options."
• Options. As if I hadn't spent every waking moment since childhood creating options for myself. Combat training at dawn, political lessons with the masters, language studies, economics, military strategy, and always—always—always-always-the secret sessions learning to commune with the spirits bound to our family's collection of skull relics.
• I'd made myself indispensable, irreplaceable, the perfect heir to the Shadowmere throne. And now father wanted to hand half my power to some northern prince whose only qualification was possessing a cock and a famous surname.
• The Thornfield name.
• I sank into the chair beside my writing desk, finally allowing myself to process the full horror of my father's announcement. Not just any political marriage—marriage to the son of Cassius Thornfield. The man who'd crept into the castle ten years ago and opened my mother's throat while she slept peacefully in the royal chambers.
• My fingers traced the familiar path to the locked drawer where I kept my mother's personal effects. The key hung on a chain around my neck, hidden beneath my clothing, close to my heart, where the pain of her loss still burned bright as a forge fire.
• The drawer opened with a soft click, revealing letters tied with faded ribbon, a pressed flower from her garden, and the journal she'd kept during her final months. I'd read every page so many times the words were burned into my memory, but I pulled out the leather-bound book anyway, letting it fall open to the entry that had haunted me for a decade.
• "Magnus grows more distant each day. The northern lords send messages he won't share, and I fear the alliances he's building. There are whispers about the Thornfield family—dark rumors about their methods and their hunger for power. I've tried to speak with him about my concerns, but he dismisses them as feminine worry. If something happens to me, if these fears prove true, I pray Seraphina will be strong enough to see through the lies and uncover the truth."
• Mother had known. Somehow, she'd sensed the danger coming and tried to warn Father. Instead of listening, he'd probably shared her concerns with the very man who'd silenced her forever.
• "The Thornfields," I spoke the name aloud, tasting its bitterness. "Tell me what you know about them, grandmother."
• The skull pulsed with ethereal energy as my great-grandmother's spirit focused her attention. "An old family, older than ours. They ruled the northern territories when your grandfather was still learning to hold a sword. Cassius Thornfield was barely more than a boy when he inherited—his father died in suspicious circumstances."
• "Suspicious how?"
• "Poison in his wine. Cassius blamed bandits, but everyone knew the truth. The boy was hungry for power and tired of waiting for inheritance." Her voice grew colder. "He's been consolidating northern strength ever since, eliminating rivals through marriage, murder, or both. Your father sees him as a useful ally. I see him as a serpent who'll bite the hand that feeds him."
• "And his son?"
• "Prince Aldric? Unknown quantity. Some say he's as ruthless as his father. Others claim he's soft, more interested in books than battles." The spirit's laugh was like wind through a graveyard. "Either way, he's still a Thornfield. Poison runs in bloodlines as surely as eye color."
• I closed my mother's journal and pressed it against my chest, feeling the weight of her words and the terrible irony of fate. Father intended to unite our kingdoms through marriage, binding me to the family that had already taken so much from us.
• But perhaps that was exactly the opportunity I needed.
• A knock at my chamber door interrupted my plotting. "Come."
• Lydia Ravencrest entered with the fluid grace that had made her both my closest friend and most dangerous rival. Her auburn hair was perfectly arranged despite the early hour, and her green eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that usually meant trouble for someone.
• "I hear congratulations are in order," she said, settling into the chair across from my desk without invitation. "A royal wedding. How exciting."
• "You hear quickly." I studied her face for signs of genuine pleasure or a hidden agenda. With Lydia, both were possible simultaneously.
• "Court gossip travels faster than wildfire." She leaned forward, her smile sharp as a blade. "Prince Aldric Thornfield. I've heard he's quite handsome. Strong jaw, piercing blue eyes, shoulders broad enough to carry a kingdom." Her tone turned mockingly romantic. "A fairytale match."
• "Fairytales are for children who believe in happy endings." I stood and walked to the window, watching servants cross the courtyard below. "This is politics. Nothing more."
• "Politics can be profitable." Lydia joined me at the window, her reflection ghostlike in the glass. "The Thornfield territories are rich in iron and timber. Their armies are well-trained and numerous. This marriage could strengthen Shadowmere considerably."
• "If you're trying to convince me this is a good idea, you're wasting your breath."
• "I'm trying to remind you that sometimes the best revenge is success." Her voice dropped to a whisper.
• "You've never forgotten what happened to your mother. Neither have I. But charging blindly into vengeance will only get you killed."
• I turned to face her fully, searching her expression for deception. Lydia had been present the night mother died, one of the few people who'd seen the aftermath and understood the true cost of political games. She'd also been one of the few who'd supported my quest to discover the truth behind the murder.
• "What are you suggesting?"
• "Marry the prince. Become a Thornfield duchess. Get close to Lord Cassius." Her smile turned predatory.
• "And then destroy them from within."
• The suggestion had merit, even if it came from Lydia's lips. Revenge served cold was often more satisfying than hot blood spilled in passion. And wedding the enemy's son would certainly give me access to information and opportunities I couldn't gain through direct assault.
• "You think I should become a wife and mother? Abandon my throne for domestic bliss?"
• "I think you should become a widow." Lydia's words hit like physical blows. "Preferably before producing an heir who might complicate inheritance issues."
• The casual way she discussed murder should have shocked me. Instead, I found myself considering the logistics. A grieving widow would garner sympathy. A childless widow would maintain her independence.
• And a widow with proof of her husband's family's crimes would be perfectly justified in claiming vengeance.
• "You've given this considerable thought."
• "I've had time to consider while you were executing traitors this morning." Lydia moved closer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "There's something else you should know. Something about why your father agreed to this alliance now."
• My blood chilled. "What?"
• "Lord Cassius didn't just propose this marriage. He demanded it." Her eyes glittered with dangerous knowledge. "He has information about certain activities that could embarrass the crown.
• Activities involving missing tax revenue, unauthorized military actions, and correspondence with enemies of the realm."
• The implications hit me like a warhammer to the chest: Blackmail. Father hadn't agreed to this marriage out of political wisdom—he'd been cornered like a wounded animal with no choice but to submit.
• Which meant Lord Cassius Thornfield had been planning this for years, gathering ammunition to use against us when the time was right. He'd killed my mother, escaped justice, and now he was forcing me into marriage with his son as the ultimate insult.
• "How do you know this?"
• Lydia's smile was all teeth and secrets. "I have my sources. Just as you have yours."
• Before I could demand more details, another knock echoed through my chambers. This time, Captain Aldwin's voice carried through the wood: "Your Highness, the king requests your immediate presence in the war room. Priority dispatch from the northern borders."
• I exchanged a look with Lydia, seeing my suspicions reflected in her eyes. Convenient timing for an urgent message, just hours after my father had announced my betrothal to a northern prince.
• "It seems the game has already begun," I murmured, checking my weapons out of habit. "And we're not the only players."
• As I headed for the door, my great-grandmother's voice whispered urgently through her skull: "Beware,
• child. The dead whisper of old names awakening. Powers that have slept for generations are stirring in the north."
• I paused with my hand on the door handle, cold dread settling in my bones. "What names?"
• But the spirit had already retreated into silence, leaving me with nothing but questions and the growing certainty that my betrothal was only the beginning of something far more dangerous than a simple political marriage.
• The Thornfield name was connected to more than just the mother's murder. And I was about to discover exactly how deep those connections ran.