I listened to the prince's objections without a flicker of emotion. His words, filled with suspicion and narrow-minded fear, rolled off me like water on stone. When he finally fell silent, I exhaled softly and spoke with quiet conviction.
"Prince… you seem to be forgetting something. Allow me to remind you."
I leaned forward slightly in my seat though no one else was present, the fire in my chest reflected in the measured rhythm of my thoughts.
"Your kingdom has treated these people like animals for generations. They've been mocked, enslaved, discarded like filth. Not even seen as human. So tell me—if someone like me, a noble, suddenly approaches them with an outstretched hand, what do you think they'll believe? That I come from kindness? No. They'll assume I intend to use them. To make them fight my wars, bleed for my cause, and once they've served their purpose—discard them, just as your kings have always done."
I felt his resistance, but I pressed harder.
"That is the truth. That is the fear I must overcome."
The thought settled heavily between us. Then, quieter, deliberate, I continued:
"But if I marry one of their daughters… it changes everything."
The Prince's doubt spiked like a flash of cold water, but I refused to yield.
"Think of what that means. No longer an outsider manipulating their destiny—I will become family. Blood-bound, choice-bound. Once that bond is forged, they will not follow me out of fear or obligation. They will fight for me because they want to, because they believe in me. And that kind of loyalty is a shield sharper than any sword."
I allowed a faint smile to curl at the edge of my lips, though it was a grim one.
"And you know as well as I do… in the novel, it was written that the clan leader and our protagonist's mother fall in love. That bond, if it forms, ties the hero to this tribe as their son by heart, if not by blood. Do you see? That kind of connection would make the entire clan fight to the death for him."
I leaned back, mind steady.
"We must move before the story unfolds as it once did. Before those bonds can be forged against us. We need to create our own ties—deeper, stronger. If fate tries to repeat itself, the tribe will already have anchored themselves to me. Then even if the story flows as it once did, they will not be enemies. They will be allies."
The Prince's presence in my thoughts grew still, then coldly sharp.
"…And do you truly believe the girl they send will be ordinary? No. She will be their spy. A blade hidden in silk. She will smile, pretend to obey, but every movement will be a report whispered back to her people. To wed her will be to sleep each night with steel pressed at your throat… never knowing when it will cut."
His fear was not unfounded. It mirrored my own. For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Then, with quiet steel, I answered.
"I know what I am getting into. I am not naïve enough to let my guard fall. Whoever they send, I will ensure no word of mine ever slips past her lips. That much, I swear."
The Prince did not answer, but I felt the simmer of his unease. His disapproval lingered, but he did not press the matter further. That, in itself, was concession enough.
I laid out the rest of my thoughts to him, and when the echo of his presence finally receded into silence, I called for Wellesley. The rest of the night passed with only the crackle of torches and the soft hum of the wind in my ears.
---
At dawn, I stepped into the clan leader's chambers.
Braska sat cross-legged, broad shoulders at ease but eyes sharp as ever, studying me like a hawk weighs the distance before a strike.
Without a word, I reached into my ring and drew forth a small plant, pale-red petals gleaming faintly in the morning light. I placed it on the table before him.
"This," I said, voice steady, "is the plant that can save your vice-leader's life."
For the first time since I'd entered, Braska's composure faltered. His eyes flicked from me to the delicate flower, disbelief breaking through his mask.
"You're… just handing it over?" His voice was low, wary. "We haven't signed any treaty. What stops me from taking this and turning against you?"
I smiled faintly, though the steel in my words left no room for doubt.
"You won't. Because the Braska I've heard of—the true Braska—repays a single favor a thousandfold. And here I stand, offering you the chance to save a woman your people love. That is not a debt you will betray."
I paused, letting the silence stretch before adding, "Save her first. Then we will speak of terms."
Braska's gaze bored into mine, weighing me, but I wasn't finished.
"If you don't know how to use it, I'll explain. The flowers—pluck them and soak in hot water. When the water turns deep red, have her drink it. It will neutralize most poisons."
I hesitated, then added, "Burn the leaves. The aroma will cleanse lingering toxins from the air and bloodstream. Old knowledge, but reliable."
His expression shifted, calculation giving way to something quieter. His hand reached toward the flower, though he did not touch it.
He looked at me then, truly looked.
This was not a transaction. It was the first thread of trust, delicate but binding.
And I knew: this was the first step in forging a shield no blade could pierce.