Page 10 of Soul Forge

Elda’s eyes widened, her hands tightening around the table when she leaned forwards in her chair. In her periphery, she saw Reiner’s brows creep upwards. The white-haired soldier smiled at Horthan, his expression anything but friendly.

“My name is Sypher, saviour of Valerus and Soul Forge to the Spirits. I state my intention to marry the princess.”

Elda’s eyes rounded when all the colour drained from Horthan’s face, his jaw dropping. Hrothgar watched the exchange with a frown. His mouth opened, then closed again.

“This is most irregular,” the queen stated when she realised her husband was in no condition to speak, getting to her feet and turning her stern gaze on Horthan. “If the Spirits have sent our saviour here to say his piece, then that is what must happen. Lord Horthan, with respect, if you interrupt him or my husband again, youwillbe ejected from the ceremony. Remember your rank in this court.”

Elda almost slipped off her chair, her head whipping around to gawk at her mother. Meridia, the most etiquette-driven woman in the room, hadneverchallenged another monarch in public. Especially not one she intended to ally with. Reiner covered her laugh with a quiet cough.

“Speak, Soul Forge,” the king agreed, finding his voice at last. “Your pledge will be heard.” The monarchs retook their thrones, and Horthan stomped back to his place in line, grinding histeeth. Elda hardly dared to hope, her chest so full it felt ready to burst. Was he really going to pledge himself?

Allying with the saviour of the entire nation would guarantee her kingdom’s safety from Falkryn. Sypher’s power was legendary, his deeds echoing across time. Long before she existed, he was saving people. She’d grown up listening to tales of his adventures, told to her by Reiner and read in books stolen from the palace library. She wasn’t sure what kind of magic he wielded or what species he was, but she knew he was a hero.

However, he was also a stranger. And a man. Her knowledge of men was both limited and deeply negative. Her father was ruthless and unafraid of hurting others to protect his crown. He was harsh towards her mother, and he treated Elda with coldness. Just the memory of the rage blazing in his eyes while Yarrow lay burnt on the ground was enough to make her shudder.

And then there was Horthan. He behaved exactly how her mother had warned her he would. Taking what he wanted,touchingwhat he wanted. He’d enjoyed her fear out in the hallway, and he’d taunted her. He believed she was property.

The two people she feared most were also capable of appearing perfectly gentlemanly at a moment’s notice. Hrothgar was a king, Horthan a lord, both able to plaster on a charming smile and pander to the courts minutes after showing their monstrous side behind closed doors. How could she be sure Sypher wasn’t doing the same? All her suitors could be like that, and she’d have no clue until they got her alone.

Sypher turned his fiery gaze on Elda trembling in her seat, and the thoughts in her head stilled all at once. He was looking at her. Waiting for her attention, she realised. He didn’t power on ahead with his pledge, didn’t assume her father was her owner and try to strike a bargain without so much as asking her. He met her eyes and held them. She watched his head tilt slowly.

“I have no army to offer you, as I rule no kingdom, Your Grace.” His voice was clear, calm as it rang through the hall. “I can’t promise you a naval fleet to do with as you wish, and I can’t offer riches, as my money goes back to the people that need it.” There was no pomp, no pageantry or frill. He made no embellishments to woo her. “My pledge to you is this; in exchange for your hand, I will give you the freedom you deserve. Your body will be your own, and I will never expect an heir. I will defend you and your home against all threats with every ounce of strength I possess.” He shot a pointed look at Horthan before returning his attention to Elda. “I am your sword and your shield, Your Grace, and I will die to protect you.”

I will die to protect you.The words struck something deep in her core, tearing open a wound she’d been ignoring for as long as she could remember. Her own father wouldn’t risk himself to protect her, yet this stranger, thisman, was offering his life to her on a platter in front of the entire court.

Nobles didn’t make themselves weak. Monarchs answered to the Spirits alone. Sypher was the saviour of Valerus, more powerful than any king, more respected than any lord. He should be standing with his back straight, not meeting her gaze. He should be displaying his power to show the other suitors why he was the better choice. Instead, he inclined his head to her in a respectful bow. A show of sincerity, ofdeference.

Slowly, the gears in Elda’s brain started to turn. She blinked, trying to clear the fog clouding her thoughts. Sypher’s red hues burned through the haze, keeping her focus even when he stepped into line beside the suitors. She saw Horthan shoot him a glare, which he pointedly ignored, still watching the princess.

“Before my daughter makes her choice,” the king began, his voice snapping her out of her daze, “she will be given the opportunity for an introduction with our newest suitor.”

The magnitude of what the Soul Forge had done began to settle on her shoulders. Where there had been no way out before, he’d opened a door for her. She had achoice. For the first time in her life, she had the power to choose what happened next. Even if he was a monster of a different kind, she would be eternally grateful for that small glimpse of freedom he offered.

Relief washed over her, so potent that it made her nauseous. She started to count the notches in the wooden tabletop, studying the flecks and whorls in the surface until her pounding pulse slowed. Deep breaths in through her nose helped to avoid dry heaving in front of the entire court.

“Your Grace.” That honeyed voice startled her, close enough that she jumped. She looked up into crimson eyes, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Sypher had approached the dais while she tried not to be sick and now stood beside her. “May I have this dance?” His gloved hand appeared in front of her, waiting for her to take it.

"Canyou dance?” she blurted, her manners deserting her the moment she remembered how to speak. Another cough disguised Reiner’s amused snort, but there was nothing to hide the grin Elda caught from the corner of her eye.

“Would you like to find out?” Sypher asked coolly.

She stared at his outstretched hand, remembering the pattern of black runes across his knuckles and the gentle caress of his healing magic. He’d been kind to her when she needed it. He’d saved her in the hallway and offered her a choice when she was trapped.

Her fingers touched soft leather, and she rose on shaking legs, allowing herself to be led to the centre of the room. When he held her close, it was respectful. His grip was careful, his hand only resting lightly on her waist. She could barely feel it through the fabric of her corset.

He wasn’t dressed for dancing. In fact, he looked like he was ready to go to war. His sword would be heavy – ithadto throw off his balance. Even his armour was formidable. It was close-fitting, a mix of leather and metal, all black and scarred with the evidence of many hard-won battles. Intricate runes decorated the pauldrons and chest plate, replicas of the ones on his skin. Every inch of him was made to wield a weapon.

The music that began to float up to the rafters was delicate and emotional – completely at odds with the soldier’s battle-ready appearance. The fear of stepping on his toes made Elda’s knees start to knock, but she straightened her spine and laid her free hand on his shoulder. If she could get through the dance without embarrassing herself, it would be a miracle.

The first spin surprised her; the second left her breathless. Sypher’s control, his grace, everything about the way he moved wasbeautiful. His sword could have been made of smoke for all the difference it made to his posture. His gait was perfectly centred, his arms sure and strong as he swept her off her feet. Any fears of treading on his toes subsided within a few steps.

“Where did you learn todancelike this?” she murmured, eyebrows rising when he dipped her low, keeping his face a respectful distance from her chest. Only his hands touched her, even when he supported her weight. She fought to ignore the flutter in her chest.

“I’ve had eight hundred years to learn.”

She felt lighter, like she weighed less than a feather. Her skirts twirled and billowed, the shining threads catching the light of the sunset through the windows, glittering so gracefully that the guests watching gasped. She couldn’t imagine what they looked like – a tiny elf in a beautiful dress, blond hair cascading down her back, dancing with a hero of legend.

“Why did you ask for my hand?” she asked eventually, emboldened by the respect he’d shown her.

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