Page 4

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When the Gilded Lily reached Arnhelm, the capital of Gildenheim, we hove into port under clouds heavy with the threat of rain.

I stood on the quarterdeck and watched the city swallow the ship. Where Damarian towns boasted clusters of whitewashed buildings with terra-cotta roofs, the houses here were the muted grey of old limestone and hunkered low to the ground. Arnhelm’s streets were twisting and narrow, as if each had been wrested with great effort from a land reluctant to be tamed. As we coasted into the harbor mouth, wharves extended towards us like fangs. I followed the line of the city up from the docks, where it clawed its way towards the mountains before becoming engulfed by mist. I knew the castle rested there, at Arnhelm’s highest point, poised between mountains and sea. But thanks to the cloud-thick skies, I couldn’t see my future home.

Home. The word felt as foreign as the Gilden tongue. Another thing I would have to grow accustomed to.

I shivered and pulled my embroidered shawl closer around my shoulders. In Damaria, spring was already dancing through the hills, flowers springing abundant like courtiers in brightly colored ball gowns. But I wouldn’t be surprised if snow still veiled the earth of Gildenheim. Grey stone under grey skies. It felt like the entire country was devoid of color.

Julieta touched my shoulder, her hand warmer than the air by a wide margin. “Is your condition flaring again, your Grace?”

I shook my head, resisting the urge to lean into the comfort of her touch. I did feel somewhat lightheaded. But I suspected that was due to vomiting most of the way to Gildenheim rather than my illness.

“It’s nothing. Only the breeze.”

Julieta’s dubious look told me she didn’t believe my words, but she didn’t question them. There was nothing she could change about the circumstances anyway. We were almost at the docks, close enough to count the soldiers awaiting us should I care to do so. I’d already taken a preemptive dose of tonic this morning, and I wasn’t about to gulp another in front of my betrothed. I had only one opportunity to make a first impression. I couldn’t squander it on a moment of weakness.

I let out my breath. There was nothing to be concerned about. I was perfectly fine. I was here of my own volition, accompanied by the blessing of the entire Council of Nine, a half dozen well-trained soldiers, and my personal apothecary. Diplomacy had prevented the Council from sending a fully trained Adept as well, but it wouldn’t have been necessary. I was as safe as I could be.

With a thud of weathered wood, the gangway connected with the wharf. I scanned the quay, searching for my betrothed. The banner of Gildenheim—a green field, with a winged white horse wearing a crown—flew over a double line of soldiers stretching along the pier. They were dressed in forest green coats, long in the Gilden style and reaching to the knee, rather than the gleaming armor and deep blue adornments I was accustomed to. The points of their halberds glittered like icicles in the wan sunlight as the soldiers angled their weapons forward, creating a tunnel that gave the impression of a gauntlet rather than an honor guard. Instead of a pistol and powder kit at one hip, they bore heavy sabers. I’d known firearms were uncommon in Gildenheim since Damarian imports were their only source, but I hadn’t realized they were so scarce even the castle guard didn’t wear them. The reminder of Gildenheim’s backwardness should have been comforting, but somehow the lack of pistols only made the soldiers more imposing.

I resisted the urge to touch my hidden dagger. This was only an honor guard, I reminded myself, as my heart sped faster. They were here to welcome me to Gildenheim. I’d expected to be greeted by a group of courtiers, not a show of military force, but the customs of our northern neighbor were different. This wasn’t a threat. We’d signed the treaty, after all. There was no need for hostilities. That was the entire point of being here.

“Your Grace?” Julieta prompted, her voice pitched for my ears alone. “Everyone is waiting.”

Of course. As the most important member of the delegation, I was to disembark first.

I sent a silent prayer to the Virtue of Strength that my legs would be steady and descended the stairs from the quarterdeck, making my way to the rail. Up close, the gangway was terrifyingly narrow. Its angle changed every second as the Gilded Lily lifted on the water and then dropped again. A small movement that would have meant little to someone with steadier legs.

My vision swam, and I gritted my teeth. Oceans drown the cumbersome skirts of the formal dress I’d chosen. I could have worn trousers, but I’d wanted to make a strong first impression, and yards of expensive imported silk were a means to that end. At least my skirts would hide the wobble in my knees.

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the gangway. It was steeper than I’d expected, but there were raised slats of wood set into it for traction. This wouldn’t be so bad.

Ahead of me, a carriage door thudded closed. I looked up as a man stepped into the midst of the soldiers. Tall, pale, with hair the faded color of old wheat, tied back into a queue in the northern style. He didn’t match the portraits I’d been studying, but that was to be expected.

This must be him. My betrothed. Aric of Gildenheim.

I summoned a smile, lifting my hand in greeting.

Only to step on the hem of my own skirts, windmill frantically, and topple face-first into the harbor.

It was a short drop from the gangway. I didn’t even have time to scream before I plunged into the frigid water, bubbles fizzing around me like champagne. My skirts—my ornate, cumbersome skirts—billowed around me, far heavier than any fabric had the right to be. The harbor’s cold hit me like a physical blow. I fought off my shock and kicked towards the surface, salt burning my eyes—

Hands closed around my arms and hauled me out of the water. My feet landed on the solid planks of the wharf, my knees buckling under me at the impact. I wiped my eyes, coughing and spluttering. When I managed to clear my vision, I found myself flanked by two soldiers dressed in Gilden green, the sleeves of their uniforms darkened by salt water. Aric’s soldiers. Already on the quay, they’d been closer than my own guards.

Ocean take me to the depths. So much for making a first impression: this was one the entire Gilden court would remember for perpetuity. Only force of habit kept me from curling into a sodden ball of mortification.

“My lady!”

Julieta pushed past the soldiers. Shrugging off her own shawl, she wrapped it around my shoulders. Mine must be sinking towards the bottom of the harbor.

“Th-thank you,” I managed through chattering teeth. I hugged the shawl closer and turned to the soldiers who had pulled me ashore. “Thank y-you as w-well for your s-swift action.”

The two women exchanged a blank look. They probably didn’t even understand Damarian. I should have addressed them in Gilden instead.

“Duchess Liliana?”

I looked up, and my stomach curled with embarrassment. The man from the carriage stood only a few steps away, watching water drip from my skirts and form a slowly spreading stain on the docks. The curve of his mouth tiptoed the border between amusement and mockery.

Dismay rippled through me. Up close, he matched the portraits even less. And he was much older than I’d expected—he looked closer to forty than thirty, though the mourning grey he wore could have aged him. Still, this had to be my betrothed.

“Y-your Majesty?” I ventured.

He shook his head. “No, your Grace. I am Lord Varin of Gildenheim, merely a humble courtier at your service. I’ve been sent to escort you to the castle.”

Anger sparked in my chest, hot and bright. A humble courtier —Aric hadn’t even sent someone important to greet me?

I was shivering hard, and being cold, wet, and humiliated only soured my mood. My tone sharpened to a razor edge. “I had expected King Aric to meet me.”

Lord Varin’s mouth tightened ever so slightly. Displeasure, annoyance, regret—I wasn’t certain which his expression indicated, or who it was aimed at. “The heir apparent has many other pressing duties, my lady. But he greatly anticipates meeting you at a mutually convenient time.” He placed just enough emphasis on Aric’s title to make my error clear—my betrothed had yet to be crowned.

Years of practice kept my face free of emotion, even while indignation burned in my chest. I bit my tongue, preventing myself from unleashing my outrage on Varin. He was only here on Aric’s orders. But Aric himself… when I saw him face-to-face, he should be prepared to get on his knees and grovel.

I lifted my chin, my anger giving me warmth. “In that case, Lord Varin, let us proceed to the castle. I will be sure to thank the heir apparent for his warm welcome when I see him.”

Varin offered me his arm, and I took it, touching him as little as possible. We proceeded between the line of guards, my skirts dripping a trail down the wharf. Other than the two who had pulled me out, the soldiers had maintained their formation with perfect discipline, although a few of them appeared to be holding back smirks.

I allowed an attendant to hand me into the waiting carriage, Julieta and Varin at my heels. As the door slammed shut and the driver slapped the reins, my anger tempered into icy resolve. I couldn’t afford to show emotion now, to allow Aric to learn how deep his barb had pierced. But that didn’t mean I would let this offense go unanswered.

I didn’t know what game my intended was playing, but I was not a woman he could insult with impunity. I was her Grace, Duchess Bianca Liliana, flower of Damaria and scion of my House. I was not some petitioner to be addressed at his leisure and granted the boon of his attention when he felt it convenient. I was the representative of the Council of Nine. His future wife. His equal. And if Aric thought he could insult me without consequence, I would soon show him otherwise.

Just let him wait until our first private moment. I would knock him off his high horse so hard he would never mount it again. He greatly anticipated meeting me? Well, I could say the same for myself. I really would make an impression on Aric. One that my betrothed would be certain not to forget.

Put them on the defensive. Nita’s reminder whispered in my head. That’s how you win.

I folded my hands in my lap and narrowed my eyes. Soon, Aric of Gildenheim would learn exactly how badly he’d misjudged.