Chapter 3

When I return, my generals are eagerly waiting for me. They check me over, searching for any sign of a struggle, but I wave them off.

“There will be no battle today,” I say. “And no war.”

“You have reached an agreement with the Burbarre?” one of my advisors asks.

All I can do is nod. Tears bite at the back of my eyes as I consider my future, forced to marry a monster. I wonder what our country will look like and how well my people will be treated under our joint rule. What will I lose? What will we lose?

“What great news,” says one of my generals. “How did you negotiate such a peace treaty?”

“With my hand in marriage.”

Gasps and objections rise from the assembly.

“These were the only terms that would not lead to our demise,” I say. “So please, do not argue with me.”

“But a marriage, Your Majesty?” Arnwell, my closest and most trusted advisor, steps forward. “To a... creature?”

I nod. “I share your hesitation. But it is the only option.”

Arnwell bows deeply. “Thank you.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “We will all owe you a great debt of gratitude.” He knows what kind of sacrifice I’m making for them. It does not please me to put such a burden on him.

“No one will owe me any such thing. We will proceed with this wedding as if it is desired and anticipated. The kingdom will get excited for such an event. No one will be the wiser that this was against my will.”

A hush spreads around me. They understand what I’m asking for: A grand, joyous celebration to hide the truth.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Arnwell says, breaking the silence. “We will put on an event that the kingdom has never seen the likes of before.”

I smile. “Very good.” The generals send out the word that an agreement has been reached, and all around us, people cheer and whoop. There will be no war and no death today. I will keep my peaceful kingdom peaceful. Then, soon, it will no longer be just my kingdom.

I hope that I have not made a grievous mistake.

The momentthe agreement is reached, the Burbarre begin erecting sprawling camps just outside the city to house Prince Jakol’s enormous invading force. Thankfully they avoid the adjoining farmlands and villages, never crowding in too close to my people. At least they are considerate.

The following morning, the Prince arrives early at my palace, waiting with his nearest advisors and servants to be let inside. I am sitting at my breakfast table when I’m informed of his arrival.

This is the beginning, I think. The first of many meals together. For now, Prince Jakol plans to stay in a rather marvelous tent in the main Burbarre encampment. But he’ll spend his days at the palace planning the wedding with me. I didn’t expect him to arrive at sunup, ready to get started.

He’s ushered into the breakfast nook, and with as much grace as I can muster, I offer him a seat at the table.

“My Queen,” the Prince says, going so far as to kneel in front of me when he takes my hand and brings it to his lips. I snatch it back and return to my seat.

“No need for that.” My tone is harsh and clipped. There is no reason for us to lean on niceties.

It’s clear by his face that I’ve rained on his sunny day, but the Prince endeavors not to let it show. When he tries to sit at the table, however, the narrow arms of the chair prevent him. I let him struggle for a few moments before calling over a servant to fetch a different chair with no arms.

The servants offer him some breakfast, but he shakes his huge head. “I made sure to eat before coming,” he says. “We have brought plenty of our own food. I don’t want you to think we need any assistance from you or your people.”

Perhaps he wants me to see it as thoughtful, but they wouldn’t be here at all if he hadn’t brought them.

The wedding plans have already begun, and once breakfast is cleared, the event planners come with trays of tiny cakes for us to try. I find that I don’t really taste any of them.

“Where will we rule from?” I ask while Prince Jakol palms a square of red velvet. Might as well get onto the important business immediately.

“As much as I would like to take you home with me,” Prince Jakol says with a raised eyebrow, “I sense that you would be much happier here in your own kingdom.”

He’s not wrong about that. But after all of his “emperor” nonsense, I thought he would see his capital city as the throne of his empire.

“I would prefer that,” I say.

“Then it is decided.” That wide, enigmatic smile of his returns. “We shall rule from here, within my Queen’s kingdom. ”

At least I have won a small victory here, but it is dwarfed by a much greater loss. All of this means that eventually he will occupy the palace with me, even share my royal suite with me, when he is not attending to urgent matters back home.

I’m silent for the rest of the tasting, and the Prince must sense my dark mood because he doesn’t speak either until announcing his favorite of the cakes at the end. I simply nod and agree. His demeanor dampens at my lack of interest, but he says nothing.

The plans proceed in earnest, and we are asked to choose tablecloths and flower arrangements, all of which I had expected Prince Jakol to care little for. His wardrobe is made up of leather and fur, after all, and his primary decorating materials seem to be bones. Yet he peruses each fabric sample with interest and has no qualms about expressing his preference for blue over rose or bright-colored flowers over plain white ones. He doesn’t question my choices, either—which feels like a honeymoon phase that will pass.

We discuss the political merging of our kingdoms over dinner one night as the wedding draws nearer. While Prince Jakol has maintained a powerful armed force, we have never required a standing army.

“Mine will more than make up for it,” he says amiably. “And what is mine is yours, my Queen.”

“I think you misunderstand. I am not in need of a military.”

He furrows his brow, a spoonful of soup almost to his mouth. “But you will. We will when we move on the trollkin to the north.”

“No.” I inject it with as much force as I can. “We will leave the trollkin alone.”

The Prince narrows his eyes. “The plan is to unite the world—the entire world. For all of our peace, our prosperity.”

“No.” I curl my hand into a fist on the table. “You already created chaos in the elves’ woods, already stole so many fathers and mothers away from their children.”

The way he’s looking at me, it’s as if he had never seen it that way. “But it was a necessary?—”

I cut him off quickly. “You will leave the trollkin to themselves.”

The Prince’s jaw twitches. “But it is part of our empire, my Queen,” he says, sitting up to his fullest height as if to prove his strength to me. “The one we will build together and rule over together. And it will be a better world.”

How can one man—one Burbarre—be so arrogant? So utterly and terribly full of himself?

“You would sit from on high, gaze down upon strangers, and tell them your way of life is better than theirs?” I ask. The Prince wilts a little under my harsh, accusatory tone. “As if you are someone so superior, who knows what peace is while you raze the southern woods to the ground?”

“But the trollkin,” he objects, much less at ease now, “they are not a peaceful people. They?—”

I interrupt him again. “You came to me as a Prince in search of a Queen, did you not?”

He is clearly flustered. “Yes.”

“Then, as your Queen, I insist you stop this ridiculous quest. The trollkin won’t acquiesce to your terms as I have. It will be nothing but blood, and it is not worth risking the lives of our people for their frozen wasteland.”

As much as it clearly grates him, Prince Jakol considers my words. Then he takes a long, shuddering breath and puts his spoon back down.

“You would ask me to step down from the goal that has driven me since my youth, since the day my father passed away?” he asks. While his words are careful, his eyes are soft, seeking my understanding. “This is all he ever wanted—to quell the trollkin’s pillaging and bring our world under a single flag.”

I turn his previous question around on him. “But what do you, as the Prince, want for yourself?”

This brings him to an abrupt halt. Prince Jakol shoots me a smile that says my wit has pleased him immensely.

“I have wanted only a Queen as lovely, thoughtful, and wise as you,” he says. He claps a hand on the table, shaking all of our plates and utensils. “Then it shall be as my wife commands. We shall not move on the trollkin territory.”

Perhaps we aren’t married yet, but the Prince already acts like we are.

“Thank you.” At least I will have this much.

“Of course,” the Prince says, his tail sweeping in wide, languid arcs behind him to display his contentment. “I want only your happiness.”

This does seem to be the case. He asks for my opinion on everything related to the merging of our kingdoms and accepts all of my answers without argument. This, too, feels like a honeymoon phase that will pass. And then what? When we do finally disagree, who will win? For now, my husband-to-be seems eager to please me in political matters, but I wonder how long it will be before my obstinance gets under his skin.

Far too quickly, it is the day of the wedding. I sense there is suspicion among my subjects that such a hurried affair was consensual, but they turn out in great numbers anyway to witness it. It is a beautiful event, with trellises erected everywhere, covered to bursting with bright foliage. The air is filled with the sound of cheers and adulation as I emerge from the palace, dressed in a long blue gown with a train so expansive that it must be carried so I can walk. Arnwell has his arm tucked in mine, both as my advisor and as my only true friend.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as we pass down the road, my subjects throwing flower petals into the air above us. They float down in a magnificent storm of color. “You will always have my deepest gratitude.”

I don’t know what to say. Sure, I do pity myself deep down. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but I also know it won’t help me to nurse this feeling and allow it to take over. No, I cannot survive unless I set aside my own fears and desires and think only of the needs of my people. Then, perhaps, I will feel happy.

When we approach the altar, I’m surprised by what I see. Prince Jakol stands there, a silver crown on his head that matches mine. It is humble and not filled with jewels—also like mine. He wears what must be Burbarre ceremonial garb, with a long, gold sash hanging from his neck. Otherwise, his chest is completely bare, and I’m surprised by how well-muscled he is, shining as if he’s been buffed. He is naked down to his waist, where the sweeping line of his groin muscle vanishes under a gold wrap that matches his sash. Braided ropes dangle down, and there are bronze metal rings all along his legs, from his high ankle joint down to his hooves. His legs are certainly strange but becoming more familiar to me by the day. Even his hooves have been shined.

His smile is wide and genuine when I approach. His eyes travel from my face, down my dress, then back again.

“You are most lovely,” he says with reverence. I don’t doubt for a moment that his words are true, but he will not buy me with compliments. He will not buy my feelings at all.

“Thank you.” I try not to look at him as Arnwell releases my arm and the Prince takes it. “You look good as well.” I suppose I don’t have to say it, but it feels like I should. He clearly went to great effort to be appealing today. His horns are polished and also wrapped in bronze rings. Even his skin has a glow about it.

Prince Jakol squeezes my hand tight. “Thank you,” he says. “That means the world to me.”

It does not take much to please him, of that I’m sure.

The wedding ceremony is slow and arduous. I must hold the Prince’s hand the whole time, but rather than repulsing me, I find the contact makes me feel less alone. He glances sideways at me and rolls his eyes as the officiate drones on. At least I’m not the only one bored to tears by this grand ceremony.

Then, the officiant gestures at us. “It is time to consummate the marriage.”

I turn to the Prince, and he to me. I swallow hard as I gaze upon his face, the one I must kiss in front of everyone. It should fill me with fear and disgust, but instead... I wonder what his generous lips will feel like against mine.

Gently Prince Jakol draws me toward him. He searches my eyes, and I can hear the held breaths of all of my people and his in attendance. It feels like he is trying to tell me something with those eyes, but I don’t know how to hear his voice in them yet.

I just want this to be over, so I’m the one who reaches up to kiss him first. His mouth is stiff with surprise but quickly becomes eager. He gently takes my lower lip in both of his, savoring it before he turns his attention to my upper lip. I had intended this to be a peck, but now his tongue is tracing my mouth, and I find that without my permission, it has opened for him. He presses in further, and I feel his arms tighten around my waist as his tongue invades me.

I’m swept away by it. I have not been kissed in many, many years, and I have no resistance built up to the way he is wrapping his lips around mine while he pulls my body closer. A sharp spark flies down my throat, into my chest, and then spiders out across my belly to all the places where his bare skin touches my dress.

It is not until the whoops and cheers of the Burbarre fill the air that I realize I’ve gotten utterly lost in him, and I yank myself away. The Prince blinks with confusion, but then his face morphs into a pleased smile.

He took me by surprise, nothing more. I don’t scowl with my mouth, but I do with my eyes, and the smile falls from his face.

Now we are married, and dread is building in my belly for what comes next. I have a husband as of this day, and he is a monster.