Riven's POV
I don't sleep.
How can I, when my entire world just shattered and rebuilt itself in the space of one conversation? Princess. Valdris bloodline. Rightful queen.
The words circle my mind like vultures.
I'm still sitting on the bedroll, knees pulled to my chest, when Kieran returns. Dawn light filters through the tent, turning everything gray and uncertain.
"You didn't rest." It's not a question.
"You told me I might be royalty," I snap. "Did you expect me to take a nap?"
"I expected you to be practical." He tosses me a bundle of clothes—traveling gear, sturdy and plain. "We leave in ten minutes. Change."
"I'm not changing with you standing there."
His eyebrow rises. "We're getting married in three days. You'll need to get over your modesty."
Heat floods my face, but he turns away, giving me privacy. I change quickly, fingers fumbling with unfamiliar buttons. The clothes fit perfectly, which means he planned this. He knew he was taking me before he ever stepped into that cellar.
"Why marry me?" I ask his back. "If you think I'm this lost princess, wouldn't it make more sense to ransom me? Or use me as a bargaining chip with the King?"
"I don't ransom people. And the King would just have you killed." He faces me again, and something in his expression makes me nervous. "Marriage keeps you alive and gives me legitimacy I need."
"Legitimacy for what?"
"War." The word drops like a stone. "King Aldric has been squeezing the Northern Territories for years—higher taxes, smaller grain shipments, impossible demands. He wants us weak and desperate. When we finally rebel, he'll have his excuse to invade and take our lands."
"So you're using me as a shield," I say bitterly. "The King can't attack you if you're married to his—" I can't finish. Can't say 'rightful heir' out loud.
"I'm using you as a weapon," Kieran corrects. "There's a difference. Now move. We have ground to cover."
Outside, the camp is already packed up. Soldiers mount their horses with military precision. No one looks at me, but I feel their judgment anyway. I'm the reason their Warlord is rushing home. The complication he didn't need.
Kieran lifts me onto his horse again, and we ride.
The first day blurs into endless trees and aching muscles. The second day, my backside is so sore I want to cry, but I bite my tongue. These Northern soldiers already think I'm weak. I won't prove them right.
On the third day, we reach the mountains.
They rise like black teeth against the sky—massive, jagged, terrifying. The Northern Territories. I've heard stories about this place. How it's always winter here. How the people are as hard and cold as their stones.
How their Warlord is the most dangerous man in the kingdom.
I glance at Kieran's profile—sharp jawline, eyes like frozen lakes, mouth set in a permanent line of control. He hasn't smiled once in three days. Hasn't joked, hasn't softened. He's exactly what the stories say.
And I'm about to marry him.
"Almost home," he says, noticing my stare. "Try not to look terrified. My people respect strength, not fear."
"I'm not terrified," I lie.
"You're shaking."
I am. I hate that he noticed.
The fortress appears as we round a curve—a massive structure of black stone that looks like it grew from the mountain itself. Towers pierce the clouds. Walls thick enough to hold back armies. This isn't a home. It's a weapon made of architecture.
Guards snap to attention as we approach. The gates—enormous iron things—groan open.
Inside, the courtyard swarms with activity. Soldiers training. Servants rushing. And standing on the steps of the main keep, a woman who makes my stomach drop.
She's beautiful. Not like Lady Celeste's cold, perfect beauty. This woman is fire and fury—red hair, sharp green eyes, curves poured into a dress that shimmers with magic.
"Kieran." Her voice could freeze wine. "You're back early. And you brought... a pet?"
Every muscle in Kieran's body tenses. "Seraphine."
Oh. This is the court mage. The one who's wanted Kieran for years, according to the whispers I heard during our journey.
The one who's about to become my enemy.
"This is Riven," Kieran says flatly. "My betrothed. We marry tomorrow."
The courtyard goes silent. Completely, utterly silent.
Seraphine's face drains of color, then flushes dark red. "You're joking."
"I don't joke."
"She's a—she's nobody! A servant!" Seraphine's magic sparks around her fingers, crackling like lightning. "You can't seriously—"
"I can, and I am." Kieran dismounts, then pulls me down. His hand on my waist is possessive, territorial. A message. "The wedding is at noon tomorrow. You'll attend, or you'll leave my fortress. Choose."
Seraphine looks at me with such pure hatred that I step back. Her magic flares brighter, and for a second, I think she's going to attack.
Then a man appears beside her—tall, scarred, with kind eyes that seem out of place in this fortress of stone and steel.
"Seraphine," he says quietly. "Not here. Not now."
She spins and storms away, magic crackling in her wake.
The man turns to us and bows. "My lord. Welcome home."
"Thorne." Kieran's voice warms slightly. "This is Riven. Show her to the east tower. See that she has everything she needs."
"Of course." Thorne looks at me, and I see something unexpected in his expression. Sympathy. "This way, my lady."
I follow him through stone corridors that feel like they're closing in. Servants stare. Soldiers whisper. Everyone knows what I am—the servant girl their Warlord bought like property.
The east tower room is beautiful. A real bed with soft blankets. A window with a view of mountains. A basin with clean water. It's nicer than anywhere I've ever slept.
It's also a cage.
"The door locks from the outside," I say, testing the handle.
"For your protection," Thorne says gently. "There are people in this fortress who won't be happy about the marriage. Seraphine, for one. Give them time to adjust."
"And if they don't adjust?"
His smile is sad. "Then Kieran will handle them. He always does."
After he leaves, I hear the lock click. I'm alone in my beautiful prison, and tomorrow I become the wife of a man I don't know, in a place where everyone hates me.
I sink onto the bed and let myself cry for the first time since this nightmare began.
That's when I feel it.
Magic. Not mine—someone else's. Creeping through the walls like invisible smoke, searching, probing.
I freeze, holding my breath.
The magic finds me, wraps around me like cold fingers. Testing. Analyzing. And then it pulls, trying to yank my own magic to the surface, trying to make me reveal what I am.
It's Seraphine. She's trying to force me to use magic so everyone can see I'm unregistered. So Kieran will have to execute me by Northern law.
No. No, no, no.
I shove my magic down hard, the way I've been doing my whole life. Bury it deep where she can't reach. My teeth clench so hard my jaw aches.
The foreign magic pulls harder. It feels like hooks in my chest, dragging at something vital.
Please, I beg my own power. Please stay hidden.
And then—voices in the corridor. Kieran's voice, sharp with command.
"Seraphine. My chambers. Now."
The probing magic vanishes instantly. I collapse forward, gasping.
Through the door, I hear them pass. Hear Seraphine's voice, honey-sweet and poisonous.
"Kieran, darling, we need to talk about this ridiculous marriage. You know she's not suitable. Let me examine her magic signature, at least. If she's unregistered, you'll have to—"
"I'll have to nothing." His voice is ice. "You'll stay away from her, or I'll remind you that your position here isn't permanent."
"You can't be serious about marrying her. She's nothing. I'm the one who's stood by your side. I'm the one who—"
"Who what? Wanted me for my power? My position?" A pause. "You want to know why I'm marrying her instead of you, Seraphine? Because she doesn't pretend to love me to get what she wants. She's honest about hating this. And I prefer honest enemies to false friends."
Their voices fade as they move away.
I sit in the darkness, trembling.
Tomorrow, I marry a man who calls me his honest enemy.
A man who knows I might be a lost princess.
A man who just saved me from his court mage's attack without even knowing it happened.
And somewhere in Ashenvale, King Aldric is planning something. I can feel it in my bones.
A knock on my door makes me jump.
"My lady?" A servant's voice. "I have your wedding dress. Lord Kieran requests you try it on."
I open the door. The servant—a girl maybe my age—holds a gown that takes my breath away. Deep blue like midnight, with silver thread that catches the light like stars.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
"Lord Kieran commissioned it three months ago," she says, and my heart stops. "He said he was waiting for the right bride."
Three months ago. Before Lady Celeste framed me. Before my magic exploded. Before any of this happened.
"That's impossible," I breathe.
The servant just smiles mysteriously and leaves the dress.
I stare at it, my mind racing.
Kieran planned this. All of it. He knew about me months ago. Knew I existed. Knew I'd need rescuing.
Which means this marriage isn't about convenience or politics or keeping me alive.
It's something else entirely.
And I have no idea if that makes him my savior—or the most dangerous person I've ever met.