Chapter 1

One

The wedding guests shuffle in their seats, restless. My father draws his silver watch from the pocket of his waistcoat, flips open the lid, and clicks his tongue impatiently. Under my white veil, I'm sweating, waiting in the shade of the inn. With every minute that passes, I'm more nervous looking over at the wedding party gathered on the village green. Almost everyone I know is here—neighbors, cousins, friends—with the most notable exception of the man I'm marrying today.

Ansel is late. I'm not sure whether you can be fashionably late to a wedding, your own or otherwise, but Ansel definitely passed the fashionable mark a quarter of an hour ago. We were supposed to get married before noon, then proceed to the sprawling backyard of my father's inn for a wedding feast the likes of which this village hasn't seen in years. A beautiful day dawned this morning, and for the first time since my parents made the arrangements with Ansel's family, I felt as if the gods were smiling down on us. Autumn weather can be unpredictable, but my wedding day, it seems, will go down in history as unseasonably warm and sunny.

My mother bustles to my side, fanning herself with her bonnet. That she has taken the straw-and-silk contraption off is a mark of her distress—she has spent more money and effort on her outfit for the day than I spent for my own dress and dowry included. To be the mother of the bride means a lot to her, so I didn't complain. She'll have to wait nearly a decade before she gets to marry off Luca, my younger brother.

"Jasmine, there you are. Where is that blasted boy?" she hisses under her breath, as if I plotted this delay myself. "His parents arrived on time, but his mother claims she has no knowledge of what's going on."

I'd noticed my future in-laws in the front row, a couple of seats from my father and brother.

"Maybe he's taken ill," I suggest. "A case of the nerves, perhaps? I'm sure he'll be here soon."

I don't recognize the voice coming out of my mouth. It's very calm and not at all like mine, but my mother is too distracted to notice. She exclaims over the indignity of having to delay and complains that the roast will be all dried out if we wait any longer to serve it to the guests. I tune out her voice and focus on drawing deep, calming breaths.

If Ansel is indeed late because he's too nervous to show his face, I understand it completely. I wish we'd had time to get to know each other better—then I could have confided in him that I feel exactly the same. I couldn't eat a bite at breakfast, a fact that my mother applauded because she claimed my gown would fit me better on an empty stomach. But the truth is, I don't know my husband-to-be at all. And while he seemed like a nice man during the two short visits we had, I won't claim I'm excited to marry him, so I suspect he might be equally reticent about me.

A young man appears behind the rows of chairs. He scans the crowd, and his gaze sharpens. Then he runs forward until he reaches Ansel's parents, and I realize this must be one of my groom's younger brothers—they share the same wheat-gold hair. He leans down to whisper something to his parents.

His mother lets out an audible gasp. His father turns a deep shade of red that has me wondering whether he's about to keel over in his chair. And I know.

I know in that moment that I will not be marrying Ansel today.

Two hours later, the crowd has dispersed. I'm sitting under the yellowing linden tree, enjoying the shade. For all the commotion that followed the announcement that Ansel has eloped to Ultrup with his childhood sweetheart, a strange sense of peace envelops me. There was a lot of shouting. Some crying, from Ansel's mother and my own, and strong words exchanged on both sides. Then his family left the village without delay, and I did my best to ignore the titters and whispers wafting over to me on the afternoon breeze.

The guests didn't stay long after that, leaving my father and brother to pick up all the chairs and benches they'd painstakingly dragged out of the inn for the ceremony. I wish I had the will to help—to do something—but luckily, my parents have concluded that I'm too distraught over being jilted at the altar to do anything at all. So I've been left alone to stew in silence, and what I've done is think.

Was marriage to me so abhorrent to Ansel that he chose to turn his back on his entire family? For a while, I indulge in self-pity, but I don't think that was the reason for today's events. No, Ansel simply did something I didn't have the guts to do—he chose true love over trying to pacify his family. He and his sweetheart decided that they wanted each other more than they needed their parents' approval, and I find that I can't fault them for that.

Do I wish he'd come clean before today and saved me the embarrassment? Yes, of course. But I also wish someone felt as strongly about me as he does about his new bride.

"Do you want to come inside now, darling?"

My mother approaches me carefully, hand clutched around a crumpled-up linen handkerchief. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but she has pasted on a determined smile, which means she has overcome her moaning stage and is ready to proceed to actions.

"Yes." I stand and dust off a couple of browned leaves that stick to my white gown and motion to the laces. "I'll need help getting out of this."

She ushers me inside, through the main taproom of our inn to the back stairs that lead to the private apartment where our family lives. For the first decade of my life, I had the second-largest bedroom, but when my brother, the heir, was born, I moved to a smaller bedroom down the hall. I didn't mind the move too much—and now I'm happy this is my private space because it's as far removed from the others as possible and looks out onto the forest that stretches beyond the village.

If I squint a little, I can almost imagine I can see the orc lands beyond the border of our kingdom of Styria. Somewhere out there is the Black Bear Hill, where my friends, Rose and Ivy, now live with their orc husbands. Or mates, as the orcs call their life partners.

I let my mother unbutton and unlace the back of my dress—the task would have fallen to Ansel if we had married today—and she brings me dinner without me having to ask for it. I know she does it out of love, but also because she doesn't want to encourage any more gossip among the serving girls down in the taproom. I wonder what happened to all the food that was going to be served to the guests. I hope they send some out to the families that need it, at least, or we'll be eating beef roast for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next week and more.

Finally, I set the tray of half-finished dinner back in the hall and lock myself in my room. I put on my nightgown even though it's barely dark outside, and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

I can't get Ansel and his sweetheart out of my head. I'm jealous of them, I realize, after mulling over my feelings for a while. And for the first time in my life, I cannot squash the sensation that my life is passing by without much input from me. I'd always been content to follow the rules. To work at my parents' inn, taking on more and more responsibilities as they grew older and more involved with my brother's upbringing.

I never even truly resented the fact that Luca will one day inherit the inn, despite the fact that I'm the one who knows how to run it perfectly. It is what it is—that's what my mother always said, and I wasn't raised to go against the grain.

But tonight, I can't swallow down the restlessness. The itch deep inside my chest that says I should be doing more. It's my life, but up until now, I was content to let others run it. A vague sense of shame descends on me at the thought that I'm almost twenty-five years old and haven't been in love yet. If I married Ansel, I might have grown to love him—I certainly liked him enough to consent to marry him—but there wouldn't be any of the romance I'd read about in the novels I borrowed from the traveling lending library.

I vividly remember the evening Rose met her mate—he'd gotten a glimpse of her from across the room, and he knew she was right for him. No one has ever looked at me the way he'd looked at her. No one ever wanted to elope with me either. And I know it's horribly childish to want things as frivolous as that. I was raised to value a roof over my head, enough food in the pantry, and a heavy coin purse over almost everything else.

But that strange itch won't go away.

And when I roll over, trying to sleep, I remain awake, staring at the window where the night is at its darkest, hours before dawn.

Don't worry. Your mother is already planning who you will marry instead. You only need to stay put and do as they say, and you'll be taken care of and safe.

That insidious voice whispers in my thoughts, but I can't stand to listen to it anymore.

Kicking off the thick down-filled blanket, the best money could buy in our little village, I sit up. I reach for the candle on my nightstand and crouch by the banked fireplace, blowing on the coals. A small flame bursts to life. I hold the wick of my candle to it, and it catches quickly, illuminating the room in a soft orange glow.

I know what I must do. That little flickering flame reflects something waking up inside me, a new hope I must act on, or it'll be forever squashed by reasonable, safe assurances of my known life. I kneel in front of the wooden chest that holds most of my possessions and flick it open.

It'll be cold in the mountains.