Page 20 of Blood Beneath the Snow

The prince frowned. I waited for the pity to appear, but it never did. His parents remained silent on either side of him, studying my expression.

The servant returned then with an empty glass and a tall bottle of wine, offering them to Frode. I glanced at my brother, my eyes widening. Alcohol was as rare and precious as food these days. Had my brother really sent this young servant to the cellars to retrieve a full bottle?

Frode smirked, answer enough to my unspoken question. “There won’t be any need for the glass,” he told the servant. The young boy nodded respectfully and took the cork from Frode once it was out of the bottle.

My father’s mouth curled in disgust and Mother looked absolutely furious. Frode only offered them a charismatic grin.

What would I do without you around to keep things interesting?I asked Frode.

“Probably behave yourself,” he muttered as he placed the bottle to his lips and began to chug, a small trickle of red spilling out the corner of his mouth.

The King of Faste snorted. I restrained the growl in my throat, leaping to defend Frode. A dizzy mind was the only way he could keep the voices at bay. “Apologies for my children,” Father said, trying to draw the attention away from Frode and back to himself. “Let’s save the war talk for later.” Was it nervousness hiding at the edge of his words? The Fastians were discerning, and he was weak in the face of it.

I leaned back, my mind wandering as the conversation turned to purely political gossip. If I were in charge, there would be no war; instead, we’d have diplomatic relationships with all our neighbors. An alliance with Faste would be only for our countries’ mutual benefit, not for survival. Arne wouldn’t be risking his life as a godforsaken on the front lines. Freja wouldn’t be in jail. Frode would stay home and do what he liked here instead of going to the front lines to be tortured by the screams and thoughts of the dying. Jac would be the general of the armies—he was good at what he did. And he would keep the peace much better than Björn could.

I almost snorted thinking of Björn in charge of the armies. In charge of the kingdom. I had no doubt the war would escalate as soon as he became king. Father had all but confirmed it to the council only an hour before—“Continue moving our conquest forward” had been his exact words.

When the conversation slipped into talk of the upcoming engagement party, it became clear the alcohol had gone straight to Frode’s head. “Shut up,” he groaned. The empty bottle of wine sat discarded at his feet and he pressed a shaking hand to his temple. “If you’re going to think I’m a drunkard, you might as well say it.” A wide, lopsided grin filled his face and he turned to look at Father. “After all, it’s true.”

I sighed. If Frode didn’t ramble so much with alcohol in his system, it wouldn’t matter, but…

“Björn, take your brother to his room,” Father snarled. His fingernails dug into the fabric adorning the arms of the chair he sat in.

Björn stood, but I held out my hand. “I’ll take him,” I offered. “He says my thoughts are the easiest to deal with.” Besides, Ihadasked Frode to take me with him if he found a way to get out of here.

Björn rolled his eyes and sat as I got to my feet and pulled one of Frode’s arms over my shoulders. He was incredibly underweight, and lifting him didn’t feel like even the slightest of burdens. The prince stood, too. “I’ll help.” Before I could give him permission, he stepped to Frode’s other side.

I wanted to snap at him, tell him I could do it myself, but he had already started moving us toward the door. Frode hung limp in our arms, humming a tune I hadn’t heard in years—a lullaby Mother used to sing me when she’d considered it worth pretending she loved us all equally. Pretending she wasn’t disgusted by me, wasn’t preparing my brothers to be part of the ritual sacrifice of heirs the moment they were grown.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

“Third floor,” I told the prince as we approached the staircase. He nodded and I sighed. “Look, I can carry him on my own. You should go back to the sitting room. Talk politics. I’m fine.”

“You think I have any interest in being in there?” he said. “I would do anything to leave. Seems like you would, too.”

I chuckled. “Was it that obvious?”

He grinned. “You’re pretty easy to read.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said, shifting Frode’s weight on my shoulder. My brother giggled and I rolled my eyes.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” the prince continued. “In advance. I know it’s not love, but our marriage will be good for both of ourcountries. I think we can manage to make it work and both be happy.”

I digested his words for a moment. It was a straightforward way to begin our relationship; I couldn’t fault him for that. “I hope you’re right. What’s your name?”

“Volkan.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Revna.”

“Are you looking forward to our engagement party?”

I glanced at him, and his eyes were so sincere, I decided to be honest. “No. I’m nothing more than a pawn here.”

He sighed. “That’s a familiar sentiment.” Volkan hesitated, dark eyes lingering on my face before he set his jaw. “Has anyone told you why my parents were so desperate to arrange a marriage for me?”

“No.” Embarrassment gathered in my chest. I knew so little about my fiancé. “I assumed it was to ensure your people weren’t targeted after Kryllian falls.”

“Half right,” Volkan informed me. “But there’s another half to the story as well. My parents do their best to keep it a secret, so I don’t blame you for not knowing.” He glanced away, and I had the distinct impression he was nervous about meeting my gaze. “Romantic intentions between partners of the same sex have been outlawed in Faste for generations.”

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