Page 3 of Mated to the Alien Warlord

"Alright, where is she?" I gave in.

"She is at my camp. We won't have time to go fetch her, so you will have to sign the contract, and I will take your word and signature as warlord that you will honor it," Helmut offered.

I ground my teeth. I wasn't sure what I hoped to accomplish by seeing my bride first, and consoled myself with the thought that it didn't matter what she looked like. This was a contract, nothing more, nothing less, and by the end of the day, I had enriched my domain and obligated Gryck to me. Not bad for a day's work.

Then why did I feel as if I had just stepped into quicksand and was slowly sinking?

Ipacedthelargetent impatiently, not at all happy about my father's plan to marry me off to a Thyre Warlord.At least it's not Fionbyr or Grobhan, the two warlords bordering our lands who had been exploiting us for years, I tried to soothe myself.

That didn't mean I liked the idea though. Adrian had been the one supposed to carry the burden of our father's kingship, not me.Damn him anyway, I cursed my dead brother,riding off and breaking his neck was just like him. He probably got himself killed just to spite me, I added, because it was much easier to be mad at him than succumbing to the incredible sorrow I felt inside at his death.

Adrian had been my everything. My big brother, my protector, my confidant. He had always been there from the moment I was born until he died. Six years older than me, he had been my hero, the boy my life revolved around. And now he was gone.

Leaving a hole in my heart so large, I didn't think it would ever mend.

The wind was howling forebodingly outside, as if it, too, was mourning Adrian or crying over my uncertain future.

Who would be the warlord I was to marry?

Besides Fionbyr and Grobhan, there were three others: Brogan, the Warlord of Grymburg, Vandor of Wyrkymburg, and Kendryx of Dokkymburg.

That all five warlords were unmated and without heirs was unusual. I was an avid study of Thyre's history and hadn't found one time period where this had ever happened before.

If anybody had asked me, I didn't have a preference for any of the three warlords. Their strongholds had been built along the coastline of Thyre to keep invading Vandalls at bay, while Fionbyr's and Grobhan's were the only two sitting inland to defend against our other native enemies, the Udruns, a nomadic people who had never liked Thyres taking root and building cities. They liked humans even less, or maybe they simply attacked our outposts more because we made easier targets than the Thyres.

I was born in Steppenfort, loved the River Dunway that ran through our lands, nourishing the dirt so we could grow crops to feed our horses, our main source of trade with the Thyres. But that didn't mean I didn't yearn to see something besides the wide-open steppe that gave Steppenfort its name.

I had lost count of how many times I had stared at the mountains far off in the distance and wondered what it would be like to explore them. Or the forests on the other side.

Reading had been my one source of escape from the endless winds and open space surrounding Steppenfort, and now the thought of leaving and seeing the Dark Sea by which the warlords lived enticed me. Even if it meant having to marry one of them.

As my father's daughter, I had always known that one day I would marry somebody not of my choosing. In my mind, it had always been some rich horse breeder though, not a warlord.

Thyres loved our horses and paid outrageous amounts of credits to buy them. Horses had not been native to this planet, but when our ancestors brought them here, the Thyres had quickly learned the advantages of these magnificent animals.

They tried to breed them on their own, but for some reason failed, leaving us humans to feed the endless demand for more horses, enriching breeders and outposts.

From my history books I gathered, the horses we used now were very different from those of our ancestors. They were bred to be bigger and stronger to be able to carry a heavy Thyre into battle. Even their hooves had been altered and turned into weapons to spear enemies.

I looked up from the book I was studying—an old Thyre account of the Slotenburg family—when noises reached my ears. I tilted my head to hear better, but a guard's appearance at the entrance to my tent warned me that something terrible was about to happen.

"Princess, come quickly, we're under—" Whatever he was going to say was cut short as first crimson blood and then the tip of a bloodied sword broke through the tunic on his chest.

I screamed in fright, throwing the book I had been reading into the air as I jumped to my feet.

The blade retreated, the guard's body was discarded, and a mountain of a Thyre entered my tent. He was so tall, he was forced to duck underneath the flap, but that didn't make him appear less frightening.

"Princess Damaris, I presume?" he guessed.

My hand flew to my throat, and I stared at him, unable to utter a word, spellbound by his appearance and the sword dripping blood in his hand.

He held out a hand. "Come."

I looked around frantically, but the expansive space of my tent didn't lend any means of escape. The only entrance and exit were blocked by the Thyre, still holding out his hand, still entering, filling the rather large space with his form, dwarfing me and everything inside.

"I don't have patience for games, Princess, move it." His fingers wiggled, beckoning me impatiently.

"What… what do you want from me?"

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