Page 7 of The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom 1)

“And what if I succeed?” Her mouth tasted sour, and she turned her head away, taking in the hundreds of figures on the island waiting for the ship. Waiting for her.

“You’ll be the savior of Maridrina. You’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

“I want my freedom.” Her tongue felt strangely thick as she spoke. “I want to be left alone, to my devices. Free to go wherever I choose, to do as I will.”

One silver eyebrow rose. “How different you and Marylyn are.”

“Were.”

He inclined his head. “Even so.”

“Do we have an agreement then? The bridge in exchange for my freedom?”

His nod was punctuated by a loud boom of thunder. It was a lie, and she knew it. But she could live with his lies because their goals were aligned.

“Drop sails,” the captain of the ship bellowed, and Lara gripped the rail as they lost momentum, the sailors running about to make ready to land. The drums continued their beat, pace escalating along with Lara’s heart as the ship drifted against the empty pier, sailors leaping the gap to tie off the ship.

The gangplank was lowered, and her father took her arm, leading her toward it. The drumming intensified.

“You have one year.” He stepped onto the solid stone of the pier. “Do not falter. Do not fail.”

Lara hesitated, dizzy, and, for the first time since the night she’d freed her sisters from their dark fate, desperately afraid. Then she took her first step into the world that was now her new home.

The drums let out a thundering beat, then went still. Holding tight to her father’s arm, Lara walked up the pier, biting back a gasp as she took in the masked Ithicanians for the first time.

Their steel helmets were sculpted like raging beasts with mouths full of snarling teeth and brows bearing curved horns. She could see nothing of the men beneath except their eyes, which seemed to glitter with malice as they watched her pass, hands on swords and pikes. No one spoke; the only sounds were the whistle of the wind between the two towers of rock and the call of the storm beyond.

Tearing her eyes from the soldiers, Lara’s gaze went down the paved road rising up to the gaping mouth of Ithicana’s bridge. It was enclosed like a tunnel, maybe a dozen feet wide and equally as tall, made of a grey stone gone green with exposure to the damp air. A great steel portcullis was raised, the entirety of the bridge’s mouth framed by a guardhouse.

A figure stepped out of the dark opening, the steel spikes of the portcullis hanging above him like fangs, and Lara felt her stomach lurch.

The King of Ithicana.

Dressed in trousers, heavy boots, and a tunic of drab greenish gray, he was tall and broad of shoulder. Her training told her that he was as much a soldier as any of those lining the road. But those details were lost, her heart beating staccato, as she took in the helmet that concealed his face. It had a snout like a lion’s, open to reveal glittering canines, and horns like a bull sprouting from both temples.

Not a man, a demon.

The lingering dizziness from the voyage passed over her in waves, and with it came fear that possessed her like an angry spirit. The heel of her sandal slid on the stone, and Lara stumbled against her father, the ground feeling as though it were moving beneath her like the rocking ship.

This had been a mistake. A terrible, horrible mistake.

When only a handful of paces stood between them, her father stopped and turned to her. In his free hand was a jeweled belt with her camouflaged throwing knives hooked on either side. He wrapped it around the waist of her sodden gown, fastening the buckle. Then he kissed both her cheeks before turning back to Ithicana’s king. “As was agreed upon, I stand here to offer my most precious daughter, Lara, as a symbol of Maridrina’s commitment to its continued alliance with Ithicana. May there ever be peace between our kingdoms.”

The King of Ithicana nodded once, and her father gave Lara a gentle shove between the shoulders. With halting steps, she walked toward the king, and as she did, a bolt of lightning lanced through the air, the flash making the visage of his helmet seem to move, like it wasn’t metal, but flesh.

The drums resumed, a steady and harsh beat: Ithicana incarnate. The king reached out one hand, and though every instinct told her to turn and run, Lara took it.

For reasons she couldn’t articulate, she’d expected it to be cold like metal, and equally unyielding—but it was warm. Long fingers curved around hers, the nails cut short. His palm was calloused, the skin, like hers, covered with tiny white scars. The nicks and cuts that couldn’t be avoided when combat was one’s way of life. She stared at that hand. It offered some strange comfort; what stood before her was nothing more than a man.

And men could be defeated.

A priestess approached on her left and tied an azure ribbon around their hands, binding them together before belting out the Maridrinian marriage vows so that all could hear over the growing storm. Vows of obedience on her part. Vows to create a hundred sons on his. Lara could’ve sworn she heard a soft snort of amusement from behind the king’s helmet.

But as the priestess raised her hands to proclaim them man and wife, he spoke for the first time. “Not yet.”

Waving away the startled priestess, he shook loose the ribbon that Lara was supposed to have worn braided into her hair for the first year of their marriage. The silk flew off toward the sea. One of his helmeted soldiers stepped out of the ranks, coming up to stand before them.

He shouted, “Do you, Aren Kertell, King of Ithicana, swear to fight by this woman’s side, to defend her to your dying breath, to cherish her body and none other, and to be loyal to her as long as you both live?”

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