Soul Forge (Book One of the Soul Forge series)
Chapter Three...

Elda’s jaw dropped open. All the colour drained from Horthan’s face, his expression slack. Hrothgar watched the exchange with a frown, too stunned to speak.

“This is most irregular,” the Queen stated, getting to her feet to take over for her husband. Elda expected her to face off against the Soul Forge for his interruption, but instead, she looked at Horthan. “If the Spirits deign it suitable to send our Saviour here to say his piece, then that is what must happen. Lord Horthan, with respect, if you interrupt him or my husband again, you will be ejected from the ceremony.”

Elda really did almost slip off her chair at that, her head turning so fast to gawk at her mother that her body turned with it, wobbling on the edge of the seat. Meridia, the most etiquette-driven woman in the room, had never chastised a monarch in public.

“Speak, Soul Forge,” the King agreed. “Your pledge will be heard.” The monarchs retook their thrones. Sypher bowed his head in thanks, then looked at Elda trembling in her chair. He was the only suitor to address her directly.

“I have no army to offer you, as I rule no kingdom, Your Grace. I cannot promise you a naval fleet to do with as you wish, and I won’t offer riches, because I know they mean nothing to you. My pledge to you is this; in exchange for your hand, I will give you the freedom you deserve. Your body will be your own, and I will never expect an heir. I will defend you and your home against any and all threats, with every ounce of magic I possess.” He shot a pointed look at Horthan before returning his eyes to Elda. “I am your sword and your shield, Your Grace, and I will die to protect you.”

Slowly, the gears in her brain started turning again. Elda blinked like she was emerging from a thick fog. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from Sypher, even when he stepped into line beside the suitors.

“Before my daughter makes her choice, she will be given the opportunity for an introduction with our newest suitor, since one couldn’t take place before the pledge was made.” Her father’s voice addressing the guests snapped her out of her stupor, and the magnitude of what the Soul Forge had done hit her with all its weight.

“Your Grace.” That honeyed voice was back, drawing her to it like a moth to a flame. She looked up into crimson eyes. Sypher had approached the dais while she was stunned, and now stood beside her. “May I have this dance?” His gloved hand was in front of her, waiting for her to take it.

"Can you dance?” she blurted, forgetting her manners as she looked at his formidable black armour and the sword strapped to his back. He arched a dark eyebrow at her.

“Would you like to replace out?” She stared at his outstretched hand, remembering the pattern of black runes across his knuckles and the cool caress of his healing magic. Her fingers touched his palm, and she rose on shaking legs, allowing herself to be led to the centre of the room. When he held her close it was somehow both respectful and surprisingly intimate. His grip was firm, but careful, his hand only resting lightly on her waist. She could barely feel it through the fabric of her corset.

He wasn’t dressed for dancing. In fact he looked like he was ready to go to battle. His sword had to be heavy, and she knew it would throw off his balance. The music that began to float up to the rafters was delicate and emotional, softer than the other songs the bard had chosen and completely at odds with Sypher’s battle-ready appearance.

The first spin surprised her, the second left her breathless. Sypher’s control, his grace, everything about the way he moved was beautiful. His sword could have been made of smoke, for all the difference it made to his posture. His gait was perfectly centred, his arms sure and strong as he swept her off her feet.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asked, eyebrows rising as he dipped her low, keeping his face a respectful distance from her chest. She noticed that only his hands touched her, even when he supported her weight.

“I’ve had eight hundred years to learn.” She felt lighter, like she weighed less than a feather. Her skirts twirled and billowed, the shining threads catching the light of the sunset through the window, glittering so gracefully that the guests watching gasped. She couldn’t imagine what they looked like. A tiny elf in a beautiful dress, blond hair cascading down her back as she danced with an imposing soldier clad all in black. She was sure she’d read something similar in a fairytale once.

“Why did you ask for my hand?” she pressed.

“My purpose is to protect you. After what the Shifter did in the corridor, sending you off to Falkryn with him would be the opposite.”

“And if I choose you and he attacks the city?”

“He won’t.”

“How can you be sure?” she questioned, trying to ignore the fluttering in her heart when he lifted her off the ground, gently lowering her back down as they spun.

He cocked his head, flames flickering in his eyes. “If he fires a single cannon at your city, I will sink every last ship he has. He knows I won’t stop at the ones in the waterways.”

“I wish I shared your confidence,” she mumbled, catching Horthan’s furious gaze by mistake as they passed him.

“You’re going to have to trust me,” the Soul Forge answered simply. “You can take your chances with me, or shackle yourself to him.”

“Wouldn’t you protect me still if I went with him?” she asked.

“I’d try my best no matter who you pick. I have no other choice. Unfortunately for you, if you choose another suitor and they decide to get handsy with you I might not be there on time to stop them.”

“Artan wouldn’t be like that. I know him.”

“Do you?” Sypher asked doubtfully. “Tell me this, Princess . If you marry Artan and leave for Valdren you’ll be there within a few days. You will sleep in his chambers. Do you trust him to leave your virtue intact once you belong to him?” Elda opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.

She knew Artan, to an extent. He’d met with her father many times, and they’d spoken during each of his visits. He was friendly. He’d asked her about her interests, the books she’d read, how she liked living in a palace. He’d even joked about her father, occasionally.

But she realised she knew nothing about him. All she knew was the mask of etiquette that every single noble man, woman and monarch donned when they addressed her. There was no way to tell if he was genuine, not without putting it to the test. A test she was reluctant to try, since it could end in her giving up something she’d never regain.

“How do I know you wouldn’t do the same? You’re even more of a stranger to me than he is.” Sypher cocked his head, bringing her back to him when the song ended. Something she didn’t understand flashed through his eyes, gone as quickly as it arrived.

“You don’t,” he shrugged. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.” He bowed low and she dipped into a hasty curtsey at the same time. “The choice is yours, Princess.”

Elda’s legs felt wooden when she moved slowly back to her seat. Hrothgar looked over at her with knitted brows, his golden crown glinting in the light. She looked back, studying the lines of his face. Even though his hair was the same pale blonde as hers, and his beard was full and thick, beneath them she could see the first marks of age beginning to appear. She wondered how long it would be before she’d see his face again if she chose one of the other suitors. Would it change while she was away?

“What do I do?” she asked him, her voice cracking.

Hrothgar reached out and squeezed her shaking fingers. “The choice is yours now, sweetheart. The Soul Forge has to keep you safe, no matter who you choose.” He surveyed the men standing in a line before the dais, waiting patiently for Elda’s decision.

“And I can’t stop the engagement?”

Her father shook his head. “You must choose one of them. Declining them all at this stage is an enormous insult, and could enrage more than one of them into banding together against us. Sypher is strong, but even he would struggle against several armies. Who you choose is up to you.”

“How do I know I can trust any of them?”

“You can’t. You know nothing of the men they are. You must base your decision purely on your own instincts.” He smiled. “I have no doubt that you’ll make the right decision for you.”

“How?” Elda asked doubtfully. “I don’t trust my own judgement. How can you have so much faith in me?”

“Like I said earlier, you have far too much of me in you. I know who I would choose. I think you know too.”

“You think I should pick Sypher?”

“I told you the choice is yours,” he chuckled. “Each of them has revealed things to you today. Weigh them up, think it through, then make your choice.” He laid a warm hand on her shoulder, then rose to join his wife where she was chatting with a group of wood elves.

Elda thought back through the things she’d heard, trying to pick out anything important that might make them a better choice than Sypher. She had no trouble placing Horthan at the bottom of the list after his assault in the corridor. Thurla didn’t want to be a part of the ceremony at all; his body language alone told her the last place he wanted to be was in Eden. Falmyr had been perfectly pleasant, but she knew his father was mad. King Crixus had been on a slow decline for a decade, and still had a heavy influence on his son. She couldn’t guarantee she’d be safe with him while his father whispered poison in his ear.

Artan had been at the top of the list before Sypher came along and made her hesitate. She’d been charmed by him before now, but the question of her safety was one she couldn’t answer with certainty. It was disconcerting to know so little about a person when they knew so much about her.

Which left the Soul Forge. His legendary battles alone would be enough to make the women of Valerus swoon. He was exceedingly handsome, obviously well educated, and he was selfless. He regularly risked his life for nothing in return. But he was also immortal, a complete stranger, and she didn’t know what he was. She didn’t know how he became the Soul Forge. She didn’t know which kingdom he called home. She only knew what she’d read about him in books.

He saved me in the corridor, a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her. He’d healed her too. She knew healing magic carried a cost; the injuries healed would reflect back on the user. Her wounds had been minor, but it was still unnecessary pain he’d put himself through.

She squared her shoulders and stood, the room falling silent as soon as they saw her rise. “Lord Rhydian Horthan of Falkryn.” She began addressing them in order of their pledges, using their full names just like her mother had taught her. “Prince Runiel Falmyr of Cenet. Heir Rhea Thurla of Bratus. King Bartholomew Artan of Valdren. Sypher, Soul Forge to the Spirits and Saviour of Valerus. Each of your pledges is an honour to receive and you have my thanks to take home to your people.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” came the customary reply from all of the suitors but Horthan. He glared at the ground like he knew what was about to happen. “I must choose only one of you today, and I have made my decision.” Her heart thundered in her chest, but she let her eyes drift across all of them, finally settling her sights on her future husband. Nerves threatened to close up her throat, so she swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “Soul Forge, it’s an honour to accept your pledge.”