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“I can think of one way, Your Majesty.” Despite his use of the honorific, his deep voice exuded a decided lack of deference.

Murmurs swelled through the hall at his boldness. Did he already think to make a demand mere moments after his arrival?

“Well, speak then, my good man.” The king nodded in encouragement. “What is it?”

A pause followed. A hush fell over the hall as everyone waited for his answer. “I shall have one of your daughters to wife.”

The hall fell silent.

No one breathed.

The pull in my chest deepened into a pulsing, persistent throb. The Beast did not move or speak again. He did not need to. His voice reverberated through the Great Hall, those words permanently carved into the air.

I shall have one of your daughters to wife.

I swallowed back a choking sound. Ridiculous. The king would not give one of his daughters to this uncivilized brute of a man. The gall of him. The absolute temerity.

I respected the hierarchy of the society that I inhabited. It was everything I knew. Everything I had been taught. Order. A strike in the face of chaos. Everyone had their place—their position, title, rank, and role. The Beast dared to think he could break free from that.

The offensive man held the gaze of the king for one long, interminable moment. If it were a test of wills, the king broke first. Rather ignominious for a monarch. And yet look away he did, seeking the lord regent. Stig’s father counseled the king in all things.

Although this did not strike me as a matter that required counseling. The king should reply emphatically and definitively with a hearty refusal.

Such resounding rejection never came.

Instead, the lord regent looked at my sisters, assessing them as though he had never considered them before—which was patently untrue. They were at all times evaluated as if they were chattel. Everyone knew the future of the kingdom rested on the alliances made through them. The lord regent would not wish to lose any of the princesses to a fellow countryman—even if it was someone as vital to the well-being of the realm as the Border King.

The stalemate finally came to an end when the lord regent dipped his chin in the barest of nods. Acknowledgment.Acquiescence?

The motion had not been missed. Everyone erupted then. Movement and unquiet whispers rolled through the hall like a tide. Stig stepped out from the line of guardsmen, staring incredulously at his father, the hand on his hilt tightening as though he was tempted to use it.

The lord regent shook his head once in rebuke, scolding his son to remain silent. Stig mutinously compressed his mouth and stepped back in line. He might not like it, but he was a loyal servant to the throne and an obedient son. Perhaps when alone with his father, he could sway him, but he would not do so here.

I shall have one of your daughters to wife.

I could not get those awful words out of my ears. The lord regent could not consider something so outrageous.

I shook my head. It was not even a request. Not even a proposition. It was a statement of fact. A forgone conclusion.

The man who had raised and loved me as a father would never agree.He could not.

My gaze swept over Lord Dryhten in contempt, willing him back from whence he had come. A barbarian from the Borderlands who did not know enough to wipe his boots clean before entering the palace was not fit to marry one of my sisters.

And yet the king sat casually upon his throne, considering the Beast thoughtfully. The lord regent’s gaze was steady and assessing and calculating. Dismay fluttered in my belly. Neither the king northe lord regent laughed or scoffed or appeared offended—all reactions I deemed suitable to the situation.

Princesses belonged in palaces wearing the finest silks and jewels. And brutal warlords belonged on the dangerous borders of the kingdom. The two did not mix. They did not mingle, and they most definitely did not marry.

Feena and Sybilia no longer looked quite so intrigued. They swapped nervous glances. Fear gleamed in Alise’s eyes. Even across the distance I could detect the delicate lines of her pale throat working as she struggled to swallow.

Not Alise. Please, no.

All three of them were the very image of innocence. I supposed that was why it made more sense for me to be the one to take their whippings.Idid not look innocent.Idid not look frail. I was a natural choice with my looming height and much too direct gaze and wanton hair. I looked like someone prone to wickedness. At least that was what the lord chamberlain always told me—hissing beneath his breath as he flogged my back:You’re a wicked, wicked creature. A lowborn wench, good only for the rod, bred to take the brunt of my whip.

“Lady Tamsyn?” The voice pulled my attention away from the unfolding drama. Lady Dagny looked back at me with blinking eyes. “What are you doing out here?” She motioned around the crowd of onlookers with her plump, beringed fingers. “Should you not be sitting up there?” She nodded toward my vacant seat.

“I arrived late, and did not wish to cause undue distraction.”

She shook her head and pursed her lips. I read her disapproval, her thoughts. Standing here seemed to proclaim my inadequacy. A true princess would be up there where she belonged.