Page 2 of Bride of the King

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A flash of blue rippled in the water. A dark shape swam near me and rose, emerging from the waters without a splash. Green eyes, wide and round, glared at me out of a marshy face, covered in blue scales and webbing. I ceased swimming as she watched me, unblinkingly. “Who summons the river goddess?” she demanded, her voice as sweet and clear as crystal.

“Nesrin of Gebeth. I have three wishes,” I explained, my words so soft it was a wonder she heard them.

“You call upon the magic of my waters, but I give no wishes to mortals. Now get thee gone, before my waters take you.”

“Please,” I begged. I hadn’t considered the fact she’d turn me down. “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Her mouth twisted. “Anything? You are aware the magic will cost you. Not today, but in the future?”

“Yes. I am aware,” I told her, daring to hope she’d grant my wish.

She barred wicked sharp fangs. “But why? Why should I use my magic on you, when you have nothing to give me, mortal?”

A wave rose and surged toward me. I swam away from it as my throat tightened. “Please,” I begged.

Had the old crone lied to me? The river goddess seemed to think I was a joke.

“Begone, mortal, with your silly wishes.” The river goddess splashed me again, a laugh in the wave as it swept over me.

Water spun me around as though I were naught but a leaf caught in a vortex.

“Have mercy,” I begged, frustration and disappointment making my chest expand until I thought I would burst.

Another merciless wave sent me spinning. The water lifted me and slammed me down on the river bank. A wave of mud followed, along with the titters from the river goddess. She dived, and the waters were clear again while I lay in the mud, sobs shaking my shoulders.

It had been a fool’s errand after all. Three wishes. What was I thinking? Wiping mud off my face, I grabbed my dress and made my way home.

2

“Nesrin!”my name was bellowed as though I were misbehaving.

I startled and stood, making my way out of the garden, which lay to the side of the house. Had my step-mother returned already? I’d assumed she’d be gone all day, giving me time to complete my chores before she returned. My stomach twisted and dread filled me as I ran, barefoot, wringing the water out of my dress as I went. In my haste to escape from the river, I’d left my shoes behind. My dress had only half dried, and the skirts were still wet. Instead of smelling like rose and lavender, I smelled like bog water and mud. It was likely that another slap and the name-calling of ‘half-breed’ awaited me in the house. So much for wishes.

“Nesrin, come here right this instance!” my step-mother shouted.

I pushed my dust-covered feet faster and came to a halt as my step-mother swept out of the house. She laid eyes on me and a smirk of displeasure covered her plump lips.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured as I walked up the path to the house. “I did not expect you back so soon.”

My step-mother’s eyes narrowed, and she glared at me over her aristocratic nose. She was all curves, dark eyes, pale skin, and wore the latest fashion, a tightly corseted dress that swept the ground, with a ruffle I’d die for. Beautiful as she was, she was always out of breath with a nasty temper. She was going lame and carried an elegant stick to hide it, but I knew the pain in her feet gave her a reason to be cruel, and she’d used the dreaded stick on me more than once.

Peering down her nose at me, she frowned at my wet dress and bare feet. “I came to collect you but seeing as you can’t be trusted to dress, or even make yourself presentable, you must go as you are. But I won’t have a mud-girl ride in the carriage with me. Go sit with the driver.”

She pointed at the bench of the carriage where the driver sat in his dark livery. A gasp escaped my lips, for it was rare that she allowed me to leave the farm, much less ride in the carriage. I didn’t care what the day would bring, the wind had blown favorably in my direction. Perhaps the river goddess had granted my wishes. My cheeks glowing—and un-slapped—I swung up beside the driver, well aware my face was still smudged with dirt and my hair was tangled.

I twisted my fingers together, anxious about where the carriage was taking us as we traveled away from town and down a winding road. I watched out of wide eyes, taking in the beauty of the meadows. Yellow stalks of wheat waving in the breeze. Blue butterflies decorated the fields with color, and dark green trees waved on one side of us. The eyes of the wildwood were always watching, always waiting.

The air felt good against my hot skin, even though the mud from the river cracked and dried, making me itch. It came off in crumbles, but I noticed my skin underneath was smooth. Even my chapped hands had softened under the mud. Still, my face went warm as I thought of how I’d been tricked that morning. I wondered if the old crone would tell the story of the foolish girl who believed a river goddess could grant wishes.

The carriage turned off the main road and down a rutted path toward the trees. My brow furrowed. Where were we going? No one lived near the trees except for Rovers. They dwelt in tribes and came and went as they pleased, sometimes thieving from the nearby farms. My throat closed as the driver pulled the reins, halting the horses. What business did we have with Rovers?

White and yellow tents fluttered in the breeze and goats with bells around their necks moved in and out of view, munching on grass as they watched the ongoings. Woman in bright skirts hurried here and there while children were whisked away, out of sight. It was only midday, but I sensed the buzz of excitement in the air as the driver swung down and held open the carriage door for my step-mother.

She alighted and glanced around, her mouth set in a firm line and her eyes giving away nothing. Her sharp gaze darted to me. “Get down, half-breed,” she ordered.

She never failed to find insults for me. Hate pinched my heart, but I climbed down, watching my feet to avoid splashing my step-mother’s skirts with mud. As I did, a group of five men walked toward the wagon. The one who led the way looked like the sun god himself, with short golden hair, a trim beard and deep-set eyes that seemed to change color depending on the fall of the light. His chiseled jaw gave away nothing, and his face was set, as though he were used to being obeyed. His features had an air of familiarity, and I drew in a sharp breath as I recalled an afternoon I spent in the forest one spring, and a golden-haired man who was kind to me.

The men behind him were darker in complexion, with ruddy cheeks and hair as black as a raven’s feathers. My heart dropped as I stared, and I knew I only had a second or more. Something bad was about to happen and I should flee, but indecision overrode my common sense.