Page 6 of Alliance Bride
“You know Staegar won’t like it,” Erik said, his voice low with warning. “He’ll no doubt stir up trouble at the Gathering.”
Fathir waved a dismissive hand. “Staegar doesn’t like anything I do. He’s welcome to challenge me again if he wants. Halbjorn and Gorum already support whatever I decide. The rest will follow them, especially when their storehouses are well-stocked this winter. This is another reason to have Aevar and the princess married immediately. It will be harder for Staegar to reverse an alliance than to stop it from happening.”
Erik looked between them. “Well then, let’s make sure this is an alliance worth fighting for.”
Fathir clapped his shoulder.
Together, they walked toward the pavilion where Aevar’s bride waited. He ignored the twinge in his gut at that thought. There were worse fates than marrying a stranger. A war that threatened his home and family was one of them.
“So…does this mean I’m your best man?”
Kian wore the impish smile he typically employed to draw Aevar out of a brooding mood. Under different circumstances, Erik would have had the honor of being best man, but nothing about this was normal.
“I suppose.”
Kian grinned and leaned closer as they approached the tent. “If nothing else, at least she’s easy on the eyes.”
Trust him to make light of the situation. Still, he wasn’t wrong. The princesswaslovely. For a foreigner. But she was the complete opposite of the fair-haired beauty that still haunted Aevar’s dreams and never let his wounded heart fully heal. Maybe that was for the best. Then she would not remind him of what he’d lost.
Before he could dwell on the past, his father’s voice scattered the memories. “Let’s see what this king is made of, shall we?”
“They’re returning.”
Eadlyn lifted her head from prayer at Galen’s grim announcement. The Nords were halfway across the field, marching toward the pavilion. She pushed to her feet to stand beside Edward and Oswin, who had been discussing the alliance terms should the Nords agree. She swallowed hard, though her throat remained bone dry. It would have been wise to fill a cup of water while she waited, but she was afraid it would have trembled right out of her hand or refused to stay down. She clenched her fingers to still the shakes. Why did it feel as though she were on her way to the gallows?
She forced a mask of composure into place as the Nord party reached the edge of the pavilion. Though she tried to read Jarl Runar’s expression, it remained as impenetrable as before. This waiting wore on her. As much as she feared the verdict, she wanted to know her fate.
The jarl gave her a fleeting glance before focusing on Edward. “We have decided to accept your proposal of a marriage alliance, provided we agree with the remaining terms.”
For one suspended heartbeat, Eadlyn’s chest swelled with thankfulness while her stomach plunged like a stone. Essix would be saved, but her fate lay elsewhere.
“I am pleased to hear it,” Edward responded, though the words were stilted. He cleared his throat, visibly collecting himself. “Have any of your sons accompanied you?”
Eadlyn’s breath caught as she darted a glance at the two warriors who had flanked Runar during their earlier discussion. Which of them might she be joined to for the rest of her life?
But when the jarl motioned, neither of these men moved. Instead, the younger, dark-haired Nord stepped forward. Eadlyn’s pulse skittered in a strange mix of relief and apprehension.
“My eldest are already taken,” Runar said. “This is my youngest, Aevar. He has agreed to wed your sister.”
Their eyes met again, and Eadlyn’s heart now pattered like a frantic sparrow trapped in a window as the reality sank in that this was her husband-to-be. He stood with his hands resting idly on his weapons, feet set wide in the stance of a seasoned warrior. She’d seen that same posture in Galen countless times. If Aevar felt even a fraction of the uncertainty she did over this arrangement, he did not show it.
She searched his face for something—anything—to reassure her, but his expression was as unreadable as his father’s. At least he didn’t leer at her. Didn’t assess her like a prize to be won or an object to be claimed or stolen. That had to count for something. She turned his name about in her mind, trying to become accustomed to it as the name of her husband.
That’s when she realized Edward was staring at her. She switched her attention to him, reading the question on his face. She took a quivering breath and dipped her chin in a nod. What else could she do? She wouldn’t back out now.
“We are in agreement then,” Edward said, turning back to the jarl.
“Good.” A glint sparked in Runar’s eyes. One that set Eadlyn on edge. “There is an old tradition among our people. When a man seeks a woman’s hand, he must first fight her father or her brother to prove he is worthy. Perhaps you should fight my son to see if he is worthy of your sister.”
The blood drained from Edward’s face. “F-fight him?”
“Don’t worry. It’s only until one of you yields, not to the death.” Jarl Runar gestured to the open ground outside the pavilion.
Eadlyn looked between the two parties. Aevar studied Edward, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. A subtle challenge. He was every inch a warrior, armed and ready. Edward, meanwhile, wasn’t even wearing his sword, a mistake, she now realized.
She squeezed her fists. This was barbaric and did nothing to embolden her hope that the stories of the Nords’ brutish ways were exaggerated. Heat rose in her blood, and she stepped forward, facing down the jarl.
“My brother is the king. Essix cannot risk losing him.” Even if it wasn’t to the death, anything might happen.
