A bride. That was what he wanted to stop the siege on Ilaiith. The kingdom, your kingdom. You couldn’t help but think the demand was made in jest, or mockery, as it had been made after several denials to meet to speak. The prince believed in killing the messenger, it seemed. Or, rather, four messengers. The fifth came back with the demand. Surrender, and provide a bride, and he will forgive the kingdom’s resistance. The kingdom would fall and become a part of the Krathain empire, but people would no longer be starved or slaughtered. If he actually accepted the bride, and didn’t send her the same way as the first messengers.

You pace the length of the tent you’d been delivered to, magically warded, and larger on the inside. You can’t help guiltily regretting taking your sister’s place. You didn’t want her to die, but as the anticipation built, you knew that you also didn’t want to die. You doubted your academic learned magic would be any match for an experienced warlord.