POV: Ravenna
Three weeks ago.
The birthday dinner was supposed to be perfect.
I'd planned it for weeks. The decorations — crimson and gold, obviously — I wasn't a child who needed pastels. The menu — roasted quail because I'd decided I liked quail this month. Even the seating arrangements — Morgana — my lady-in-waiting — on my right, Father on my left; and absolutely no boring councillors within speaking distance.
Everything was perfect. The candles flickered just right. The wine was the expensive kind from Aetherwyn that tasted like summer. My dress — oh, my dress was stunning. White silk that made my hair look even more dramatic, cut low enough to be interesting but high enough that Father wouldn't lecture me about propriety.
I was twenty-one. Finally, officially, completely an adult.
Which meant Father would stop treating me like I was made of glass. Would stop hovering. Would stop looking at me with those sad eyes that made me want to scream.
"Happy birthday, Ravenna." Father raised his glass over the table where only he and I were sitting. Only my closest ones were there on my birthday.
Morgana—dark hair always perfectly braided, green eyes that saw everything—had been my lady-in-waiting since I was twelve. She knew all my secrets. Well, most of them. The important ones, anyway. She wore the crimson and gold of my household with an elegance I envied but would never admit.
Saren leaned against the doorframe, all casual grace despite the dual curved swords at his hips.
He'd been my guard for all my life now—Father had assigned him when we were kids. Saren's sea-green eyes held their usual glint of amusement, and even now, at my birthday dinner, I could see him fighting a smile. His dark hair caught the candlelight with that blue sheen.
I beamed at him. "Thank you! And thank you for the dinner, it's exactly what I wanted, and—oh! Did you see the musicians? I hired them special, they do this thing with the flutes that's absolutely—"
"We need to discuss something."
My smile froze. That tone. I knew that king-not-father’s tone.
"Can't it wait?" I tried to keep my voice light. Sweet. "It's my birthday dinner, Father. Can't we just—"
"No." He set down his glass. Looked at me with an expression that made my stomach twist. "It can't wait."
Morgana shifted beside me. I felt her tension like a physical thing.
"Ravenna," Father continued, each word careful and measured, which was never, ever good. "You're twenty-one now. It's time we addressed your future."
"My future?" I laughed. It sounded wrong even to me. Too high. Too bright. "My future is here. With you and—"
"Your marriage."
The word dropped like a stone into water.
Silence.
"My what?" I said faintly.
"Your marriage," he repeated. Wouldn't look at me now. Stared at his plate like it held answers. "I've decided to hold a competition. Four candidates from noble houses across Cindravale. They'll compete for your hand over the course of—"
"No."
"—several trials that will test their—"
"No." I pushed back from the table. My chair screeched against the stone floor. "No, no, NO!"
"Ravenna—"
"You can't make me marry some—some STRANGER!" My voice cracked on the shout. I didn't care. Let the whole palace hear. Let everyone know what Father was doing to me. "I won't do it!"
Aldric rubbed his temples with that tired gesture that meant he thought I was being unreasonable. I was being unreasonable? HE was the one ruining my life! On my BIRTHDAY!
"You're an adult now," he said in that calm, horrible king-voice. "It's time—"
"Time for WHAT?" I was shrieking now. Actually shrieking. I could hear myself doing it and couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. "Time for you to get rid of me? Is that it? Ship me off to some lord who wants a crown and doesn't care that I come with it?"
"That's not what this is—"
"Then what IS it?" Tears were coming now. Hot and furious and I hated crying but couldn't stop that either. "Tell me! Tell me why you're doing this!"
"Because I'm trying to protect you!"
His shout echoed through the dining hall.
We stared at each other. Him standing, face flushed. Me standing, face wet.
"Protect me?" I whispered. "By forcing me to marry?"
"By ensuring you're not alone." His voice dropped. Went soft. Which was somehow worse than shouting. "If something happens to me—"
"Nothing's going to happen to you!"
"—you'll be vulnerable. The crown will pass to you and there will be challenges. Threats. People who want what you have. You'll need someone strong beside you. Someone who can—"
"I AM strong!" I stamped my foot. The sound was sharp and childish and I didn't care. "I can protect myself! Solace and I—"
"Your dragon is the smallest in the kingdom."
Oh.
Oh no.
The words hit like an arrow. Like he'd reached across the table and slapped me.
"What?" My voice came out tiny. Broken.
Father's face twisted with something that might have been regret. "Solace is... she's small, Ravenna. You know this. And while I'm sure she's—"
"Don't." The word came out sharp. Cutting. "Don't you dare talk about Solace like she's—like she's defective or—"
"I'm not saying she's defective. I'm saying she's small. And if something happened to me, if you were alone, there are those who would see that smallness as weakness. Who would challenge you for the throne. Who would—"
"SO THIS IS ABOUT THE THRONE?" I was shouting again. Couldn't seem to stop. "This isn't about protecting me at all! It's about making sure the crown stays secure! About—about politics and—"
"It's about keeping you alive!"
His roar silenced me.
We stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other across a table laden with untouched birthday food.
"I can't lose you," he said quietly. "Not like I lost her."
Her. My mother. Always HER. The ghost that lived in this palace, in his eyes, in the way he looked at me and saw someone else.
"I'm not her," I whispered.
"I know."
"Then stop trying to—to wrap me in silk and hide me away! I'm not fragile! I'm not going to break!"
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly!" My hands were shaking. Everything was shaking. "You think I'm weak! You think Solace is weak! You think I need some—some husband to protect me because I can't do it myself!"
"That's not—"
"Then what IS it? Tell me! Make it make sense!"
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked older suddenly. Tired in a way that made my chest hurt even through the rage.
"I'm your father," he said finally. "It's my job to protect you. Even from things you don't see coming."
"I don't want your protection! I want—" My voice broke. "I want you to trust me."
"I do trust you."
"No you don't! If you trusted me, you wouldn't be forcing me into a marriage I don't want with men I've never met! You wouldn't be—"
"This isn't a discussion, Ravenna."
Oh. That tone again. That king-voice that meant he'd made up his mind and I was just going to have to deal with it.
"The competition begins in three weeks," he continued, each word precise and final. "Four candidates. You'll meet them, participate in the trials, and your dragon will choose the worthy one. The wedding will take place before year's end."
"I won't—"
"You will."
Something in me snapped.
I grabbed my wine glass—the expensive Aetherwyn — The Water Kingdom — wine I'd chosen special for tonight—and threw it.
Watched it arc through the air in slow motion. Watched it shatter against the wall behind Father's head. Watched red wine spray across the stone like blood.
The crash echoed.
Father didn't flinch. Just stood there, looking at me with eyes that held too much sadness and not enough surprise.
Like he'd expected this. Like he knew exactly who I was and had given up hoping I'd be anything else.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that I knew he meant it.