At nine years old, Marielle Valtrane was a girl of absolute, unwavering convictions.
She was going to marry her big brother.
It was a simple matter of logic, really.
Peering from behind the cold marble of a massive courtyard pillar, she watched the steady flow of the training grounds. There he was. Zarius. He was fourteen, moving with a fluid, lethal grace that made the veteran knights look slow by comparison. To Marielle, he was the sun around which her entire world orbited.
Why?
He was handsome, obviously. He was funny, possessing a dry wit that he reserved only for her. He read her stories, and he never skipped the scary parts because he knew she was brave. He was smart, always top of his marks, always the one the tutors spoke of with hushed tones. And he was diligent. Oh, so diligent. She watched him now, sweat matting his dark hair to his forehead as he blocked a strike from a man twice his size.
