Page 11 of Given

The brother hesitated. When it became clear Varick wasn’t going to reply, the brother turned to the thralls and raised his hands. “May the Lord of the Mir protect you. Go now and keep his reflection in your minds and hearts.”

Rolund stepped aside. In the center of the Pass, Lord Varick did the same.

One by one, the thralls stepped onto the bridge and entered the Deepnight. They filed past Varick and crossed into Nor Doru.

My heart sped up as I watched their silhouettes grow fainter. This was why Rolund had insisted I accompany him. It was one thing to know Sithistra sent thralls over the Bleak Pass once a year. It was quite another to see the procession with my own eyes. My brother was right: As royals, our first duty was to the realm. It was humbling to watch the lowpeople act so selflessly. This is what it took to keep the peace. Suddenly, my misgivings about marriage seemed shallow in comparison.

When the last thrall disappeared into the Deepnight, Varick faced Rolund once more. “We’re missing one, Your Grace.”

I looked toward the carriages, expecting to see a straggler.

“The Princess Given.”

Varick’s deep voice brought my head back around. He extended an arm, his eyes an eerie, glowing gold. “Come, Princess. Your brother has pledged you in service as a blood thrall. And as I said, my king is waiting.”

Chapter Three

GIVEN

For a moment, shock held me immobile.

All I could do was stare at Varick as confusion pounded through me. He still held his hand outstretched, as if he expected me to go to him.

As a blood thrall. I was a true-born princess of Sithistra—daughter of one king and sister to another—and my brother had bartered me away like something he owned? Lent me to the king of the vampires as…food?

There had to be some mistake.

A Green Guard grasped my arm and propelled me forward.

“No!” I wretched from his grip and swung toward Rolund.

He was in front of me in seconds, his big hands gripping my shoulders. His eyes were stark, his jaw tight. “Given, I had no choice.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I searched his face as reality hit me in an icy blast. There was no mistake. He was sending me to Nor Doru—like the stream of thralls who’d just crossed the Pass in front of me. Nausea burned my throat. “Rolund?” I gasped, my voice cracking.

He pulled me away from the head of the Pass—away from the lords and knights. Still, their regard was a heavy presence behind us as Rolund grasped my upper arms and spoke in a low, urgent voice. “Laurent demanded it. He put me in an impossible position.” He darted a look at the Pass. “He seeks to humiliate me.”

I sucked in a breath. “Really? Because it feels like he’s trying to humiliate me.”

“I’m trying to keep Sithistra and its people safe.”

“By sending your sister to the court of your enemy to be fed upon?” I tried to pull from his grip, but he was too strong. “Father would roll in his grave—”

“Father would do exactly the same,” Rolund ground out. His fingers bit into my skin as anger and frustration colored his tone. “Dammit, Given, look around you. The Deepnight drifts south, inching farther into Sithistra every year. Soon, it will blot out the sun and destroy our crops, not to mention put our people at risk. The power to control it sits with the throne of Nor Doru. Laurent is the only one who can pull back the gloom. This is his price.”

“One you’re happy to let me pay. How convenient for you, Brother, that this debt doesn’t come from your own pocket.”

He growled and gripped me more tightly. “You think I haven’t made sacrifices? The crown is a burden and one I’d gladly lay down more often than not. But we were born to our stations. For whatever reason, the Lord put us on this path.”

I couldn’t stop the huff of laughter that escaped me. “Your devotion to the Towers is as convenient as your willingness to make me a slave. You know what awaits me in Nor Doru. Laurent won’t be content to sip from my wrist, Rolund. He’ll have me in his bed.”

Rolund winced.

I shook off his grip at last. “What will happen to me when I come home defiled?”

The anger bled from his eyes, replaced with something that might have been regret. “You’ll marry whomever you choose,” he said hoarsely. “I meant what I said. You’ll pick your own husband.”

“As if I could ever trust your word again.” My hand itched to slap him, but a lifetime of deference held me in check. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

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