Page 2 of Alliance Bride
“We’ve gone over your words many times. Remain calm and keep a clear head. I will be here to counsel you if you need me.”
This seemed to calm Edward because his shoulders loosened. Oswin always had that effect on him. If only it worked as well for Eadlyn.
He seemed to sense her unease. While Edward composed himself, Oswin stepped closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. His grip held firm, like a father steadying a frightened child. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Eadlyn blinked hard to keep an upwelling of tears at bay. She would not break down. “All I want is for this alliance to work…however that must happen.”
“You do your people very proud, my lady.”
She managed a weak smile. “Thank you, Oswin.”
“My lord,” Galen said suddenly.
Those two words cut through the air like a blade.
Everyone turned. Five Nord warriors marched across the field. The bear of a man in the lead must be the king. He was a generation older than the other four and carried himself with the proud confidence of a born leader. Eadlyn’s breath grew shallow as they approached, and a shiver iced her spine. She’d heard so many stories of these savage northern warriors. They certainly looked the part in their abundant leather, furs, and long hair. No man of Essix ever grew his hair so long.
Each of them possessed at least one blade—a sword, an axe, or both. The way they carried the weapons said they’d practically been born with blades in hand. A shard of doubt pierced her. If things turned violent, could the royal guard truly protect them?
However, the dismissive way Galen watched them said they might as well have been flies waiting to be swatted. She drew from his confidence. Now was not a time to cow to intimidation. Essix had to show strength, or they would never rise from their weakened state again.
When the Nords reached the pavilion, a thick hush fell. For a moment, they faced each other like two armies meetingon a battlefield rather than diplomats attempting to secure peace. Eadlyn’s heart pounded as the silence stretched. What if they hadn’t come to negotiate? What if they meant to strike? Assassinate Edward and shatter Essix’s last hope?
But no army followed them. The rest of their camp remained peaceful, and no blades were drawn.
With a nudge from Oswin, Edward stepped forward. “Welcome.” His voice was steadier than Eadlyn had expected. “I am King Edward of Essix.”
Their translator, a balding man with a permanent frown, repeated Edward’s words in Nordric, the language sharp and guttural. The lead Nord’s iron gaze traveled up and down Edward, not even glancing at the translator.
“I am Jarl Runar, King of the Nord clans.” He spoke Aerlish, the language of the southern kingdoms, surprisingly well, though with a heavy accent.
After a glance at Edward, the translator stepped back, no longer of any use. At least this made negotiations quicker and more personal. All the better to make their plea.
“Thank you, Jarl Runar, for accepting our invitation. Please, sit.” Edward gestured toward the second set of chairs.
The jarl gave him another long, appraising look before stepping into the pavilion. His men followed. Eadlyn took her seat at Edward’s right hand, tracking each of the Nord warriors as they arranged themselves opposite. Two of the younger men claimed the seats on either side of the jarl. His sons? She gripped the armrests at that thought.
They were fairer-haired than the king, so it was hard to tell, especially with their beards. Each of the young Nord men wore their hair shorn close on the sides, leaving the top long and tiedback. Such a savage appearance would have been scandalous back at the capital in Kenwich. The man to Runar’s right had tattoos curling from each temple of a bear or wolf, inked in dark, winding lines. The other bore a jagged scar that ran down the side of his forehead and around one eye, lending him a fierce and wild air. Eadlyn suppressed a shudder, praying he wouldn’t be chosen as her husband. Not that the thought of marrying any of them appealed to her.
One man among them stood out. He remained behind the jarl alongside the youngest Nord. His hair was cropped short, and his eyes were brown rather than the icy blue of the others. Most telling was the small brass tree pendant peeking out of his jerkin. A symbol of the kingdom of Talta to the northeast.
Had Edward noticed? They hadn’t expected a Talt presence during negotiations.
She turned back to the Nords, and her focus snagged on the youngest. His hair was as dark as the Talt’s, but his eyes were unmistakably Nord—a piercing blue that held her locked in place. Her breath hitched, her tongue dry against the roof of her mouth. But she held his gaze long enough to prove her resolve before turning away.
“May I offer you refreshments after your journey? We’ve brought our finest imported wine.”
Eadlyn happily refocused on Edward, but the jarl dismissed his offer.
“That can wait. You said in your invitation you wished to discuss peace.”
The words were blunt and without ceremony.
Edward blinked but recovered. “That is true. We wish to form an alliance with Nordra.”
Silence followed. A long, stretching hush broken only by the rhythmic beat of a hammer somewhere in the Nord camp, and tension settled like a weight between them. Edward shifted and glanced at Eadlyn. She could tell he was trying not to fidget.
At last, Runar stirred. “What would be the benefit of such an alliance?”
