Chapter One
“You do not get to decide whether to accept my offer or not. I informed you so you could discuss it with your father later today, but in the end, he’s the one who will decide.”
Every word from Sara, the commander’s wife, fueled Melea’s frustration and anger.
Melea had always known her place. Her family was ranked at the very bottom of the clan, while her lover stood far above her. She never thought, perhaps naively, that would become a problem—until the moment Sara told her the news. She was to be handed off like a loaf of bread to a strange man for a year, and in exchange, her family could climb the clan’s ladder. In that instant, Melea knew exactly what was going on.
“This is about Rhima. You think I’m not good enough for your son. And you want our relationship to end.”
“Oh, my poor girl…” Sara’s smile was gentle, almost sad. “It’s not that you aren’t good enough. If anything, I think you’re too good. You’re smart, kind, and strong. That’s why I chose you.”
“You think I’m too good? That’s why you’re breaking up my relationship? And you’re offering me to a different man?”
“It is only for a year.” Sara looked at her as she stood up from her chair. “Listen, I love Rhima, just like you do, but… he doesn’t love you. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but my son will never marry you, not even with my blessing.”
“You’re lying,” Melea hissed.
“I think you know, in your heart, that I’m right.” Sara walked over to the small cabinet where she kept her sweets. “Did he speak of a future with you, even once? Did he ask you to marry him?”
“Why would he? We are happy as we are. I don’t need a ring on my finger.”
“Because Rhima himself has been promised to someone else, and he’s known about it for months. We did not force him. We said he could marry for love, that he could marry you, but he chose power instead.”
Melea blinked. “W-what did you say?”
“My son’s betrothal will be made official by the end of the month and he will marry the girl in the next. It’s already been arranged. She’s from a wealthy clan in the Eastern provinces, and she’ll bring connections, soldiers, and a dowry big enough to keep our clan upright for decades to come. We will tell the rest of the clan tonight, at the Harvest Feast.”
“No—” Melea shook her head. “Rhima… He would never… He would’ve told me.”
“Rhima is an attractive young man, but we’ve spoiled him—the Commander and I—and it’s made him entitled. He didn’t tell you, because he didn’t think he had to.” Sara opened one of the drawers and took out a brown leather pouch. “I take full responsibility for that.”
Melea’s throat tightened. “But he… He loves me.”
Does he love me?
Sara’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Silly girl. Rhima loves only one person. Himself.” She shook her head. “He is my son, my flesh and blood, and I love him to death, but he doesn’t even love me, so don’t take it personally.”
Melea swallowed her sob. She would not cry in front of this woman!
“I still don’t believe you,” she lied.
She did believe Sara. She just didn’t want to.
“Ask Rhima yourself,” Sara said gently. “Ask him about his engagement. See how he answers. You’ll finally see him for who he is. You’ll believe me. And you and your family will accept my offer.”
“I will never accept that!” Melea snapped.
How could Sara possibly think she’d ever agree to be with the man she’d chosen for her? Sara wanted her to spend a year with a man called the Giant. She wanted him to stay with him in his cabin on the clan’s borderlands, beyond the bluebell fields.
No one had seen him in years, but rumor had it he was more beast than man—almost seven feet tall, with a voice that could shake the ground and a face as ugly as an ogre. Some claimed he was a sorrowful creature, though, broken by the world, but dangerous nonetheless, his monstrous appearance warning all who approached.
“The Giant is important to my husband, though I can’t tell you why,” Sara said. “Living with him for a year would not only help the clan. It would also spare you, and your family, from disgrace. From being remembered as the girl my son used and discarded. I’ll make sure everyone knows about your brave sacrifice for the clan. That is the least I can do.”
Melea swallowed, feeling sick to her stomach. “And why exactly did this man ask for a woman?”
“To help him out, I suppose. To cook, to clean, to keep him company…”
“And to keep his bed warm?”
“He is a man…” Sara offered Melea the soft, bulging leather pouch, which was filled with caramel. “Give these to your mother. I promised them to her ages ago, but I forgot. Today seems like the right day.”
Melea’s spine went rigid. She inhaled sharply through her nose, keeping herself from cursing the Commander’s wife.
“I'll give them to Isaura,” Melea answered, taking the pouch. Who is not my mother.
“Thank you. That was all,” Sara said. “You’re dismissed. Send your father in—I’ll inform him as well. You can go help the others prepare for the feast.”
Melea steadied herself, though it took everything in her not to punch Sara in the eye. “Yes, Sara.”
***
As the Harvest Feast approached, the village buzzed with excitement. Women carried baskets of fruit, half of the men dragged tables into the village square, while the other half walked around with barrels of wine, and the children chased one another around between bundles of wildflowers meant for decoration. Smoke curled from open fires, thick with the scent of roasting pork. It was supposed to be a festive day, but Melea felt all but festive.
She found her lover near the longhouse, standing next to the firepit where a pig was roasting on a spit. He held the end of the spit in his hand, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he was laughing at something one of the other men said. He looked so carefree. Until he saw Melea.
His smile faltered. “Baby,” he said, stepping toward her, wiping his hands on a cloth. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk,” she answered. Her voice didn’t shake, but she was certain he could hear the strain in it.
Rhima glanced over his shoulder at the others, then nodded. “Let’s go for a walk.”
They moved behind the longhouse, where the noise dulled to a distant murmur. Melea stopped first. Rhima turned to her, arms crossed, brow creased.
“Well… what is it?”
She swallowed and asked, “Are you engaged?”
The silence that followed lasted too long.
His eyes dropped to the ground, then back to her. “Who told you that?”
“Yes or no, Rhima.”
“Melea—listen—”
“So it’s true!” she said, balling her hands to keep them from trembling. “And you weren’t going to tell me—”
“I was,” he said quickly.
Melea laughed, though it wasn’t out of humor. “When? The whole clan will know by tonight!”
Suddenly, she remembered what Rhima said to her yesterday.
“I want to see you before the feast starts. I want to have you.”
“Oh, my God, you wanted to sleep with me one more time, didn’t you? Even though you already knew you belong to someone else!”
Rhima exhaled hard, as if frustrated. “It’s just politics, baby. You know how these things go. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you did!” she snapped. “Your mother said you could choose love, but you chose power.”
“So my mother told you.”
“That doesn’t fucking matter!” Melea was so angry. She was sad, too, but mostly angry. “You could choose love! You could choose me! And you didn’t!”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. There was no denying it.
Melea’s heart was breaking and burning at the same time. “I gave you everything. And you—you never even…” Her voice broke. “You never saw me in your future. Did you?”
He stepped closer, gently taking her hands in his. “We don’t have to end what we have just because I’m engaged.”
“You can’t have both, Rhima. You can’t have everything. Not even you.”
His eyes darkened. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” she said, stepping back, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It isn’t fair to be handed off because I’m no longer useful to you.”
“What does that mean?”
He didn’t know?
“It means,” Melea said slowly, “that your mother is offering me to someone else. To another man.”
Rhima’s jaw tightened. Once. Twice. “But… You’re my girl.”
A day ago, those words would have filled her stomach with butterflies. Now, all they did was upset her. She wasn’t his. She never was.
“I was only your girl when it suited you. You were using me. And I was stupid enough to think I meant something to you.”
“You do mean something to me! And I won’t let Mother give you to someone else!”
“Oh, now you’ll fight for me? You had your chance, Rhima, and you threw it away.”
Rhima exhaled heavily, frustration evident on his face. “I already told you it’s just politics, Melea. You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?”
“Yes, overreacting.”
Then Rhima started saying something about things being more complicated than she knew, but she stopped listening. She couldn’t listen to him anymore.
Something clicked into place.
Sara’s words. Rhima’s behavior. Her own stupidity.
“You can have your political marriage,” Melea said, hating that tears were welling in her eyes. “But I won’t be here to see it.”
He stared at her, stunned. “What do you mean by that?”
“What I mean is that I’ll gladly accept your mother’s offer! ”
And with those words, just another lie, Melea turned around and walked away from everything she thought she had.
