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“What do you mean?” After a moment, Jalissa went back to roughly tugging Melantha’s hair into what felt like a braid.

“Until now, I have been dangling possible marriage to me to the sons of several of the influential nobles whenever Weylind needed to calm the court. Even if the elven nobility was in no hurry to marry into our tainted family, they still want the power of the possibility.” Melantha tried to hide her wince as Jalissa gave an even stronger tug than before. “With Farrendel’s marriage to a human and my marriage to a troll, one of us needs to be scandal-free. I am sorry that will have to be you. It would be best if you married into the nobility, though I am sure the court would appreciate it if you at least marry an elf.”

“I see.” Jalissa twisted a section of Melantha’s hair so roughly that Melantha felt several hairs rip from her scalp.

When Jalissa was finished, she tied off the end of the hairstyle, then marched out of the shelter without another word or a glance back, her face even harder than it had been when she entered.

With shaking fingers, Melantha explored the intricate weave of the braids Jalissa had done through her hair, all coming together at the base of her skull before the rest flowed free down her back. It must look stunning, though Melantha did not have a mirror to view it herself.

She would look like a bride, even if nothing about this wedding was as she had hoped.

Melantha sank to the ground and hugged her knees. She blinked at the burning of tears in her eyes. She would not cry. She deserved this.

But it hurt. How it hurt. She wanted her family. Her home, in the beautiful tree palace Ellonahshinel. Everything about the life she had thrown away.

Was she about to cry or scream? She was not sure. Heat built inside her chest until Melantha dug her fingernails into her palms, concentrating on those pinpricks of pain rather than the roil inside her.

Another knock, and this time it was Weylind who stepped inside. His dark brown eyes swept over her before he stated in a flat voice, “I see you are ready.”

As ready as she would ever be for this. Melantha pushed to her feet and forced her own face to go as hard and blank as his. “Yes.”

Weylind stared at her, opened his mouth, then closed it and gave a sharp nod. He spun on his heel. “Come.”

That was all the warmth she was going to get. Melantha ducked through the door, blinking at the morning sunlight.

The camp seemed to be less busy than it had been the day before, the last time—only time—Melantha had been allowed out of her prison.

Weylind waited for her, but he did not hold out an arm. When she fell into step beside him, he did not so much as glance at her.

The elven guards fell into step behind her. Were they really going to guard her all the way to her wedding?

As they strode between the shelters and tents, the few elves and humans bustling about stopped what they were doing and stared.

Melantha tipped her chin higher and tried to ignore them. So what if they stared? After today, she would never see any of them ever again, most likely. Who cared if they gossiped about the traitor elven princess? They did not matter to her anymore.

Weylind led the way down a winding trail from the plateau into the valley that stretched between the ruins of the mountain that had once been the fortress of Gror Grar and the distant town of Osmana at the far end.

On their side of the valley, at the base of the mountain, were rows of elven warriors and human soldiers sitting on wooden benches, all festooned with weapons. Facing them were rows of troll warriors on stone benches, likewise bristling with weapons.

Were they going to have a wedding or another war? Melantha fisted her fingers and tried to pretend she did not want to lean on Weylind’s strength.

She was so alone. Even as she passed the first row where Jalissa and Farrendel, with his human wife beside him, sat in the middle of the Escarlish royal family, she was still alone.

Weylind halted in the space between the two gathered armies.

Before them, stood Prince Rharreth, dressed in a dark green shirt, black pants, and a black leather vest.

Melantha swallowed and tried to hide the way her legs were trembling. Even with Jalissa’s help braiding her hair, she did not feel much like a bride in the plain, dark green dress she had been given to wear since her other dress had been in tatters.

When Weylind turned to her, the hard edge to his dark brown eyes softened. “You do not have to do this. I will not force you.”

Yet if she did not, he would be forced to choose a different punishment for her. She had betrayed her kingdom and her family. A pardon was not an option for her.

Banishment or death or marriage to the troll prince. Those were Melantha’s options.

Surely marriage had to be the best option. It was the only one that gave her the chance to redeem herself by making sure the trolls of Kostaria kept the peace treaty with Tarenhiel and Escarland that Prince Rharreth had signed.

“I know, shashon. But I have to do this.” Melantha straightened her shoulders and faced Prince Rharreth and her future people. She was a princess of the elves. If that bubbly, annoying human princess could find the courage to marry Farrendel, then surely Melantha could do this.