Page 2 of Hunting the Warlord's Daughter

“Were you taught no manners, girl?” Beads and twists of hammered metal gleamed in his braided golden-brown hair like wet seashells. The red diamond piercing his nose glittered like a droplet of fresh blood before he yanked off her eyeglasses. Everything clouded over. She heard the crunch of her glasses before he threw the pieces to the floor. “Well? Speak up! They say you’re practically blind. Are you mute as well?”

Wren quaked under his tirade, her face burning. “I… uh… I…”

“She squeaks like a mar-mouse,” the warlord complained overhead. “She’s as tiny as one, too. Do you not feed the child? She needs some meat on her bones if she’s to breed heirs.”

Her guardians offered meek apologies, promising to do better, and she could feel her suitors’ contemptuous stares raking over her as an expectant hush fell over the cavernous hall. Before she could receive her father’s blessing—and eventual choice of husband—she’d have to pay him her respects. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall the verse she’d practiced. The words jumbled together in her head.

The warlord’s armor creaked as he bent down, his voice low, the exchange between them only. “Blind and mute—but half-witted too?”

Wren’s face, already hot with humiliation, blazed with sudden, seething hatred. It spread to her chest like a flash fire, each heartbeat an explosion of rage. She gripped the fabric of her gown in her fists to quell the shocking hunger to use them. Sabra had long ago dismissed her occasional show of temper as “spirit,” but it was no such thing. It was something far more dangerous.I’m not my father. I’m not my father.I’m not my father.Her fists tightened, and the words she’d memorized shot out like venom. “Noble hero and dear leader, you are my light in the dark, my way and my reason. I am your servant in all things, born to obey you, to worship you.” She swallowed. “To die for you.”

The warlord’s hand landed on top of her head, mashing her perfectly coiffed braids. He could crush her as easily as he had her glasses. “My blood is your blood. My DNA is your destiny.” He turned and shouted at the crowd, “My blood rules all!”

The answering roar was deafening.

* * *

After the post-presentation reception, at which the warlord was conspicuously—and blessedly—absent, Wren and her guardians returned to their temporary quarters. Outside the doors, guards waited restlessly to escort them to the ship.

Ilkka stripped her out of the glittering gown, then took her hair down, prattling on endlessly about which man the warlord might choose. Wren said nothing, not wanting to encourage her. Her thoughts were on the solemn cadet.

For most of the evening, he’d hovered at the edges of the ballroom, stealing glances at her while she held a plate of miniature cakes and endured awkward conversation with the battlelords.Save me from these boring old men,she’d broadcast, squinting at him through her spare glasses. But he had never approached. He’d held himself back, both following her with his eyes and jerking his gaze away each time she tried to engage.

She may have fallen a little in love with him.

“Who was that boy with Battlelord Mawndarr?” she asked Sabra when Ilkka walked out of earshot to pack the gown. “The one near my age.”

Sabra stiffened. “He’s his elder son—Aral.”

Aral.A good name. Wren smiled for the first time all day. “He seems nice.”

Sabra snorted quietly. “Don’t let his good looks fool you. The Mawndarr men know how to use their charms to get what they want. They’re brutally ambitious, willing to go to any lengths to elevate their clan.”

Wren tried to reconcile Sabra’s harsh words with the shy boy she’d observed. His demeanor may have appeared aloof, but his yearning expression told a different story—she had thought. Hadhoped. All her life, her guardians had prepared her to be a powerful man’s wife. Despite that, she dreamed of finding love.

“What if Aral is different?” she asked, slow to give up on him. “What if he doesn’t want me for his own gain, or his clan’s glory?”What if he wants me for me?

“Forget him,” Sabra said. “He’s much too young.”

“By the time we would wed, he would be of age, and so would I—”

“The warlord will never promise his prized daughter to an untried sixteen-year-old cadet.”

But he’d gladly marry her off to Karbon, who’d made her skin crawl. She hardened her jaw.“I won’t marry any of them. I’ll run away. I’ll—”

“Nothing will be decided today,” Sabra said. “You’re still a child. No one is coming for you yet.”

Yet.One small word. So much power.

Wren frowned at her reflection in the mirror, but Sabra caught her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You trust me to guide you in such matters, yes?”

“You’re the only one I trust,” Wren whispered back. Not Ilkka. Both women were fiercely protective, but Ilkka could be downright mercenary, as if Wren’s feelings didn’t matter—only her duties. “I love you.”

Sabra blinked rapidly—blinking away tears, Wren realized. She’d never seen Sabra display such open emotion. Before becoming Wren’s guardian, Sabra had been in training to become an elite operative in the military, an Imperial Wraith. Then, pulled from an exciting career, she’d been handed what amounted as a demotion as a wealthy man’s nanny. After a deep pause, Sabra said, “I was never cut out to be a mother. Until you came into my life, I didn’t think I’d ever want to be.”

“You’re the best mother I could hope for.”

Her nostrils flared, and Wren thought more tears might come, but Sabra regained her composure. She glanced at Ilkka, her voice dropping lower. “I took vows to steer you to your true path; it is my life’s calling. You may not understand yet, but one day you will.” She exhaled and stepped backward, smoothing her hands on her travel trousers. “Enough. You’re tired. We all are. It’s time to go home.”

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