He'd left her bed as soon as the ceremony was over. She'd felt sore and soiled and strangely empty inside. As if part of her had been taken away never to be replaced again.

She'd longed for a hot bath to soothe away the strange ache and clean the mess from her thighs. Blood and seed.

After bathing she'd prayed to the Gods that Valdr's seed would take root. That she could give him a child so soon. He would know then that he had made a good match.

All of Ethis would know it.

She'd risen with the dawn, having slept fitfully and barely, and had not managed to do more than peck at the food they'd brought her. Lanya, her maid, had then begun to heave open the chests of rich fabrics her father had gifted her as a wedding dowry. Silks and velvets (stolen) from Azura; golds as eager as her sun and greens as lush as her vineyards.

Now she was desperate to look upon her husband again. To watch the turn of his head under the morning sun, observe how the midday wind danced through his hair. Would there be a time when he would stay in her bed through the night? She sighed at the thought of it. Of such intimacy and binding together of souls.

A sudden knock on the door set her heart racing. Gods, was it him come to bid her good morning? Would he like the deep purple gown she wore?

She nodded for Lanya to receive whoever waited at the door and pulled herself up tall to face who she hoped was Valdr.

It was not.

Daegar strode through the open door which was almost as wide as he was. He nodded at Lanya who lowered her eyes before crossing the bedchamber away from him. He cast a look toward the bed, his shoulders tightening, before coming to stand before her.

'Good morning, Highness,' he said, without lowering his eyes from her.

She gave a slight nod.

Under his direct gaze, her skin felt tight over her body, her face hot. It was the knowing look in his eye, the quiet fury which accompanied it. His knowing that she was now made a woman. Not by him, even though she had once begged it of him, but by another and though she felt she ought to stand proud in the moment, she found herself feeling ashamed of it. She glanced away from his eyes as a lick of heat stroked at her throat. Lanya was clearing away the small jars of oils, the discarded lengths of gowns, ready to be brought out for the same dance on the morrow.

'You may leave us Lanya,' Dura said. The maid stopped, glanced over her shoulder, and gave a slight nod. She finished folding a yellow burst of colour into the trunk and exited the chamber soundlessly.

'You will not visit me again,' she told him quietly. 'I will not receive you.'

He did not look surprised by her words. Merely staring at her openly. 'I am your Khohn, Dura. You have no choice but to receive me.' He had used the same gentle tone but once before with her. When he had refused her.

Her entire body flushed hot from anger and something else. 'You will address me as your grace, I am the wife of a king! And my Khohn can easily be replaced. You were my father's choice of guard - not mine own.'

He looked as though he would say something more, offer some further insolent remark, but he did not. Finally, he lowered his eyes and gave a short bow of his head. 'Indeed, your grace. As you desire.'

'Why are you here?' She asked, still glaring at him.

'I came to you first, before the news is announced...' The words coupled with the grim set of his mouth caused the hairs upon her neck to tilt up.

'What news?' At first, she thought that perhaps Leoth had attacked. Then she felt certain her father had gone from the mortal realm. Zhoron perhaps.

Something akin to regret moved into his eyes. 'The Calate princess,' he began. 'She is here.... alive... The king of Calate has called a meeting of his lords and of our tribes. It is said she came in the night, under the protection of a Leoth warrior...'

Daegar's voice no longer reached her ears. For something far louder stood now in its way. A screaming. Rage and Fury. Pain too. Was she screaming aloud? A swelling in her chest, in her throat, a fist around her throat. She staggered backwards until she reached the corner post of the bed and clutched it.

'Alive...?' she whispered, finally. She shook her head, disbelieving. A lie. Like all the others. 'But it cannot be. How can it be? Father brought witness upon witness. The Leoth monster...? He killed them both..?' Gods did this mean Galyn too lived? She swallowed down the hope that fluttered to the surface.

Daegar's mouth flattened to a thin line. He shifted on his feet. 'It seems... not.'

A thousand cawing birds pecked and scratched at her chest, hungry, angry.

Fara of Calate was alive.

How could her father have gotten this so wrong? The body of the girl they'd sworn was the princess. The witnesses.... Had they all lied? Nothing made sense. Her mind swam with possibility after possibility... What did this mean for her?

Panicked, she glanced back at Daegar. ''Where is my father? Does he know?'

'A message was sent to the King at first light.'

'And my husband, where is he?' For Valdr was still her husband. This, now, here, changed nothing. They had been sworn together before the Gods. They had each made their vow. She belonged to him. He belonged to her. Whether his sister had returned from the dead or not they were sworn as one. She would be queen of Calate.

But Gods what of the war?

The vows had been sworn but this marriage had been brokered on a war. One of vengeance. For a cause, it seemed, no longer existed. Horror clawed at her then, talons against her breast. Had it ever existed?

Gods, surely not... He would not...

'Your highness you look pale, please sit for a moment.' Daegar rushed toward her, wrapping her in steady strong arms to lift her up onto the bed. It put him at a height with her. Dazed and frightened, her eyes lingered on the dark markings on his upper arms, arms which still held her though she now sat quite safely upon her bed. She took in the wide expanse of his chest. Did his breaths move too quick?

Slowly, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

'Did my father know she lived?' She asked him. Her words were spoken softly, thinly, so not even the walls about them could hear. 'Did he fool the king into this war? Did he fool him so that he would take my hand?'

Daegar drank her in a wordless moment, then answered in a voice as soft as her own. 'What does it matter now? You are his queen are you not? Through you, Zybar and Calate are unified against Leoth are they not?'

She knew then that Daegar was no different from her father. Their minds understood not feeling or love, but strength and supremacy. How did the means matter when the end was the same.

Again, she had been given a promise of something which had never truly existed. A lie like all the others. Of course she had known this marriage to be no more than a war pact, but she had been thought to make Valdr love her. To find a place in his heart and become the queen he wanted and needed.

Now, he would resent her. Would look at her and see only what a mistake he had made. What her father had done.

Well, no longer would she be her father's pawn. He had made her a queen and so she would be a queen.

Whatever look Daegar saw on her face then caused him to remember himself and remove his hands from her. He stood straight. She slipped down from the bed and moved away from him.

'Thank you for bringing the news to me of the princess's return,' she said, without emotion. 'You may go now.'

He looked sorry then. A cold distance falling between them. It would always be like this between them, she realised. In one moment closer to him than she was to anyone, and the next as though he were an unwelcome stranger.

'As you wish, your grace.' He said and exited the chamber without another word.

She thought she might fall to the floor, a heap of sand, but she did not. Instead, she moved to check her appearance in the large oval looking glass that hung suspended from one corner of the chamber. Then she slipped out of the other door, the servant's door, into a cold stone corridor.

It was empty except for the rushes that skirted the stone floor and the soft whistle of wind from the far end through which a grey sky hung heavy with rain.

She had expected some guard, had been prepared to ask him haughtily to direct her to the king's chamber, but there was no one. In her mind, she tried to recount the layout of the castle as she had been led through it the night before. Directly below was the large hall they'd feasted in, she knew this as she'd heard them feast later than she had. Through the window at the far end she could hear the gulls, and so reasoned that this would take her toward Valdr as he would surely be given a clear view of the bay.

She hurried along, her slippers soundless as she passed several closed doors. Voices up ahead caused her to slow, and when she rounded the corner to find two chambermaids carrying large bundles of soiled sheets toward her she almost shrunk into the wall. They failed to notice her at first, chatting animatedly in loud whispers.

'He was not nearly as rough as I imagined,' one giggled.

'Nor hoped!' Laughed the other. The first maid feigned outrage before bumping her with her shoulder.

Some note of jealousy twisted in Dura's gut at the sight of them, laughing together, free of such burdens as those she had always carried within her. They stopped laughing when they saw her, easy smiles sliding immediately from their mouths.

'Are you lost, milady?' The second asked. So then they did not recognise her. Why would they? She'd spent the day under veil until the bedding ceremony; only those of Valdr's lords present at the ceremony would recognise her.'These are the servant's passages, milady.'

Should not have to introduce herself as their queen, she thought, and at that moment did not even know how to. And so she did as she felt anyone might - she played along.

She smiled, glancing around them and behind herself. 'I think yes... yes, I am.'

'Straight back the way you came is toward the gardens and washhouse.' Holding the sheets she turned her body the opposite way and jerked her head.' That way is toward the kings quarters and library. Them stairs there will lead you straight down to the kitchens. Though I'm guessing that's not where you're going.' She smiled another kind smile.

'No,' Dura smiled back, shaking her head. 'I am looking for my own chamber. I went for a walk in the gardens this morn and thought this would be a short cut back. My lord husband and I were placed in a room near to Lord Pagel, the Kings' Commandant?' She knew the name only because it was he who Valdr had sent in his name to treaty with her father. Where he was, she knew Valdr would be close.

'Ah, you've come the long way around, milady. He is roomed across from the king in the main keep. Straight past the kitchen stairs and to the end of this corridor then over the curtain wall. You'll soon recognise where you are.'

'Thank you,' Dura said, moving past them.

Both maids gave a short curtsey and she hurried past the kitchen stairs where the clattering of pans and hollering of cooks preparing morning meal floated up. When she reached the curtain wall she braced herself for the blast of cold that came from the upswell of wind over the outer wall. In the bailey below, she could see the castle's morning movements: cartloads of deliveries, Calatian soldiers eating whilst standing up, as well as the shouts and hammering of steel smiths and farriers.

A small flight of stairs greeted her at the far side of the curtain wall which she could see twisted back down into the castle. She followed these down into another corridor, this one perhaps thrice as wide as the servant's corridor. Carpet ran along atop the stone, pictures hung in frames on the walls, and each chamber door was carved from polished wood.

Moving tentatively along it she tried to listen for voices within hoping to find Valdr's. If she could only speak with him alone, convince him that...

Convince him of what?

That she hadn't known his sister lived? What difference would it make? He would already know she had no hand in the marriage negotiation.

What on Ethis had she been thinking? What had she really hoped to accomplish? Had she thought to throw herself at Valdr's feet and beg him not to cast her aside over her father's error? Or had she merely wanted to see him once more before she was bundled from Calate and him forever?

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder. Perhaps she could make it back the way she had come before anyone discovered she was gone? She turned to do just this when she heard a voice behind the door she stood closest too.

Her father's. Loud and rough. He was angry; outraged even.

She shrunk back from it, expecting to hear Valdr's response but the voice that came was not his. It was older and though she could not hear the words she could hear that he spoke with calm and reason despite her father's volume.

Movement behind the door caused her to cast around wildly for somewhere she might hide. She could not face him. Not now. Not yet. What would he imagine she was doing?Tiptoeing backward toward the stairwell she suddenly heard his voice grow louder, then the sound the door being pulled open. Panic stricken she shrunk herself into a doorway at the far end of the corridor. Then came the familiar sound of heavy footsteps.

Footsteps which were approaching her.

She was not so well hidden that he would not see her when he passed. She wished for all manner of things then: for the bravery to face him and ask him the truth about what he had done; whether he had lied to Valdr in order that he would marry her. She wished to be Fara of Calate welcomed home and into the arms of the people and brother who loved her. She wished for the gods to make her a small thread on the carpet beneath her feet.

Finally, she wished she had stayed in her chamber.

Her eyes squeezed closed, she reached behind her to attempt the handle of the door. In reverse her grip was awkward and weak but nevertheless the thing yielded to her desperation. The glorious sound of it unlocking was too loud, but open it fell, just wide enough for her to slip into the room. She managed to close it just as her father passed.  Breathing hard and fast against its jam she whispered her fervent thanks. Bless the Gods... bless the Gods, bless the Gods.

It was a moment later before she felt the presence behind her.

'Are you quite alright?' A soft female voice asked.

Startled, she turned around to face it.

The girl stared back at her, concern etched across green-gold eyes. Green-gold eyes that were so like Valdr's it stole her breath.

She was exactly as Dura had imagined her.  She was as beautiful as they told her she was.

Dura of Zybar, did you ever meet my sister? She was the most beautiful creature that ever lived. I loved her beyond all measure and reason.

Hate rose like a hurricane within her.

"Fara of Calate."