Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 291(@200wpm)___ 232(@250wpm)___ 194(@300wpm)
"A husband?" I ask, scarcely daring to hope. I set my knife down next to my bowl, afraid my hands will tremble and I'll make a mess at the table. I don't want to give my father anything to criticize. "A husband would be…everything I dreamed of."
He grunts, cutting his food. "Good. I won't have you causing me trouble on this."
Causing him trouble? He knows I long for a husband, to be married. He knows of the romantic novels I pestered all the merchants to bring me, back when we had coins to spend. I try to contain my excitement, but it's difficult. I eat my food with careful bites, trying to think of questions that won't offend my father, because I desperately need him to tell me more about my husband-to-be. "Who is it?" I ask carefully. "A neighbor?"
The keep's great hall is silent as I wait for my father to respond, but the only sound is the scrape of his utensils against his plate. "His land is two days’ ride from here."
So close, but not too close. I mentally go through all of the local lords I've met over the years, who has a son about my age, or a knight that is unattached. I can picture no one. "Who—"
"Never you mind," he says. "He is a strong warrior looking for a bride and he's willing to pay for you. That's all that's important."
He's giving my father a dowry for me? My eyes go wide. That's…unheard of. Most of the time, a bride must be sent with gold to her husband's family. It's one reason why I've remained unmarried for so long. Our keep is strong, our lands vast, but we are poor as paupers. Who in all the gods would pay my father for his tall, plain spinster daughter? Perhaps one of the border lords looking to broker a trade agreement? "Is he…Yshremi?"
That seems to amuse my grim father. "No. I can assure you, he's not. We go south to meet him, not north.”
I didn't think so. Despite the fact that my mother was Yshremi, my father holds no love for their people. I lick my dry lips, my thoughts scattered. "Is he…tall?"
"If I tell you he is short and squat, it will not change the fact that you are to marry him," my father says irritably. "Aye, he is tall, and I will not have you hounding me. Know that we leave at first light, so pack your things, and do not give me trouble on this, Iolanthe. I need his coin to protect these lands, and I need the swords he will trade me for your hand in marriage. If you ruin this, you doom us all. Understand?"
My stomach knots with worry. Since it is the Anticipation, tensions between Yshrem and Adassia have been high. There have been raids all along the borders, and I know my father worries he will not be able to pay his knights to keep his lands secure. I think of the farmers with their small children, the sheepherders who depend on my father for protection from roving bands of outlaws, or worse, the wild Cyclopae who rule the kingdom of Yshrem. Rumor has it they have turned their eyes southward, toward Adassia.
I decide I do not care if my husband is short (though a tall woman like me would vastly prefer a husband of her size). As long as he is kind, that is all that matters.
Please, I pray to the gods and goddesses. Let him be kind.
I cannot sleep that night. I think of my upcoming marriage, and I am giddy with excitement. Will my husband kiss me on the lips? I daydream of my husband demanding sweet kisses from me, and then I am so overwrought that I cannot think straight. I compose letters to all my sisters, telling them of my marriage and that I will write them after I am settled. Then, I take up needle and thread and sew dainty ruffles onto my best gown, so I can go to my new husband looking somewhat pretty and stylish instead of like a pauper's daughter. I enjoy sewing, and I'm good at it. I've become an expert at modifying old dresses to make them look new by adding colorful inserts or changing the seams of a bodice. I do so this night, lowering the neckline of my wedding gown so that my new husband might see my cleavage and swoon with delight at the sight of my bust.
Oh, I do hope he's tall.
When dawn arrives, I am twitching with readiness. My hair is braided tightly against my scalp and I wear my plainest dress for the ride. My pack is small, my modified wedding dress inside it, along with a few of the books I've secreted away, and a few spare chemises. I don't have much to bring to the marriage, but it sounds like my husband will not mind. I kiss Cook and hug the other servants, who have been my friends all these years, and then meet my father out by the stables. The remaining woales are saddled, their fat flanks weighted on each side with packs. To my surprise, my father's knights are all armed and wearing their leathers, their expressions grim as their horses prance in readiness.