Page 2 of Wed to the Dark Elf

I stand alone before the closed door, a strange hesitation coming over me. In a few moments I will meet my intended bride. The girl I am to bind in marriage and take home as my own. A mystery awaits on the other side. A glimpse of my fated future.

Steeling myself, I reach for the iron handle and pull open the heavy door. Inside, staring out the arched window, stands a slim young woman in a white linen dress. She turns at the creak of the door, hands clasped tightly in front of her. Green eyes meet mine.

Iris Flemming. My bride. Here at last.

I step inside and firmly close the door behind me.

CHAPTER2

Iris

I wake before dawn, as I have every morning for years. The cold bites through my threadbare blanket as I slip from the rickety cot. The other girls in the cramped dormitory are still asleep, curled under their own thin covers. They look so young in sleep, barely grown into young women. But we have all flowered enough to attract a potential match. That is why we are here.

I splash my face with frigid water from the basin and change into my gray temple dress. We own nothing but two spare dresses, undergarments, and shoes that pinch my toes. The temple provides little else. Should a match come about, they give us a white linen gown suitable for a wedding. I have my doubts, as one hasn’t shown yet for me.

Down in the kitchens, I gobble down stale bread and stringy meat while helping prepare breakfast. The cook, Mira, slips me a bruised apple with a wink. I thank her quietly and tuck it into my pocket. Mira has had a soft spot for me ever since I came here as a child. My parents died from the red fever, just another orphan cast upon the dubious mercy of the temple. I suspect Mira herself once wore the gray dress of a potential bride. There is sadness in her eyes when she looks upon us girls.

After the meager breakfast is served, we go about our chores scrubbing endless floors, washing laundry by hand in the courtyard wells, prepping food for the next day. Anything to earn our keep.

My best friend, Lena, joins me in folding linens. Her red curls bounce as she chatters about the latest gossip.

"Did you hear? Katia has been matched!"

I snap alert. "Truly? She never said." A pang of jealousy rears its ugly head. But I should be happy for her, nonetheless.

Katia slept in the bunk above me for three years. I cannot envision her married off to some hulking beast in a faraway land. A tremor goes through me. One less girl left.

Lena nods. "The ceremony is today! She's being wed to some dragon lord. Imagine, a dragon!" She sighs dreamily but then catches my expression. "Oh Iris, I'm sorry. I didn't think..."

I force a smile. "It's wonderful for her. I hope they find happiness."

We refocus on our folding, the shadow of the future hanging over us. I have seen girls return from their ceremonies hollow-eyed and sobbing, or worse. Bruises peeking from beneath sleeves. Some barely walk, limping back to whisper to us of their wedding nights. But some come back wistful, shyly showing off gifts from foreign lands and recounting marvels we can scarcely imagine. Those stories keep the chill of fear at bay.

The day passes in a monotonous blur. As we file back to the dormitories before curfew, a servant approaches me, face grim. My stomach drops to my feet.

"Come. You've a visitor."

I glance wildly at Lena. She squeezes my hand, eyes wide. This could only mean one thing. I follow on numb legs, barely breathing. My whole body shakes.

The servant, Cora, leads me to one of the private receiving chambers. I hesitate at the door. She gives me a gentle push. "Go on, girl. Can't keep him waiting."

Him. The one who performs the ceremonies. He’s the reason any of us receive a call such as this.

I step inside on trembling legs. A man stands waiting, tall and imposing in a white robe, the vestments of a high temple priest. His smile seems mocking. In his hands rests a scroll bound in violet ribbon. An icon of bones twined into a helix mark it with the seal of fate. Matched.

"Iris Flemming. Congratulations, child. We have found your perfect match."

The room sways dangerously. This is it. My life is no longer my own.

The priest clears his throat, breaking me from my panicked daze. He holds out the scroll. I take it with numb fingers. "You are most fortunate, Iris. Not all matches align so fortuitously."

I stare blankly at him, unable to comprehend his words.

He tsks impatiently. "Come now, girl, the scroll! Read it."

With trembling hands, I break the seal and unfurl the parchment. There, etched in bold lettering, is a name:

Lord Vamen Blak of the Northern Mountains

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