Page 10 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

After a little too long, her eyes slid back over to me.

“Well, Nor, if you were to ask little old me how I felt about all this…” Streja raised a brow and tipped her head at me, motioning me over closer.

Sidling over as much as my somewhat begrudging travel companion would allow, I sighed and repeated, “If I were to ask you…”

Streja pursed her lips before whispering, “I know you don’t like to talk about any of them, but I think Troy, Linus, and Kier may have all been on to something, getting out of here when they each did. And now you get to…follow the trail they unknowingly blazed.”

There was no stopping how I bristled at her casual mention of our old, old friends. Deserters, really, who we had agreed many years ago were no longer worth the breath of discussing. How she drew a line between their willing acts of abandoning our kingdom and my forced hand was beyond me.

“Oh, right,” I scoffed. “What a fucking trail they blazed.”

“I’m serious, Nor.” Streja let out a heavy huff and shook her head.

For too many minutes, the only noise around us was the clopping of hooves on weathered cobblestone, the chuffing of horses, and the monotonous hum of chatting party members flanking us.

“Look,” Streja finally said, “all I’m saying is, maybe along the way I’ll find some wealthy shadow-stepping woman who wants to use me as a footstool, and I can ride things out with you until someone—” she clicked her tongue, drawing her finger discreetly across her throat, “—your brother…”

“Streja,” I intoned, my eyes wide.

She gave me a dismissive shrug. “What? ‘Tis only a matter of our fickle Mistress Time getting her act together, and we both know that. Then, you can come right back where you belong and claim the crown his late Majesty should have passed to you instead.”

Fixing my eyes back on the gentle slope of the path leading to the service road of the fortress, I drew my lips into a tight line.

Streja could keep her delusional hopes to herself. It wasn’t like the subject of my brother’s future fate meant much to me anymore, not when I’d be tethered to a cruel dark fae king for the rest of my life—a timeframe I wished more and more to be brief.

Besides, I was never meant to be a ruler.

I was built to run free, with the wind in my hair and grass under my feet.

Not tethered to a throne. Or an ancient king. Or a dark fae kingdom.

Fuck.

All I could do to stop my mind from spinning was scrubbing my fingers over my brow as I muttered, “Let’s find another topic of discussion, please, Stre.”

“Well…all that serious and slightly depressing business aside, I’m sort of looking forward to properly seeing the Wastes, you know?” How Streja had an ounce of wonder in her voice, I couldn’t fathom.

“Goddess above. Speak for yourself,” I scoffed.

“Come on, Nor! It’ll be an experience!”

What an awful new topic—I might’ve been dreading our trek across the Wastes more than any other part of the journey. With little to no flora or fauna, the inhospitable expanse separating Odessa from Grimmoria had infamously volatile weather, regardless of season, from hailstones as big as eggs to snowstorms that put the mountaintops to shame and heat so blistering, it cooked anything within sight. Sometimes, all three in a day or two.

How close or far we strayed from the ancient Lastlight Woods that shared borders with all three nations would have something to do with it too. The gnarled ashclaw trees it was famous for did wonders for staving off some of the wicked windstorms that tore through the cragged Wastes. But, they also allegedly housed creatures not keen on unwelcome visitors.

Then there was the entire matter of Grimmoria itself.

Twice, I’d written to my soon-to-be husband, asking what I should expect of the weather—mundane, I know—but he’d been of little help. You’ll see when you arrive, he would write back, and you’ll have a whole new wardrobe waiting for the climate.

Most women at court would be thrilled, but I found myself painfully indifferent. After all, I’d spent the better part of the last decade wearing my cavalry uniform more often than not, including donning full ceremonial plate easily twice as often as I’d worn anything resembling a gown.

But one foot in front of the other.

The horse and the cart and all that.

I needed to make it across the Wastes in one piece before I started worrying about the climate of my new home.

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