Wren Ashvale's Arc

Chapter 2 of 8

The court trusted Wren now, but trust bought him nothing. He had won the room. He had not won Alora. No lord had promised him her hand. Without a formal claim, the swamp lords could still send him home empty. So Wren returned to the throne room the next morning, and this time he did not come to speak. He came to buy the right to court her. He carried a gift through the elmwood doors. It was a small silver cart, and inside a jeweled cage a songbird sat and sang. Bright charms hung from the bars, each one shaped like a heart. Among the fae, a bride-price meant a suit made real. The lords fell quiet. Wren set the cart before the dais and knelt. "I ask leave to court the princess," he said. "This is my offer. Refuse it if you must. But refuse it to my face." A lord leaned forward. "The girl is spoken for." "By whom?" Wren asked. The cold answer walked in behind him. Dax Nightbloom crossed the floor, and wildflowers pushed up from the seams of the tiles where his boots landed. He did not look at the cart. He looked at Wren the way a man looks at a debt. "By me," Dax said. "Elmwood promised her. A liar's trinket does not change that." "The sprite named you the liar," Wren said. Dax's jaw tightened. Behind him, the flowers curled brown. He turned to the lords. "You would give her to a foreign man over a lord of your own kind?" Then Alora rose. She had watched from her seat by the dais, one hand resting near her chest. She came down the steps and stopped between the two men. Her voice was plain and even. "No one gives me," she said. "I choose." She faced her mother's lords. "I have watched Dax bloom flowers he hates and call it a gift. I have watched Wren burn his own name to stand here honest." She looked at Wren. "I want the honest one." She knelt beside the cart and touched the cage. The songbird stilled. "I accept the suit," she said. "Let it be spoken." The eldest lord stood slowly. He studied the cart, then Wren, then the withered flowers at Dax's feet. "The princess accepts the bride-price," he said. "The claim stands. Wren Ashvale may court her, by our word." Dax did not shout. He smoothed his coat. "You have made your choice," he said to the room. "I will make mine." He walked out, and the flowers died in his path. Alora rose and stood close to Wren. "You have your claim now," she said quietly. "Guard it. He does not forget." Wren watched the doors swing shut behind Dax. He had won the right to marry her. He had also told a powerful enemy exactly what he wanted most.