I Take Thee

Preface Standing in an arena with nothing but the distant cries of my destined mate echoing in my ears. The crowd of my almost kingdom cheering, but I wasn’t sure if it was for me or my opponent. Blood and sweat lingered on my skin, droplets dripping down my marred body. I wiped the grime from my face on my torn shirtsleeve, not that it would have made a difference. It was equally as filthy. At this point it was useless to negotiate a truce. I was fighting not to die… but my opponent, they were fighting for a crown. I spat blood from my swollen lip, the mixture of bile and blood leaving a tang in its wake. ‘Give up yet Fairspen?’ My adversary hissed, my name a curse on their tongue. I drew my sword once again, and this time … I would sheath it in the body of the king. Chapter One My life was simple. Straightforward. Mundane. Sure, I was surrounded by the crumbling walls of my family estate and my wardrobe didn’t consist of the latest fashions, but I was happy. My days consisted of keeping our livelihood together, lending a hand in the kitchen, the stables or even running errands in the village. It wasn’t much but it was mine, my choice, my life. It kept the debtors at bay at least. Maybe I wasn’t quite the lady I was expected to be, but our estate rarely received royalty or company of any social standing these days, so it was quiet. A quiet and content life. That was how I liked it. I sat in the front bay window, carving up an apple in one hand, my knife at home between my fingers. As I ate, I watched the goings on outside as my father returned home, his faithful horse trotting up the gravel path wearily. Once upon a time my mother would be in tow, riding elegantly atop her white mare with ease. Now my father was only ever accompanied by his ever so loyal manservant Victor. More of an eyesore than vision as he trudged behind with the wagon, his greasy black hair slick to his brow and the scar across his left eye haunting to anyone but us here at Hallow Hall. ‘Aeryn!’ I hear my father yell from the reception hall. His voice hoarse and for once… sober. ‘In here’ I yell back, tossing the apple core out the window and sheathing my sticky pocketknife in my left boot. ‘You think I don’t know’ he smiled, catching me in the act. The windowpane barely missing my fingers as I disposed of the evidence. I don’t know why he even bothered calling me when he knew where to find me most days. Mothers' library and sanctuary, my most treasured escape. ‘Better to be prepared, is it not?’ I grin back. He removed his riding gloves, his appearance dishevelled from a four-day ride from the capital. It’s funny, but I can’t see myself in my father, his grey eyes full of sorrow for my mother. I wonder sometimes how he has the energy to stomach looking into my eyes, as they remind him of the woman he lost. My mother’s portrait hangs in the upper gallery of our home, to me it is but a mirror. I have the same eyes, same nose and distinct jawline, the only difference was our hair colour. She had the most striking golden hair, whereas mine was always described as mousy. At least that’s what my nursemaid had always said… the cranky old bat. ‘Daughter’ he threw his arms wide for an embrace. Jumping down from my perch I strode over to the old man and embraced him. Four days without him felt like a small eternity, even if his mind wasn’t always here with me. He smelt like horses and stale sweat, but it was comforting to have him back walking the worn halls. I probably didn’t smell any better, my hair was braided back but tufts escaped their knotted confines making me look like a wildling child. My tunic was at least two days old, and I had been training in the courtyard with Dion all morning. At least my father had an excuse… I on the other hand was anything but the lady of the house. ‘How was your trip father?’ I ask, releasing him reluctantly. ‘Enlightening to say the least’ he muses. ‘Marie!’ I yell for our maid, but I imagine I will have to complete the task of bringing tea myself. To my surprise, Marie comes scuttling in, the tea tray already in hand. She places it down by the fireplace, my father taking his regular seat in the beaten leather wingback armchair. Well so much for service when my father is away… I narrow my eyes at her obvious distaste for me. I have no clue why, but Dion says it may be because she’s jealous. After all, Marie and I are almost the same age, but whilst I am slim and more athletic in build Marie is all curves. She has striking red hair and has the stable hand Seb, the milkman and the local barkeep quite literally eating out of the palm of her hand. Its rather annoying to say the least and yet I am the envied one. Interesting. ‘Lord Fairspen’ she bobs a curtsy and disappears. ‘Thanks Marie!’ I call after her. My words echoing down the already empty corridor. ‘Aeryn, take a seat’. I turn to my father, he sips his tea, my cup already poured for me. I take my seat in mothers chair, her armchair soft and comforting. I remember a time when she would sit opposite my father, darning socks or making poppets for the servants. I would lay on my front wrapped in a blanket by the fire as she read her favourite stories late into the night, my father snoring as he sat with his legs stretched out in front of him. So languid and peaceful. Taking a sip of my tea I watch as my father is reluctant to look me in the eye, his fingers gripping his teacup hard enough to shatter. Sensing his obvious distress, I put down my cup and reach over to his hands. ‘Father?’ ‘I’m sorry Aeryn’ he says solemnly ‘I thought I had more time than this, I went to the bank, to the estates solicitor and it seems I have failed you…’ ‘Failed me? How? You could never…’ ‘I had no choice, signing your name seemed like the only option… but I promise I will give every single penny I own so you have a chance!’ ‘A chance at what?’ I still. Piecing together all the obvious clues I let obliviously wash over me. The trip to the capital, how was I such a fool? My father never went to the capital unless it was for financial reasons, and I had seen the books. The numbers didn’t lie. We were bordering destitution. But I had done the math, I had a plan and had already begun to make enquiries, my time spent on numerous letters flittering out of the window with my hopes and dreams. ‘You’ve married me off, haven’t you?’ I whisper. Fear seeping through my bones. ‘I’m afraid your dowry wouldn’t be enough to secure you a good enough match dearest’ he grimaces, shame in his grey eyes. Whilst relief flashed across my body, it was replaced with a dreaded feeling that the next words that came from his lips would be a whole lot worse. Was he sending me to make money in the capital? We hardly ever visited the dusty old townhouse. Maybe he was entrusting me to sell it off? ‘You will be accompanied by Dion and Marie to Doria’ ‘You are sending me to the capital then?’ ‘Listen dearest, it’s important’ he put down his cup finally and took my hand deigning to look at me, as if his stare could imprint his instructions on my forehead. ‘You are to go to Doria and be presented to the Fae King Kairen, as a potential bride’. The fae King. Potential Bride. A Fairspen had never entertained such stupidity and for good reason. He had willingly signed my name. Never! They would have to drag me kicking and screaming.