Chapter 1

" Y ou should smile. Today is a happy day," the woman behind me insists as she pulls at my hair, her actions as gruff as her words as she attempts to style it into something suitable for the occasion. Once again, I find myself in front of a mirror, being poked, prodded, and made up, my hair fashioned until I hardly recognise the woman before me.

For years, my hair and I have had a love-hate relationship, something I could shield myself behind and use to hide my face. But in a land where the people were blessed with tan skin and blond locks, my dark hair made me stand out, and as a slave, standing out was the last thing you wanted. The thought of cutting it off would often cross my mind, but when it came down to it, I could never do it. Something just felt so inherently wrong about it. So I kept my dark hair, and I endured the extra beatings, knowing I was different for a reason, and I had made peace with the fact that I would never know the reason why. Except, now I do.

"Yes, you're right," I reply absentmindedly, glancing down at the new tribal tattoo wrapped around my right forearm, the skin still red and inflamed. She is right—it is a happy occasion. Then why am I filled with trepidation? Nerves are normal, that's all this is. Nerves , I reassure myself, looking down at my arm once again. The movement pulls my hair from Vida's hands, and she makes a loud, frustrated huffing sound as my hair falls around my shoulders, ruining the careful braiding she had been in the middle of. "I'm sorry." I immediately sit forward, moving to turn in my seat and apologise, but her hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes firmly, stilling my movements. Her booted footsteps sound behind me, and soon enough, she appears by my side and leans against the table in front of me.

She's silent as she runs her eyes over me, her arms crossed, her expression serious. Under her gaze, I feel stripped bare, but I hold her stare, letting her see me for who I am.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" the tribeswoman asks as she observes me, but she surprises me when I don't hear any judgement in her tone. "It's been a rough couple of weeks for you." Laughing at her understatement, I lean back in my chair as I think over her question. Am I really ready for this? I ask myself. The same doubts have plagued my mind ever since my aunt questioned me the night after the attack. Except the same reasoning keeps coming back to me, and as I look down, instead of my tattooed right arm, my gaze falls on my goddess marked left arm. Well, it's too late to back out now.

"I'm ready," I lie, lifting my head, my smile tight as I try to keep my breathing even. She gazes at me with that same dubious expression, raising a single eyebrow when I don't back down. For a second, I think she's going to say something, to challenge me, but then her eyes flick to my wrist where she sees my slave marks. Revna, my aunt and the High Chief of the Mountain Tribes, said I shouldn't hide them any longer, that I have nothing to be ashamed of. I agree, but it's a hard habit to break, and I have to fight to hold my ground, a bead of sweat rolling down my spine as her eyes linger on my marks. The seconds tick by, and when she finally looks back up at me, something that resembles respect flickers in her gaze.

"Okay." She shrugs before pushing away from the table and making her way behind me, her hands returning to my hair. Surprise makes me silent, and I'm sure my confusion shows on my face, because her low chuckle rolls over me. "You may be tiny, and you may not know how to fight, but you survived what many of us would not have." My body stills as she speaks, her low, slightly accented voice calming me as her gentle tugs pull at my hair. "I saw you with the forsaken the day of the fight."

Her pause is heavy, her hands stilling for a second, and I know we are both remembering the battle with the forsaken, how no matter how hard you hit them, their broken bodies wouldn't stay down. The only way to destroy them was to cut off their heads and burn the bodies. A chill runs down my spine, and my mouth is suddenly dry at the change of topic. "I spoke with Tor afterwards. He told me he got into trouble. That you saved him," Vida continues, her fingers weaving a golden ribbon through the braids she painstakingly put in place. "You deserve that tattoo on your arm. You are one of us." My chest constricts at her words, and although I don't know her well, I hadn't realised how much I needed to hear this.

Vida was one of the tribespeople who had been here on the day the forsaken attacked us. She was with one of the smaller groups who were supposed to lead part of the assailants away from us, but they had been ambushed before they could get into position. Eventually, they had managed to get away and assist us, so she was there to see the aftermath. I hadn't expected anyone to notice me at the fight, but I suppose that's a na?ve thought, as all eyes are on me now.

It's only been ten days since the confrontation, and the high chief has called all of the tribes together to recoup, with the last of them arriving today. As there will be a party, there's going to be a ceremony, which Revna has asked me to take part in.

You don't attack the mountain tribes and not expect them to retaliate. Even though the attack was aimed at me, the tribespeople want revenge. The elf queen knew what she was doing when she attacked the tribespeople in their sacred meeting place. Throughout the continent of Morrowmer, they are known for their strength and brutality in battle. They're hardy people, living a simple life in small, travelling clans in the mountains, where they spend their time training and fighting, bringing glory to their tribes. While each tribe lives separately and has their own chief, they also have an elected high chief who rules over them as a whole and maintains their sacred stones in the meeting place.

So for the attack to have happened here was a very calculated and deliberate plot. We had only just arrived, and it had taken us days to travel to the meeting place. Somehow, the forsaken had managed to get here in armour, almost silently, from Galandell, which was double the distance we had travelled. The tribes are on edge and want answers, the atmosphere thick and tense. When Revna told me about the party, I agreed. Everyone needs something to look forward to, even if it makes my gut clench with anticipation.

We've fallen into an easy silence, which is something I like about the woman. She doesn't feel the need to fill gaps in conversation with pointless chatter. A trait which seems to be normal for the tribes from what little time I've spent with them. I watch Vida through the mirror as she continues to work on my hair. Tor explained she had grown up in the same tribe as him, but the Eternal Brothers Tribe has more of a backwards view when it comes to women in positions of power. As such, Vida never fit in there, so when the opportunity came to train as a guardian of the stones at the meeting place, she took it. She's been here ever since and is an expert on their religion and beliefs, so the fact she offered to help me get ready for the ceremony today is a great honour.

We share the same pale skin, dark hair, and eyes, but looking at the two of us together, we're completely different. I could blame it on our stature, her thicker frame from her giant ancestors, large muscles from years of training, and my delicate bone structure thanks to my elvish genetics. However, I think it has something to do with the way we hold ourselves. When Vida walks into a room, she commands attention. She knows she deserves to be here and that she belongs amongst these people. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see the shadows of my past haunting me. Underneath all of the makeup, I still see the slave girl.

Quickly averting my gaze from the mirror, I squeeze my eyes shut. I can't think like that. I thought I'd moved past that. All of a sudden, I can hear crickets chirping and a gentle breeze blowing through the trees, while a comforting set of arms wrap around me, grounding me as the scents of the forest and my mate fill my lungs. Except I'm not in the forest, I'm in a tent high up in the mountains, and I'm certainly not surrounded by any of my mates. Smiling, I open the bond between Vaeril and me further, letting him deeper into my mind, remembering the night he's showing me fondly—the night we formed our mating bond. His soothing presence grows, and although we can't talk mind to mind, we don't need to, I simply savour the quiet calm of our connection.

"You're ready." Vida's words are a statement, but as I open my eyes and meet hers in the mirror, I swear I can still see the question in them. If I broke down and told her I wasn't ready, what would she say? Would she help me hide somewhere until this was all over?

No. This is what you've wanted for as long as you can remember, there is no backing down now. Gripping the arms of the chair hard enough that my nails dig into the wood, I take a few deep breaths, Vaeril's scent still in my mind helping to calm me. My bond with my high mage mate pulses as he sends a wave of love to strengthen me. I may not be able to feel his thoughts behind it due to the distance separating us, but that does nothing to dampen the strength of his love for me. Nodding my head, I release my death grip on the chair and push to my feet. "I'm ready," I confirm, although I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince, myself or her.

I'm just admiring myself in the mirror when the bright early morning light blinds us as Naril pushes his way into the tent without knocking. A flicker of annoyance crosses Vida's features, and I know she deliberates throwing him out before she decides he's not worth the effort. Not bothering to turn from my reflection, I watch with a smile as he prowls towards me, his eyebrows almost disappearing up into his golden hair as he takes in my outfit. The fact that he hasn't already commented means I've shocked him, which can only be a good thing, right? My stomach flutters with nerves again. The woman in the mirror looks back at me coolly with her kohl lined eyes, her scars and tattoo telling a story. The sides of my hair have been left down, curling slightly where feathers have been woven in, whereas the top of my hair has been pulled back and braided with golden ribbons interwoven into the strands.

"You look…" Naril trails off as I look up at him. Turning from the mirror, I place my hands on my hips and raise an eyebrow as I wait for his response. My outfit is worlds away from the pretty, delicate wrap dresses the elves favour. The dark blue dress has been laced to actually give me a shape, making my breasts and waist look womanly despite years of starvation. With a sash across my stomach, the skirt falls to my knees where tight leggings and fur lined boots are on display. A dark, fur lined cape finishes the look with a golden brooch—which represents the wings of a bird of prey, a golden hawk—fixing it in place over my collarbone.

More people enter the tent behind Naril, and my smile widens despite the sudden lack of space. My bond pulses as Vaeril joins us, my eyes instantly going to him, but they're soon pulled to the huge tribesman who's grinning at me. In an outfit matching mine, even down to the feathers in our hair, we make a formidable couple. The right side of his head is freshly shaved to show his tribal tattoos, and the rest of his dark hair is braided like mine. He's been growing out his beard, which is neatly trimmed and only makes him look more intense. His blue tunic is stretched across his broad chest, and I can see a flash of skin where he's left the top of it unlaced. His cloak is identical to mine, except for the brooch which depicts two clasped fists which I know is to represent his tribe—the Eternal Brothers.

"Fierce." The pride in his voice makes me smile and stand a little taller as we automatically step towards each other like two magnets. It's impossible to stay away from him. His approving gaze roves my body. "She looks fierce." Vaeril makes a low noise of agreement at the back of the tent, and I feel my arousal light within me, a blush colouring my cheeks. Will there ever be a time when I can be around these men without that happening? I can dress fierce and play the part, but my body will still give me away by blushing like a virgin.

"I was going to say feral," Naril drawls, looking down at his nails with a shrug. "But fierce works." Glancing up, he gives me a rare grin, but his expression soon changes as he scrunches his nose. "Although you smell like them now." Fighting my laugh, I watch in amusement as Vida blinks and switches her attention to Naril. Until now, she's been watching me with Tor, a slight knowing look on her face, but now she's glaring at the elf like he's a bug she just stepped on. This should be interesting.

Arching a single dark brow, Tor turns to stare at the elf. "What's wrong with smelling like me?"

To his credit, Naril doesn't back down as he stares up at the huge, muscular mountain tribesman. "Oh, nothing," he drawls with a sweet as sugar smile. "If you don't mind smelling like an animal." There's a pause, and it's so quiet in the tent you could hear a pin drop, but I can't hold it back any longer. A snorting, braying, horrendously unattractive laugh rips its way from me.

"I-I'm—I…S-Sor—" Everyone is looking at me, and the more I try to stop laughing, the more it keeps coming. Tears roll down my face, and my lungs are burning. It's not funny, not really, but the stress of the last couple of weeks has impacted us in different ways. I needed this, and as I glance at Naril through my tear-filled eyes, even though he's looking at me like I've lost my mind, I know he did this on purpose. Taking a few deep breaths, I try to pull myself together. Vaeril stays quiet in the corner of the tent, his arms crossed over his chest, but he silently sends me his strength through the bond, his eyes saying everything he doesn't voice.

Tor reaches out and brushes a hand across my cheek, smiling down at me, his expression sad. He knows how much the attack cost me, and that although I agreed to this ceremony, I'm not doing it for me. Lowering his hand, he turns and levels a glare at Naril, but it's lacking any malice. "If today wasn't so important, I would challenge you," he comments, then tilts his head to one side like he's contemplating something. "In fact, I still might."

Vida snorts, and I see she's shaking her head like Tor's just said a hilarious joke. Naril doesn't seem too concerned about whatever is going on, still checking out his nails, and Vaeril continues watching me, not really paying attention to the others in the room, only occasionally throwing his friend a disparaging look. I'm missing something here. "Challenge him?"

Vida decides to take pity on me and lets out a huff of frustration when Tor doesn't immediately drop the idea. "In our culture, if someone slights us, we can issue a challenge to them. It's a formal fight in front of all the tribes," she explains, and I glance at Naril to see how he's taking this news. His eyebrows are raised, but he's nodding along and appears more intrigued than worried, like he's looking forward to a challenge. I gaze over to Vaeril for help, but the look he gives me tells me everything—once Naril has an idea in his head, there is no stopping him.

"They don't happen often anymore, since the consequences are great. The loser is often shunned from their tribe," Vida continues, her frown turning disapproving when Tor doesn't immediately take back his comment. "You cannot challenge a guest, Tor!"

"I know, I know, it was just a passing remark." He waves away his friend's concern with a shrug and a twitch of his lips, but when I hear the whimsical tone in his voice, I can't help but smile. Only Tor would find the idea of fighting someone in front of all the tribes exciting.

I can think of one other person who would enjoy that. My heart clenches painfully at the thought, and I look around the room as if it would make him appear.

Feeling my pain, Vaeril walks over to my side. His expression is sympathetic, but his body is tight. He's working so hard to be okay with all of this. "Are you ready?" His eyes drag over me, taking in my outfit. He finds me attractive in the tribe's clothing, even though he tries to hide it. I can feel his arousal through our bond, but he feels like the tribes are claiming me. Which, in a way, is exactly what they're doing. However, for today, he's pushing aside those feelings and trying to be supportive.

Thinking on his question, I fight the urge to bite my lip, so I end up twisting one of the pretty silver rings that I slipped on earlier, nerves turning my stomach into knots. Noticing this, Vaeril reaches out and catches my hands in his, raising one silver brow as he stills my anxious movements. He's the master of stillness, all of the elves are, never wasting energy on pointless gestures. Looking up at him, I can't help but smile at his expression, take a deep, steadying breath, and nod my head. I'm ready. Looking around the tent again, I pretend I'm only just noticing we're down one elf.

"Where's Eldrin?" My tone is deceptively light, and from Naril's snort, I know he sees right through me, but it's Vaeril whom I watch. His expression doesn't change, but his mind has gone still on the other end of the bond, and I know he's trying to keep something from me.

"He needed to get some fresh air, he'll be back soon," he replies, and from the corner of my eye, I see Naril shaking his head.

We're in the mountains, how much more fresh air does he need? I practically scream in my head, but I need to put those thoughts aside. Today isn't about him. If he can't be here to support me, then he isn't the friend I thought he was. Friend. That word has never felt right when describing my relationship with Eldrin, but right now, that's the closest term we have.

Vaeril squeezes my hands slightly, pulling my attention to his face, which is set in a slight frown. How he doesn't have permanent wrinkles from all his scowling, I don't know. The benefits of fae genes, I guess.

"We'll see you after the ceremony." He scans my face as if checking that I'll be okay without him. Taking a step forward, he closes the gap between us so our bodies are touching. He rests his forehead against mine, uncaring that there are others in the room. "I love you, mate." A shudder runs through me, the word still giving me a thrill whenever I hear it. I swear there's an awkward cough and the sound of shuffling feet in the tent, but I'm absorbed in my mate—his smell, his taste, and the feel of him in my mind. Before we had completed our bond, I had no idea it was possible to feel this close to someone. A part of me throbs where I'm missing my other mate, Grayson, my mage, but his love strengthens me, even from afar.

"I love you too," I whisper, feeling everyone's eyes on me. Not that I care what Naril thinks, and Tor knows all about my relationship with Vaeril, but I'm nervous about what the tribespeople think. I know my relationship status is hardly conventional, and considering the tribespeople banished my mother for having me out of wedlock, I don't know how they will take me being bonded to both Tor and Vaeril, that's without even mentioning Grayson.

Kissing me one last time, Vaeril releases me and runs his eyes over my outfit again with a heated look on his face before turning away and striding from the tent. Is it suddenly really warm in here? Pulling at the collar of my cloak, I fan myself to cool down, flushing red at Vida's amused smirk.

Naril saunters over and squeezes my shoulder in a show of support, making my jaw drop in surprise. I was expecting some snarky comment, not a supportive gesture. This is completely unlike—

"Try not to fall over," he tells me with a grin. There's the elf I know. I'm sure my expression tells him exactly what I think of his comment, my nerves making me jittery. Realising I'm not in the right mind frame for jokes, the smug mien falls from his face to be replaced by an uncharacteristically sober expression. "Clarissa." His voice is firm, and it snaps my eyes up to his. "You'll be fine," he assures me, raising both eyebrows as he waits for me to agree. At my quick, jerky nod, his superior grin is back in place as he spins on his heel and stalks from the tent.

"Your elves are very strange," Vida comments, staring at the exit as if she expects them to come striding back through. I don't bother to argue, after all, she's right. Pulling her gaze away from the egress, she walks over to Tor and grips his shoulder, grinning widely. He returns the gesture while I watch. It's obvious they are close, but I don't feel any jealousy. While there is noticeable affection in her gaze, she doesn't look at him in that way, more like a brother than someone she has romantic intentions towards. As she turns to me, her smile changes to one of friendly curiosity. "Good luck, Clarissa. May the gods and goddesses look over you today."

As soon as she leaves and it's just Tor and me in the tent, my nerves ramp up a notch. We may not have completed our bond yet, but with my emotions running high, he'll be able to feel them. However, it doesn't take a genius to see my anxiety in my taut shoulders and wringing hands. I feel the loss of Vaeril like a void, each step he takes making it more difficult. Tor's closeness helps, but without our bond being sealed, it's not the same, and I can see the strain on his face as he feels my need.

"Remind me again why they couldn't stay for this?" I don't need to voice who I mean by ‘they.' He knows I mean the elves, and even then, one in particular.

Vaeril had made it clear that he wasn't happy he had to leave me alone for this part of the ceremony, but he reluctantly accepted this was part of the rite. At the time when Tor explained it, I agreed with the explanation. Right now, however, I'm regretting that decision.

Tor's watching me with a careful, guarded expression. It's obvious he hates how stressed this is making me. "When we walk in, the tribes need to see you as strong. If they see you with the elves, they will look like guards, and that will make you appear weak." Looking down at my hands, I ball them into fists at the idea they might think I was weak, and my attention catches on my new tattoo. "You need to make an impression. You need to take your place here and show those who doubt you who you really are." Tracing the intricate tribal pattern on my skin with my eyes, I nod my head slowly as he speaks. He's right. He closes the distance between us and places his hands on my arms, making me drag my gaze up to the face I know so well. His intense regard makes him look fierce, along with the sharpness of his features, tattoos, and darkhair. But despite all this, I know he would never hurt me. "Clarissa, you're fine. You're ready for this."

If he believes that, then it must be true, right? A tingle in my wrist makes me look down to see it glowing brightly, and my excitement grows as I feel the Mother's presence fill the tent. Closing my eyes, I let her power wash over me, gasping as she pours her love into me, basking in her comforting embrace. I've not felt her this strongly since I was in Arhaven, and it feels like returning home. I don't know why she's suddenly so much stronger, but I know she's here for a reason.

Beloved, you are ready. I am with you. Her voice is clear and firm in my mind, and as I open my eyes, Tor is watching me with wide, wonder-filled eyes. I feel strong and powerful, like I'm prepared to take on the world.

"I'm ready now."