Page 2

I was shaking all over. What did he want from me now? Had he changed his mind? Was he going to kill me? I smoothed my forest-green velvet dress mechanically, as if this gesture, which was supposed to keep me calm, could also erase the bloodstains embedded in the fabric.

“I...I’m with you,” I stammered.

The servant, a fifteen-year-old boy called Massim, nodded.

His features were drawn, and his complexion was alarmingly pale.

I recognized him. He usually worked in the stables, but ever since the Osacanians had invaded the castle, he seemed to have been reassigned as a squire to Dovah, the Black Demon.

Although I was in no hurry to join him, I kept pace with Massim, whose strides were fast. I didn’t want him to be punished if I dragged on too long.

As we entered what had once been my father’s study, I noticed that Dovah had taken off his helmet. I couldn’t see his face yet, though. He still had his back to me, his gaze fixed on his work, the blood-stained landscape of Muvaria on fire that unfolded before him beyond the window.

“There’s been a slight change in plans,” he began, still not facing me.

“Ah?” I asked, convinced that he was finally going to kill us all.

Hearing my unsure voice, he turned his head in my direction, and when he saw me, his eyes widened in astonishment.

“You...” he murmured.

I recoiled, then recoiled again, until my back hit the door. Something powerful and dark was emanating from him. An abominable aura. I couldn’t define it, but my whole body wanted to run away from it.

“Your hair. Is that its natural colour?” he then inquired in a sinister voice.

“I...I...”

“Answer me!”

“Yes!” I shouted, as if crying out for help. “I’ve always had red hair! Satisfied?”

A silence as heavy as the weight of the world descended on the room of crimson drapes and cherrywood furniture.

I stared at him, shocked not only by his attitude, but also by the breathtakingly virile beauty of his features.

For some obscure reason, I’d imagined him to be as hideous as his actions when, clearly, the opposite was true.

A square jaw devoured by an incipient beard, short, thick hair of a black so opaque it seemed to absorb light, and a straight nose with a well-proportioned mouth.

It was the perfect portrait of a knight of dark charm.

I would have preferred him to be ugly. Very ugly .

“Well, that confirms my visions,” intervened an amused male voice.

I immediately turned to the right, where it seemed to be coming from.

As if emerging from nowhere, I saw a man appear before me, dressed in a hooded cloak of green darker than my dress.

He was tall, almost as tall as Dovah, but instead of short jet-black hair, the stranger’s hair was longer, below the shoulders, and a shade of golden blond similar to that of my sisters.

However, there was one detail that intrigued me—apart from his beauty, which was comparable to that of Dovah, although his features seemed less harsh, more cheerful—and that was his eyes.

The hue of his irises, a pale, almost milky green, piqued my curiosity.

I lowered my eyes to his hands and saw that he was holding a long staff, one of those used by the blind to navigate, and then I understood.

“Paivrin!” growled Dovah.

So, the stranger—who seemed to be close to the Black Demon—was called Paivrin.

“I couldn’t have invented such a hair colour. ‘And the wife of the master of ashes shall possess hair of blood ,’” he recited.

Master of ashes? Blood-haired bride? Was he talking about Lord Dovah and myself?

“Marrying her was the plan,” retorted Dovah dryly. “Elendur leaves me no choice, you see.”

Paivrin burst into a loud laugh as he approached me. Strangely enough, I wasn’t as frightened of him as I was of the evil Dovah staring back at us with his black eyes. And it wasn’t just a mere image: his eyes were actually the same colour as coal.

“Planned, you say? I know you, Dovah. Elendur may have chained you to him in a state of servitude that displeases us, but you accepted his proposal a little too quickly. We both know that you hope to get rid of her before you return to Osacan, and it’s to prevent that from happening that I’ve come here. ”

Lord Dovah’s lack of protest made me nauseous.

He remained perfectly still, stoic even in his facial expression.

Paivrin laughed again as I nearly fainted.

He’d planned to kill me on the way. He’d rather murder me than bother with a wife.

My God! I closed my eyes for a moment, not quite sure how to breathe.

“I hope you’re not going to faint,” said Dovah irritably.

“Why shouldn’t I? All you’d have to do is draw your sword and finish me off,” I retorted bitterly, to which my future husband did not respond. Was he really thinking about it? I opened my eyes abruptly, then met his gaze.

“I’m going to unite you,” announced Paivrin, striking the ground with his staff.

“A ceremony has already been scheduled in Osacan,” said Dovah, not enthused by this prospect.

“You know it doesn’t have the same value as ours .”

Dovah emitted a sort of animal growl.

“You can be wrong in your visions.”

“That’s never happened before, and you know it too,” his interlocutor countered, with a sort of indulgence in the inflection of his voice.

Dovah raised his arms to the sky.

“So be it! I’m not that close to a curse anyway, am I?”

With that, he closed the distance between us and took me by the arm. His face, his terrible, seductive face, was so close to mine that he could have brushed my nose with his lips. I immediately forgot to gasp for air.

“What would you rather do, blood-haired bride? Marry the monster who has killed thousands of Muvarians, or die by the same sword?”

Proposing it like that was perfectly unfair. And terrifying.

“If I had your word that you would let my family and my people live, then I would accept death without hesitation.”

The timbre of my voice trembled, and my eyes burned from trying to fight back tears of anguish, yet I refused to lower them. I held his dark gaze to the end.

“Fool,” he finally murmured with an irritated sneer.

He moved away from me as quickly as he had approached, then, without a glance at the man who seemed to be his friend, he blurted out, “You can marry us, Paivrin. And you, my fiancée,” he spat, “can find us a quiet spot in the gardens. We don’t need witnesses for this union,” he added for my benefit.

So I complied, and under the fearful and curious gazes of the castle’s inhabitants who were still hesitating to return to their occupations, I led them to the rose garden kiosk, which was the furthest point from the main buildings.

“How old are you, my dear?” asked Paivrin, walking beside me.

Dovah stayed far behind us to make it clear that he was in no hurry. I wondered what kind of ceremony could surpass that imposed by the King of Osacan.

“Eighteen this year, my lord,” I replied neutrally.

I was the eldest princess, the one who should have married first. However, the colour of my hair had put off potential suitors.

Even my sisters, three years younger than me, had started receiving proposals from several princes, including those from Arslais.

Until today, I’d come to terms with the idea of remaining an old maid and I felt no shame about it.

Who could have predicted that, in the end, I would find a husband who would still have my father’s blood on his breastplate on our wedding day ?

“You’re very young.”

I gave him a sidelong glance.

“I’m past the marriageable age.”

“In your country, perhaps, but not in mine.”

I was surprised to hear that. So, he wasn’t from Osacan?

“Where are you from?”

“I am of Gulan. It’s between Osacan and Arslais. We’re a principality that lives in harmony with the Underworld. We know no war, only prosperity.”

The Lower World was everything on earth. In contrast, the Upper World was the kingdom of heaven, and everything deep within the earth itself was called the Underworld.

I smile sadly.

“That’s enviable.”

“I’ll ask Dovah to take you to my place for a few days.”

The invitation seemed absurd as things stood, but the man seemed so nice that I didn’t have the heart to refuse his offer.

“I’d be delighted, thank you.”

“Are you almost finished? Would you also like a cup of tea and some cookies to get to know each other?” interjected my frightening fiancé.

I instinctively stiffened under the admonition. Paivrin chuckled softly.

“Not yet married and already jealous,” he commented in a low voice. “That’s a good omen.”

“I beg your pardon?”

I didn’t believe for a moment what he was implying about Dovah, but Paivrin’s only response to my skeptical tone was a warm smile.

We arrived at the wrought-iron kiosk, completely covered with thorns and black roses. Dovah passed us to examine the place with a critical eye.

“Is it close enough to nature for you?” he asked.

It was obvious he was talking to his friend. Paivrin moved forward, using his staff to avoid obstacles. A staff that looks like a question mark whose sinuous lines seem tortured , I thought as I watched him.

“Yes,” Paivrin confirmed in a breath. I feel connected.

Dovah nodded.

“Well, then, let’s go.”

With that, Dovah invited me to sit beside him in the booth with a wave of his hand. I hesitated for a moment. Oh, not very long, really, but long enough for him to furrow his brow. Then I hurried to join him.

It was too much for me. This day, with no end in sight, was killing me as surely as my future husband’s enormous sword would have done.

In a mechanical reflex, I placed my hand in his and, strangely enough, the contact of our palms against each other electrified me. If it felt the same for him, he didn’t show it.

Paivrin positioned himself in front of us with a dexterity that commanded respect. For a man with such a handicap, I found him incredibly agile. It was truly intriguing.