Are we really going through with this?

Even with her glowing eyes taken care of, Meya wasn't at ease. As Gillian and four of his bandits shaved, bathed and suited up in the Crosset guard uniform, as she herself was scrubbed and cleaned by nine maids who also had her hair bleached and curled, making her resemble Arinel as humanly (or Greeneye-ly?) possible, as Gretella and Haselle tutored her in the ways of a noble lady, which included mundane matters like how to walk properly, eat properly, talk properly, all the way to—to put it politely, please one's husband in the bedchambers. Properly.

Now that the small entourage had crossed the border into Hadrian and was being led by its red-clad guards up the hill to the castle, the question became a constant ringing in her head.

Really? Are we seriously even considering this? Really?

Sitting in her velvet-lined seat, surrounded by little round comfy pillows (all moldy green), measuring the hill's incline with her behind, Meya clenched her fists and struggled to calm her failing nerves.

Any minute now, she'd step out to the Hadrian sun in Arinel's green silk dress, greet her husband-to-be—Lord Coris Hadrian—and his family, enter a wedding ceremony with him, and—Oh, Goodly Freda, please him in the bedchambers.

Meya resisted the temptation to yank out her hair. Her head was sore enough from the trials it had been through with the bleach, the dye, the curling and the braiding. Her face felt like she had dipped it in bread flour, with all the powder heaped on to cover her freckles and suntanned skin.

She'd have to be unbelievably lucky for Lord Coris to be stupid enough to believe this Arinel was born with golden curls and porcelain white, unblemished skin, and not a disguise to ensure he would accept her on her wedding day.

What frightened Meya most, however, was the bedchamber part. Meya knew she was coming of age, but marriage had been further from her mind than Everglen until now.

Ever since the Famine ended, peasant girls in Crosset usually worked the fields until halfway into their twenties before they finally married. Unlike pretty Marin, who could marry any man her father approved without paying the groom a single copper coin, other girls must earn their dowry.

Suntanned, freckle-faced, flat-nosed, mud-smudged, pig-smelling as she was, Meya didn't dare dream of marriage. She was saving up more to buy herself land to build a humble spinster-sized cottage after Dad had died and left everything to Maro. Yet, here she was, about to marry a nobleman. A nobleman, for Freda's sake! She should be celebrating her luck, but she shivered in fear.

She'd never known him, never even seen even his portrait. What if he turned out to be a sadistic lunatic? Lord Crosset used dozens of peasants as decoys to make sure his daughter arrived safely for her wedding. Who was to say Coris Hadrian wouldn't be the same? What would happen if her cover was ever blown?

Still, it's better than dying in the forest. And after all, since you were the one who came up with the plan, you should be the one to carry it out!

Though reasonable, the realization wasn't consoling. Unable to bottle up her insecurities any longer, Meya raised her gaze to the now brown-haired girl sitting on the carriage floor before her.

"Lady Arinel?"

Arinel's cold blue eyes rose as if to answer a challenge. After the scathing remarks they exchanged, Meya wasn't sure how to carry herself before the proud Lady.

"Lord Coris. What's he like? Is he kind? Is he handsome?"

Meya eked out a timid conversation opener as she fidgeted with the cloth of her dress. The condescending look in Arinel's eyes vanished, replaced with warm understanding. She averted her eyes,

"The only time we talked was when Baron Hadrian visited to ask my hand for Coris. I was eight and Coris was nine. Our fathers left us to play together while they negotiated the terms."

Arinel's eyes wandered as she rifled through her memories, then narrowed in distaste.

"He was fat, spoiled, and a bully. Worst of all, he's smart. A prodigy, in fact. A year from that day, he'd command the Siege of Cristoria, and win. He's ruthless and cunning, but it'd better serve his interests to have you believe he's harmless and bumbling. Never underestimate Coris Hadrian."

Arinel pinned Meya with her icy glare, as her heart sank deeper into a rising well of dread. Arinel surely couldn't be happier she was no longer the lucky bride of this precocious monster.

"No wonder you're so eager to give me your name." Meya hissed through gritted teeth. Arinel answered with calm, unreadable eyes. Meya swore she saw the shadow of a gratified smirk in there, but to keep face, she could only shrug as if undaunted,

"Well, guess I'll find out soon enough if times have changed our Lord Coris at all. When's the wedding, by the way?"

"Tomorrow."

One of the carriage's wheels rolled over a bump in the road. Caught unawares, Meya toppled headfirst out of her seat. Throwing her hand out to the carriage wall to regain her balance, Meya gaped at the serene Lady.

"Tomorrow?" She cried, "And you only thought to tell me now?"

"You didn't ask." said Arinel flatly, as if she couldn't care less how much trauma the belated notice would inflict upon her maid-turned-mistress. Before Meya could scream her guts out, the carriage screeched to a halt, sending Meya rolling off her seat again. Curse stupid Sir Bayne at the reins.

"Her Grace, the honorable Lady Arinel of Crosset." announced Sir Bayne. Arinel shoved Meya against the backrest just before the door swung open. Meya was tempted to shake off the bump on the back of her head, but a hand had already reached out to her from the host.

Meya's eyes followed the proffered hand up the arm to the young man's smiling face. He was perhaps a few years younger than her—his waifish frame was barely an inch taller than Meya's. His dark brown hair was lank and dull even under the late morning sunshine, clashing horribly with the gleaming stripes of colorful silk on his tunic. Its baggy sleeves made him seem even thinner. He had sharp, beautiful silvery eyes and a well-proportioned face that might have been handsome. If only his yellowish, sickly pale skin weren't stretched like a drying cowhide over his cheekbones.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Oh, Goodly Freda. Poor lad looked ill and underfed. He was definitely not Lord Coris but his fifteen-year-old younger brother. Arinel told her his name was Lord Zier.

Meya had heard tales of sibling rivalry among noblemen, but why would Baron Hadrian fatten his heir like a pig for winter and leave his spare to starve?

As questions and disbelief swirled in her head, Meya took Lord Zier's clammy, spiderlike hand and clambered into the morning light.

The first sight that greeted her wasn't the people gathered in welcome but the imposing, impressive stone fortress adorned with crimson flags fluttering in the light breeze. Warm-looking torch fires flickered behind colorful stained-glass windows dotting the grim gray. The green lawn she was standing on spread as far as her eyes could see into manicured flower courtyards, fountains, a fruit orchard, a stone-paved training arena, all contained in a four-foot-thick wall and a moat twice as wide.

Meya shivered as the cold and weight of the stones she must challenge bore down upon her, then turned instead to study the castle's inhabitants. A family of three stood in the middle, flanked by maids and guards clad in red. They must be the remaining Hadrians.

The tall, broad-chested middle-aged man with wavy golden hair flowing to his shoulders and a mustache was probably Baron Kellis. The brown-haired woman with a kind smile and sharp gray eyes was probably his wife, Baroness Sylvia.

And finally, the tall, burly, healthy-looking young man with shiny brown hair, sparkling blue eyes and a broad, cheerful smile must be the Hadrian heir, Lord Coris. Her—Arinel's—husband-to-be.

Meya admired the young man as Lord Zier led her by the hand to his family. Puberty worked wonders on the notorious young heir. He was certainly not overweight, nor did his excited grin betray evil or ill temperament.

And my, isn't he a hunk!

Meya was sorely tempted to gloat at her unfortunate Lady, but she could only smile daintily at her new family. Once Lord Zier had stopped before the Baron, Meya curtsied as gracefully as she could, the way Gretella had taught her. Behind her, her subjects followed suit.

"Welcome to Hadrian, Lady Arinel. We are honored to receive you. How was your journey?"

Baron Kellis stepped forth with a warm smile, closing the gap. Despite the training and the warning she had received, Meya was stunned. Never had she been in such proximity to the lord of the manor or his family, much less being directly addressed. Fortunately, a small foot kicking the back of her leg brought her back to her senses just in time.

"Me—My journey was—smooth, my lord. Thank you—so much—for your concern."

Meya managed a jittery reply, barely suppressing her peasant accent. Her smile sagged at the sight of the Baron's raising eyebrows. To ward off his suspicions, she turned to the other Hadrians,

"Baroness Sylvia."

The regal woman replied with a gracious smile as Meya curtsied for her. However, her radiant smile morphed into an expression of pure terror when Meya next addressed the young man standing beside the Baroness with complete confidence,

"Lord Coris."

Coris's mouth fell open into a perfect, comical O. Unfortunately, in her haste, Meya had already turned to the lad who led her from her carriage,

"Lord Zier."

Zier was still smiling, but his smile seemed to have been the first one frozen in place. Done with the formalities, Meya allowed herself a soft sigh. However, when she turned back to the Baron, she almost jumped in fright. His blue eyes had become terrifyingly icy as he stared at the boy next to Meya. The Baroness looked almost in tears as she glanced back and forth between her poor sickly son and her devilish husband. The servants cowered in fright.

Lord Coris, on the other hand, was acting odd. He was mouthing in desperation, looking like a trout out of water. His finger jabbed the air in his brother's direction, then at his left ring finger.

Meya frowned as she tried and failed to decipher his code. Chilling cold trickled down her back. She must have messed something up spectacularly, right?

"Pleasure is ours, Lady Crosset. I'm Coris Hadrian."

Meya turned slowly towards the new voice issuing from her right, dread curling in her stomach as realization sank in.

Yes, there was no mistaking it. The lad who had spoken was the one standing next to her, the same one who had held her hand and led her over to Baron Hadrian. The sickly, pale, wraith-like short-stack had just introduced himself as Coris Hadrian.

Oh, Goodly Freda, save my skull.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Of course your betrothed must be the one to receive you at your carriage's door, idiot lass! How could you possibly think his brother would have done it, you biggest dolt in the three lands?

Swearing feverishly inside her head, Meya stood rigid with fear and embarrassment. Lord Coris proceeded to heap praise upon her blank head as if he hadn't noticed.

"So long have I awaited the arrival of my betrothed. You are a sight of the Heights to behold, my lady."

As he babbled with calculated fluster, Coris squeezed her hand, hard enough for the pain to snap Meya back to her senses.

"L—Lord Coris?" Meya breathed. Coris gave her an encouraging smile and the slightest nod.

"I—I have waited so long for you as well, my lord. You are just as charming and noble as the rumors foretold, too."

Meya barely knew what she was blabbering, but Lord Coris smiled gently. There wasn't a trace of fury or malice in his eyes. If Arinel's story was to be believed, it was miraculous how a few years could transform the devil into a living, albeit sickly, embodiment of sainthood.

His smile was kind, understanding and forgiving. It was the kind of tolerance she seldom received from her father. Meya couldn't tear her eyes away from those beautiful silvery eyes. At the same time, guilt and uncertainty lurked at the edges of her reverie. Would there be a nobleman this decent? Though she was relieved Coris didn't appear to be the nightmare Arinel had foretold, half of her hoped he'd give her ammunition to justify looting his castle.

They stared, neither willing to break apart, until a barking, joyous laugh rent the silence, breaking the enchantment.

Meya blinked, returning to reality as if waking from a deep sleep. The young couple whipped around to Baron Hadrian. He was clapping and grinning ear to ear, immense satisfaction painted across his handsome features.

"I see you two have become acquainted. Very well. Coris! Lead the Lady and her entourage to their quarters. After a good rest, we shall hold a feast to celebrate this wondrous union."

The Baron held out his elbow for the Baroness to cling to, then turned and marched towards the wooden double doors, his younger son and subjects following in his wake. Coris squeezed Meya's hand again, signaling her to walk. Heaving a relieved sigh, Meya made sure everyone else was staring ahead before whispering out of the corner of her mouth,

"Lord Coris, I'm terribly sorry. That was foolish of me."

Meya chanced a furtive glance at the thin boy. Coris was still smiling as ever, but there was something strange this time.

"Ah, please don't trouble yourself, my lady. After all, it's an understandable mistake, but if it means my brother looks stronger than I do, then I'm happier than anything."

Meya frowned at his cryptic reply. However, Coris seemed content with it. He smiled at the ground, a melancholic smile that didn't reach his eyes.

As much as it niggled her, Meya didn't have the time and capacity to unravel Coris' mystery. Half of the guards walking behind her were murderous bandits who had proven themselves capable of killing any number of lives for their goal. Flowing in her veins was a poison that would end her life in a month unless she exchanged the unknown dowry for the antidote. Yet, surrounding her was an unyielding stone fortress of the mightiest clan in the central west, and she hadn't the slightest idea what or where that dowry was. Could she make it out alive?

As cold fear engulfed her body at the realization her days were numbered, the unnatural cold of Coris' hand embraced hers. A mysterious voice from the past came rushing back—

You are worth more than a pig. Or simply your mother's song, Meya. Don't ever think otherwise.

Meya bit her lips as she reminisced those words from the boy who had given her the raw emerald stone. Her resolve hardened and crystallized like the verdant gemstone itself.

No, she couldn't die yet. Not before she found him again. And, this time, she would show him he was right. The next time they met, she'd be worth much, much more than a pig.