Chapter Text
Violet had always been a light packer. She’d spent her formative years moving from one place to another and she’d quickly learned not to form unnecessary attachments.
Sometimes, they barely settled into a city before having to relocate at the drop of a hat; her list of essentials slowly dwindled over the years until there were very few things that she could not live without.
Barely past her childhood years, Violet became a very efficient traveler.
But what the hell did one pack when relocating to a whole different life?
She felt absurd, rearranging the same clothes over and over again, as if it mattered if she packed her tops or her bottoms first when being blackmailed into a political marriage with a man whose father was responsible for the death of hundreds including her brother.
Her books, the ones she could not part with, were already meticulously arranged into a sturdy wooden crate, alongside her father’s journals, the ones he entrusted to her when alive and a few her mother let her keep after he died.
Three days.
In three days' time, Violet would leave for Tyrrendor.
Perhaps never to return.
Perhaps to die.
She had allowed herself a single day to grieve. One day to mourn the quiet, unremarkable life she'd built in Basgiath. Lackluster as it had been, it had been hers, and that alone made it worth mourning.
On the second day, she did what she had always done when faced with the unknown.
She researched.
The Navarrian-Tyrrish conflict was meticulously documented. Once allies, the two nations had fractured over the oldest cause of war: land. Borders shifted. Kings changed. Treaties were signed with elaborate ceremonies, only to be broken a generation later. Peace had always proved temporary.
The latest treaty had been forged before Violet was born.
It had held for nearly two decades.
Until Fen Riorson.
In a quest to reclaim lands he deemed had been stolen from his ancestors, the Tyrrish Alpha had reignited the conflict, reclaiming territory through years of relentless warfare. His campaign had ended only with his capture and execution at the hands of Navarre.
The peace that followed had come at a steep price.
A council of Tyrrish elders had negotiated an end to the war. Tyrrendor would retain its independence and the lands Fen had reclaimed. In return, his young heir would renounce his father's campaign and swear never to seek vengeance for his execution.
The young heir.
Xaden Riorson.
The man who had sacrificed revenge for peace.
The man she was expected to marry.
Her future Alpha.
Her future husband.
A knock sounded on her door, breaking her out of her reverie. “I am occupied.” She called out. She was not in the mood to endure tearful goodbyes or accept well meaning but misguided happy wishes.
The day before, she’d received an emissary from King Tauri himself, who had come bearing a congratulatory letter from the sovereign, as if he had not decreed the marriage himself and lavish gifts, a few luxurious dresses and a bejeweled brooch.
She’d shut the door in the messenger’s face then took great joy in burning the letter and then running the knife Mira had gifted her for her sixteenth birthday through the dresses. The brooch, she’d thrown out the window for some lucky soul to find.
The pleasure had been immense but fleeting.
A knock sounded again and she sighed.
She threw her door open, only to be met with a face very similar to the one she’d argued with a few days ago, only much younger.
“Mira!” Was all she managed to articulate before being enveloped in a strong hold. Her sister smelled of green woods and worn leather.
The comfort of her sister’s embrace was welcome and much needed. Mira tightened her hold for a few seconds, before gripping her shoulders and pushing her away.
Brown eyes, so similar to their mother’s, burned with fury. “I am not letting you go.”
Violet’s heart broke a little. “We,” She cut herself off. “I don’t have a choice.”
Mira slammed the door shut behind them and pushed her further into the room. “Of course, you have a choice. You’re not going, she can’t do this.”
“Mira, it’s not her choice either, it’s royal decree.”
“Fuck the royal decree, fuck Riorson, Tauri and their fucking peace treaties, I’ve already given a brother for this damn cause, I’m not giving my sister, too.”
In spite of her dire circumstances, a smile tugged at Violet’s lips. “You can’t say that about your commander in chief, Mira, you’ll get in trouble.”
“I don’t care, Vi. If I can’t convince Mom to stop this madness then I will take you away from here, I can’t let you marry a monster, Violet.”
Violet tilted her head. “How do you know he’s a monster?”
It was an honest question. Violet had read so much about the Navarrian/ Tyrrish conflict but there wasn’t much to be found about the Tyrrish heir himself. He’d been young when his father perished, too young to join any battles. After the Calldyr accords, they received little to no news from Tyrrendor, save the reports on a skirmish here and there, and the Tyrrish Alpha remained a mystery.
Mira gave her a look. “If he hates you as much as we hate him, then he’ll be out for your blood.”
“Mom said he wouldn’t lay a finger on me.”
Mira scoffed. “Well, that’s rich.” She crossed further into her room and knelt by the box Violet had been packing her clothes into. “Why are you defending her? Why are you so quick to accept this?”
Anger simmered beneath her skin. “Quick to accept it? Mira you think I accept any of this?” She threw her arms wide open and gestured around her room, at the crates.
“I spent the past few days trying to find a way out of marrying an Alpha I know nothing about and moving into enemy territory, believe me when I tell you, there is no other choice.”
She could not tell her sister that the general had practically coerced her into agreeing, because if she didn’t, king Tauri would send Mira in her stead. And Mira, headstrong and powerful, would get herself killed in Tyrrish territory, surrounded by hostiles. She could not possibly submit to a Tyrrish Alpha, or anyone for that matter.
If she knew, Mira would give their mother hell, but when she finally accepted that a royal decree could not be disregarded, she would insist to go.
Violet could not let her do that; she could not let her become another person she mourned.
Mira looked away in apology. “I didn’t mean to imply… fuck, Violet, it’s just, they’re different, the Tyrrish.” Mira ran a hand through her ear length hair. “They’re primitive, not bound by rules of a civilized society. Out there, it’s all about pack rules and primal laws.”
“I know about Tyrrendor, Mira. You’re the warrior, I’m the scholar remember.”
Violet’s sister tucked a loose strand of hair that escaped her crown braid behind her ear. “I told you this hair is impractical.”
Violet smiled at the diversion. “I will adapt, Mira. You know me. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s making things work for me. I will make this work, I will be safe.”
Mira’s sharp eyes softened. “Alright, if we’re doing this, we’re doing this the right way.” She reached into her crate and flipped around her meticulously folded garments. “None of this flowy linen and flimsy cotton.”
Mira dug through Violet's wardrobe with ruthless military efficiency tossing pale blouses onto the bed one after another.
"These stay."
"Mira—"
"No." She held up a gauzy blue dress between two fingers like it offended her personally. "If you can't run in it, you don't need it."
"I'm going to be Luna, not a soldier."
Mira looked at her as though she'd said the sky was green.
"Exactly." She folded a pair of sturdy trousers and shoved them into the crate. "You'll need to know how to run before you need to know how to host a dinner."
Violet sighed. "You're being dramatic."
"No." Mira's expression turned frighteningly serious. "I'm assuming no one over there is going to protect you."
The room fell silent.
"Look, if Riorson turns out to be honorable, great." Mira shrugged once, her tone implied that she did not think that possibility was likely. "Then you'll never need any of this."
She reached beneath her cloak and withdrew a leather roll.
Violet recognized it immediately.
Mira unbuckled the straps and spread it across the bed.
Six knives gleamed in neat rows.
"But if he isn't..." Mira met her eyes. "Then I want you to be the most dangerous woman in Tyrrendor."
Violet stared at the familiar blades.
"I haven’t actually used a knife in years, Mira, not since you gave me lessons, I’m not sure I remember how."
"You will."
"In three days?" Violet laughs in disbelief.
"In three days," Mira agreed. "You're going to learn everything I can teach you before they take you across that border."