Page 2 of Bound By the Beast Man
“Then let us swear it,” Ronan growls, his hand gripping the twin blades at his back. “By the Triad and the blood we share, we will meet in Rach.”
“No matter the cost,” Caspian added, his usual levity gone.
One by one, we clasp forearms, our circle a bastion of Osirian resolve against the encroaching darkness. I look at the determined faces of Silas, Caspian, Tarek, Ronan, and Lucaris. These are not just warriors. They are my brothers. And I will bring them all home.
2
DIANA
Morning light spills over the village, warm and golden, chasing the last of the cool night air from the valley. I dig my fingers into the rich, dark soil of our garden, the familiar dampness a comfort against my skin. The scent of dew on mint leaves and the sweet perfume of the moon-blossoms closing their petals for the day fills my senses. This is my favorite time, this quiet moment before the world fully wakes, when it feels like the sun rises just for me. A small, perfect peace. I gently tuck a new seedling into the earth, murmuring a quiet promise for it to grow strong.
“If you move any slower, Ingrid, the sun will have set before that porch is clean,” I said.
My younger sister, all of fifteen, lets out an exaggerated sigh from the cottage steps. I glance over my shoulder and grin. She leans on her broom like an old woman leaning on a cane, her bright blonde hair catching the light like a halo.
“And if you plant any more herbs, we’ll have to move out to make room for them,” she retorts, but there’s no heat in her words, only the familiar rhythm of our sisterly teasing.
“Someone has to make the healing salves you’re always needing after you trip over your own feet,” I said, rising and brushing the dirt from my hands onto my apron.
“I do not always trip,” she said.
“Only on days that end in ‘y’,” I said.
Villagers begin to stir in their cottages. Old Man Hemlock nods to me as he heads toward the woods with his axe, and Elara, our neighbor, waves from her doorway, her youngest peeking out from behind her skirts. I wave back, a warmth spreading through my chest. This village is the only world I’ve ever known, a tapestry woven from these simple greetings, shared loaves of bread, and the easy trust of people who have lived beside each other for generations. I grab the fresh, warm loaf I baked before dawn, its crust perfectly crisp, and trade it with Elara for a pail of still-warm milk from her goat. The exchange is so routine, so wonderfully mundane, it settles me. This is life. It is good and it is simple.
Ingrid finally finishes her sweeping with another dramatic flourish, and I bring out two mugs of the fresh milk. We sit together on the top step of the porch, our shoulders touching, watching the village come fully alive. Children now chase each other through the lane between the cottages, their laughter like little bells.
“Will you be going to the festival with Kael this week?” Ingrid asks.
I take a slow sip of milk to hide my smile.
“I might,” I said.
“He’s handsome,” she says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “And he’s the best hunter of all the boys.”
“He’s also clumsy and tells terrible jokes,” I add, but my heart gives a little flutter.
Ingrid nudges me with her elbow.
“You like his terrible jokes,” she said.
“I do not,” I said, though my smile betrayed me.
“I hope Tomas asks me to dance,” she lets out a dreamy sigh. “Do you think he will?”
Her gaze drifts toward the far side of the village, where Tomas is likely mending his father’s fishing nets. She idolizes me, tries to emulate my confidence, but beneath it all, she is a sweet and trusting girl who still believes in the simple magic of a village festival. I want to keep it that way for as long as I can.
“He will be a fool if he doesn’t,” I said, meaning it. “And if he doesn’t, you can dance with me, and we’ll make all the boys jealous.”
She giggles, the sound bright and clear.
“What will you wear?” she asked.
“I haven’t decided,” I said.
“The green dress?” she suggested. “The one with the embroidery at the neck?”
We spend the next hour lost in the easy, important chatter of sisters—of dresses and dances, of whispered crushes and the shared, unspoken dream of a future that looks exactly like this. A life lived out in the sun, in this cottage, surrounded by these people. I look at her, so full of hope and light, and my heart aches with a fierce, protective love. I will always keep her safe. Nothing bad will ever touch her.
