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“Then you will need this.” Weylind drew the dagger he wore strapped to his waist.

Melantha took it and turned it over in her hands. “To use on Prince Rharreth if he tries to hurt me?”

“No, I am told you will need to give your intended with a dagger as part of the troll wedding ceremony.” Weylind shot a glare across the way toward Prince Rharreth. “In return, he will give one of his daggers to you. That is the one you will keep on hand for self-defense.”

Not that she had ever been trained in anything remotely like self-defense. She was a healer, under oath to heal rather than harm. In the peaceful forests of Tarenhiel, there had never been a need to train her, nor had anyone believed a healer should go around armed.

Not that she had done a very good job of honoring her oath when it came to Farrendel.

She tucked the dagger into the sash of her dress and squared her shoulders. She would show these trolls just how much courage and dignity an elf princess possessed.

She strode forward and joined Prince Rharreth. An older troll, his face lined with wrinkles, stood before them. He must be some kind of official, though Melantha was not going to ask who he was.

The official started the ceremony. Thankfully, it was a short speech that compared marriage to a battle. Or life to a battle. Melantha was too nervous to listen very closely.

The troll official finished his speech, then gestured to Prince Rharreth.

Prince Rharreth drew the dagger from his belt, held out his right hand, and sliced his palm. His mouth did not so much as twitch at whatever pain he was in. He held out the dagger to her, its edge glistening red with his blood. “With blood and blade, I pledge to you my life and my honor until death overtakes us.”

Melantha reached a shaky hand but stopped short of the dagger. “I am supposed to take this, right?”

The official stared down his nose at her. “By accepting the dagger, you accept his pledge.”

That was what she thought. With a deep breath, Melantha took the dagger. Assuming she would need her hands free, she slipped it into her belt.

“Now your turn. Slice your left hand.” The official’s tone turned even colder as he told her to slice the opposite hand that Rharreth had sliced.

Why did even the trolls’ marriage ceremony have to involve blood and knives? Gritting her teeth, Melantha drew the dagger Weylind had given her. Not letting herself think about it, she swiped the blade across the soft skin of her palm.

Blood welled a moment before pain screamed across her palm. After the whipping she had endured in Gror Grar’s dungeon, this pain was not something to scream at. But it still brought the heat of more tears that Melantha refused to shed. If the trolls valued strength, then giving any sign of pain at this small slice would not help them respect her as their queen.

She held out the dagger and forced her voice to remain steady. “With blood and blade, I pledge to you my life and my honor until death overtakes us.”

Prince Rharreth took the dagger from her and slid it into the sheath where his dagger had been. It did not fit, since it had a longer and slimmer blade than his thick, slightly curving knife.

“Now clasp hands.” The official’s face might as well have been carved from stone.

Prince Rharreth held out his bloody palm.

They were supposed to clasp the hands they had sliced. That did not seem sanitary. Though, Melantha could heal herself if she got an infection. Depending on how nice Prince Rharreth was to her the rest of the day, she might consider healing him too.

She clasped his hand and met his gaze. She would not back down.

The officiant pulled out a black sash and tied it around Prince Rharreth’s and Melantha’s clasped hands. “Blood and blood, bone and bone, I declare you one and bound together from this moment until death takes you.”

And, just like that, Melantha was married to a troll. Perhaps, by trading herself to this troll, she could buy her kingdom peace.