Greentree Castle’s grand hall was not so grand, built out of wood, mostly, instead of stone. Lilian walked lightly through the crowd on either side of a red carpet that led to her father’s throne. Or what passed for it; it, too, was made of wood, bolted together ages ago. Because of that, it was falling apart. Hired builders barely held the chair together with their mathematical tricks.

 Her father sat on the throne. Next to him, an advisor, and next the advisor, stood Lord Gern Jorbert. He was dressed in fine leathers, all black. It was as though he was marking a funeral, grieving death. She supposed he was. He was marrying his son to a Bilt. The lowest House on the lowest hoverstone. There was no advantage that she could see in that.

 “Daughter,” her father said. “It is with great honor and pride that I introduce to you Lord Jorbert of House Jorbert of Redforest. He has come all this way to discuss matters which we had until now talked about only through letters.”

 She curtsied. “Lord Jorbert.”

 “Miss Bilt,” he said. His voice was deep and strong. His eyes were hard, near black. “An honor.”

 Is it, she thought. I wonder.

 “I...” Her father cleared his throat rapidly. “We have decided to join our Houses. Bilt and Jorbert will share blood. You are to give sons to their family name.” He glanced at Lord Jorbert. Lilian saw a touch of worry in his eye. “And I have no doubt you will live a happy life.”

 “She will have everything she desires,” Lord Jorbert said. “Everything she deserves.”

 Everything I deserve. That was a laugh. She’d met Lance Jorbert when they were very young. He was cruel as a boy, quick to fight, eager to bully. There was a baker’s boy, to that end. He was a fat child, but as all children are, unaware of the differences at the time between a noble and a low-born; even on a hoverstone, low-borns are not equal. It is a thing learned over time; a thing often learned by example.

 Lance gave the kid an example.

 “I appreciate the invitation, Lord Jorbert, and the assurance of my well being and comfort. I do look forward to having sons one day to carry on a hoverstone legacy, as is my birthright.”

 There was mumbles of approval that spread through the men and women of court. If she knew anything, it was that eloquence had its rewards.

 Lance. He had brought that baker’s kid out to the edge of the blood forest which surrounded Redforest castle. They’d been playing a game. She was the damsel in distress, Lance the Knight errant seeking her release, and the baker’s boy was the troll who’d taken her for a hostage. It wasn’t a fair fight. It was only lucky that the fight had been carried out with sticks, not swords. Lance bound the trolls hand behind his back and led him to a jutting cliff, where the wind whined and the birds cawed as they circled over head--birds ready and willing to eat meat. That drew the baker’s boy’s eye.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

 Maybe...maybe we should stop, he said. She’d said something of the like, too. But Lance only grinned and said that the troll was not human; a troll had to pay for his deeds, his crimes. He led them to a small ditch on the cliff’s edge. There was a board buried in the ground. It’s end stuck out over the edge of the hoverstone. Walk, Lance had said. Walk out there and stand.

 “Well said, Lady Bilt.” Lord Gern Jorbert smiled. It was the same smile Lance had given the Baker’s boy that day. The boy walked to the edge, quivering, tears streaming down his ruddy cheeks. He turned to them. His eyes were on hers, pleading. Let me back. Lance shook his head. No mercy for trolls. He reached down to the edge of the platform dug into the ground. Shook it. Please! Let me back! Let me live! Lance pursed his lips, considered such a pathetic plea. Then, before she could scream, before she could form words, Lance said, I think not. He flipped the board up. The baker’s boy sucked in a breath. And then as quickly as he came into the world he went out of it.

 The body was never found by the boy’s father.

 For the little he or anyone else looked.

 She’d never forgotten Lance’s smile, nor his look of glee at the boy’s death, termed a disappearance. She’d never forgotten the look on the boys face, terror, confusion, self-doubt. And she’d never forgotten what little she did to save the boy’s life.

 “However,” she said, “I have no interest in Lance, father. He is rude, inconsiderate, and lecherous. The grace of his family name carries him through life; he does not carry it with grace.” She shook her head sadly. “I cannot marry a man like that.”

 A gasp from the crowd.

 Her father sputtered. “This disrespect you--”

 Lord Jorbert held up a hand.

 Her father sat, silenced.

  “You will not be marrying my son Lance,” Lord Gern Jorbert said, his mouth a scar, his eyes narrowed to slits. “You will be marrying me.”