Page 11 of Soul Forge

“My purpose is to protect you.” His eyes didn’t leave hers, his stare unwavering. “After what the shifter did in the corridor, sending you off to Falkryn with him would be the opposite.”

“What if I choose you and he retaliates by attacking my city?”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” She tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach when he lifted her off the ground, gently lowering her back down as they spun.

He cocked his head, flames flickering in his stare. “If he fires a single cannon at your city, I will sink every last ship he has. Horthan knows I won’t stop at the ones in the waterways.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” she mumbled, catching the Falkrynian’s furious gaze by mistake as they passed him. It quelled some of the confidence blossoming inside her, forcing her chin down and hunching her shoulders.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” the Soul Forge answered simply. “You can take your chances with me or shackle yourself to him.”

“And if I choose him?” she asked.

“If you choose another suitor and they decide to get handsy with you, I might not be there in time to stop them next time.”

Elda dared to glance over at her father, still scowling on his throne. Her mother was leaning in, speaking into his ear. No doubt trying to calm his mood. Hrothgar hated things not going his way with an intensity that bordered on madness. Despite Sypher’s power and standing, she knew Horthan was who he wanted her to pick. Not because the kingdom was at risk; the Soul Forge had removed that threat, but because he wanted to save face. She could see it in his eyes. Her own father would rather she suffer at the hands of a beast than risk damaging his self-image.

“Your choice is your own,” the Soul Forge said, also glancing at the king as they passed. “There is nobody else that can makeit for you, as much as they might think they can. You are the one who must live with your decision.”

“I don’t know you any better than I know Horthan,” she replied. “The suitor I know the most about is Artan. Would you still protect me if I chose him?”

“I will protect you no matter who you marry.” He paused. “But Princess,doyou know Artan?”

Elda frowned up at him. “Of course I do. He’s visited Eden many times.”

For the longest moment, he said nothing. He carried on guiding her through the steps, always careful to keep a space between them. She liked that. It put her at ease in a way the other suitors hadn’t.

“Tell me something,” Sypher said eventually. “If you marry Artan and leave for Saeryn, you’ll be there within a few days. You will sleep in his chambers. Do you trust him to respect you if you refuse to bed him?”

Elda opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

She did know Artan to an extent. He’d met with her father many times, and they’d spoken during each of his visits. He was friendly. He’d asked about her interests, the books she’d read, how she liked living in a palace. He’d even joked about her father whenever he invited her to accompany him for a stroll around the gardens. He had always been respectful and polite, never encroaching on her personal space or talking over her in conversation.

But she realised she knew nothing abouthim. All she saw was the mask of etiquette that every single noble man, woman, and monarch donned when they addressed her. There was no way to tell if he was genuine, not without putting it to the test. And if he failed that test, there was no going back.

“How do I know you wouldn’t do the same?” she challenged. Her mother’s many warnings about men and their deviousnesshad a chokehold on her rationality, leaving her wary of any that came to offer her the world. “You’re even more of a stranger to me than he is.”

Sypher cocked his head, bringing her back to him when the song ended. Something she didn’t understand flashed through his eyes, gone as quickly as it arrived. Had she angered him? Or was it pity?

“You don’t. You’ll just have to take my word for it.” He bowed low, and she dipped into a hasty curtsey at the same time. “The choice is yours, Your Grace.”

Elda’s legs felt wooden when she moved slowly back to her seat. Hrothgar looked over at her with knitted brows, his golden crown glinting in the light. She studied the lines of his face as he got to his feet, intending to join the revellers beginning to fill the room with chatter. Even though his hair was the same pale blonde as hers, and his beard was full and thick, beneath them she could see the first marks of age beginning to appear.

If she left for another kingdom, she’d see her father again in a few months. She’d be able to see if his face had changed. If the crow’s feet around his eyes had deepened. She might even see him turn into a better man. At one hundred and ten, halfway through his lifespan, she’d never known him to be kind. Her mother had raised her, and in the two-and-a-half decades she’d lived so far, Elda had never once seen a gentle word uttered to his wife. Perhaps losing his daughter would change that.

If she left to be a wielder, she might never return to Eden. She could die in battle, wiped out at the hands of monsters she couldn’t imagine even in her wildest nightmares. She wanted freedom, not fighting. All she wanted was to exist comfortably without putting others in harm’s way.

If she chose Horthan, her life would be harsh, but she’d guarantee the safety of her people, at least until it was her turn to ascend the throne. If she chose Sypher, she walked into a futurebrimming with unknowns. She might fail at whatever task the Spirits wanted her to complete, leaving the whole of Valerus to face it without her help. The Soul Forge might turn out to be just as dangerous as Horthan and her father. Even if she succeeded as a wielder, she’d still be his property.

The contradictions and possibilities filled her thoughts to the brim, spilling over until she laid her cheek on the table and groaned.

“You look happy,” Reiner quipped, approaching her chair.

“What do I do?” Elda asked.

“You choose a suitor.”

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