Chapter One
"Gods, I can’t believe our parents agreed to this farce."
Andira glanced at her sister as Jana's voice echoed through the chamber, her face twisted in frustration. Their ladies-in-waiting circled them like a well-rehearsed dance, helping the two princesses into their formal attire. Andira frowned but held her tongue—she had already voiced her opinion several times, and there was little else to say. It was still hard to believe their parents had agreed to this peace treaty, especially with their lifelong enemies. Peace treaties were an anomaly in Necai, where negotiations usually revolved around terms of surrender. The orcs, however, had been a constant thorn in their side for centuries.
Andira couldn't deny that the country would benefit from brokering more peace agreements, but she hadn’t expected the price of that peace to be her own freedom. It had been exactly one week since she learned she was to marry the enemy's heir, yet the reality of it still hadn’t fully sunk in. Since that day, everything had passed in a blur.
She stared at her reflection in the polished mirror, a striking figure draped in intricate gold and black. Her deep brown skin, smooth and radiant, contrasted beautifully against the metallic sheen of her armor-like gown. Her long, thick hair cascading down her back and transitioning from dark brown to a lighter, golden hue toward the ends. Framing her regal features was a gold tiara, its angular designs matching the rest of her ornate jewelry. Large hoop earrings swayed gently as she moved, completing her look of strength and elegance. Though she stood tall and composed, a knot of anxiety twisted in her stomach—her appearance a far cry from the emotions that warred within. One of the ladies-in-waiting fastened a heavy, ornate necklace around her throat. The golden piece, intricately crafted, draped down past her collarbones and complemented her body-hugging black-and-gold gown. Under different circumstances, Andira might have enjoyed being dressed in such finery, but today all she could think about was the knot of dread tightening in her stomach. The reason for their formal attire was the impending arrival of her future husband, the orc heir, which meant the wedding was set for tomorrow. The speed at which everything was unfolding made her feel ill.
"Despite everything, you're looking dazzling, little sister," Jana teased, a bright smile dancing on her lips.
Her sister's words snapped Andira out of her thoughts.
"You’re not too bad yourself," Andira replied, managing a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Jana turned and pushed open the tall bronze doors of the dressing chamber. "Come on, we don’t want to be late."
With a brisk pace, Jana strode out into the long, mosaic-tiled hallway. Andira had to hurry to catch up, quickly falling into step beside her. The hall was filled with warm sunlight streaming through the tall windows, painting bright, golden patches onto the cinnamon-colored walls. It was a hive of activity, with castle staff hurrying in every direction, undoubtedly preparing for the foreign guests. Andira had no idea what special preparations were needed for orcs, and she was glad she didn’t have to concern herself with that. She had enough to deal with—chief among them being the fact that the man she was marrying was a stranger. An orc, no less, and all she knew about them came from Necaian books, which she doubted painted them in a fair light. The few people she had spoken to who had encountered orcs firsthand described them as little more than monsters.
"Truthfully," Jana broke the silence, her tone laced with disdain, "this treaty benefits them far more than us. Our king is giving up land and a daughter, and in return, they promise to stop their pathetic raids. What would really solve this issue is laying siege to their cities, cutting them off, and starving them out."
Andira glanced at her sister from the corner of her eye. "Are you suggesting we exterminate them?"
"Without hesitation," Jana replied, her expression unapologetic. "But I understand the resources for such an operation are better spent elsewhere. Hence, we're here to sign this cursed peace treaty."
"Indeed, we are," Andira muttered under her breath as they approached the throne room.
The heavy doors swung open as two soldiers stood at attention. Inside, the grand room was spacious, with tall, north-facing windows allowing streams of daylight to filter in. But despite its size, the room felt crowded, too many people packed within its stone walls. Soldiers stood at attention along the perimeter, their presence a constant reminder of the tension in the air.
Andira made her way toward the throne, where her parents were seated on richly adorned chairs, their backs cushioned with velvet in deep burgundy and gold. Her mother, Tala, sat with regal poise, her dark hair styled in an elegant crown braid, a ruby-encrusted gold tiara resting on top. Her father, Duma, sat beside her, a simple yet distinguished gold circlet encircling his brown hair. Andira greeted them with a respectful nod before taking her place at her father’s side. Normally, that position was reserved for the heir, but today, it was hers.
Her parents were engaged in a low conversation, their words almost drowned out by the hum of the gathered crowd.
"Ten soldiers inside the room, two of our commanders, Jana, and her sisters... nobles, all capable fighters... This is excessive for a peace treaty signing and an engagement party, don’t you think?" Duma murmured, concern evident in his voice.
Her mother, unfazed, laced her fingers together in her lap. "Let’s not be naive, Duma. Anything could happen with those degenerates."
Andira found herself agreeing with her father. "It does seem a bit excessive if we're trying to turn over a new leaf in relations with them..."
"I trust our commanders," Tala responded calmly. "Besides, caution is never excessive when it comes to orcs."
Jana rolled her eyes. "The worst they could do is try to kill us with their bare hands."
Andira’s chest tightened as a wave of unease washed over her. The room, already stifling with the weight of too many bodies, suddenly felt unbearably claustrophobic. All she could think about was finding an excuse to leave.
At the news of their guests' arrival, all conversation in the throne room ceased. Andira watched as everyone, herself included, moved to straighten their posture, adjusting clothing or smoothing out wrinkles. She was anxious, but years of being in the public eye had taught her to hide it well. The bronze doors loomed in front of her, opening at a painfully slow pace. She focused on maintaining her calm, but the heavy, echoing footsteps of their approaching guests caused her heart to race.
When the orcs finally came into view, Andira involuntarily held her breath. They were massive—an undeniable fact, but seeing it for herself was something entirely different. Their size and presence dominated the room. The orcs scrutinized their surroundings as sharply as her people were scrutinizing them. Their eyes were sharp, missing nothing.
Halvor stepped forward, with the confidence of a leader who commanded respect. His voice was deep and gravelly, his accent thick but clear. "We have traveled far to meet with you. I am Halvor Gharthak Graz, Warchief of the Orc clans, and I share your wish to repair the bonds between our two kingdoms. I hope we can come to a peaceful alliance. As a symbol of my goodwill, I bring my only son as an offer of solidarity, to bond our kingdoms through marriage."
The room stirred as Halvor stepped aside, revealing Uhtred, the smallest of the orcs present. While less imposing than his father, Uhtred’s sharp jawline and more refined features would likely be considered attractive by human standards. His green skin, though lighter than his father’s, was still unmistakably orcish, but his well-spoken demeanor immediately set him apart from the others.
"I am Uhtred, Son of Halvor," he began, his voice steady as his sharp green eyes surveyed the room. "We appreciate your... hospitality." His gaze flicked briefly to the guards stationed throughout the room. "Tales of your strength and decisiveness have reached even our ears. Your kingdom is known for breeding great fighters, something that our kind respects more than wealth or power. Honor in battle is a language we understand well. I know your trust in us is thin, and so we will camp beyond your city walls with our small force. We look forward to proving our intentions are true."
As their leader began to speak, Andira’s attention shifted to the smallest of the group. The moment he stepped forward and introduced himself, her suspicion was confirmed—he was the one she was to marry. He was different from the others, smaller, less imposing, and perhaps even less “orc-like” in appearance. Andira wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed, but she was definitely surprised. For a moment, she continued to observe him closely, but her focus shifted as her father, King Duma, stood to address the Warchief.
“Warchief Halvor, Son of Halvor, we are deeply thankful for your presence and for making the long journey from Dhuma. We sincerely hope that this marks the beginning of a prosperous partnership between Necai and Dhuma, and the first day of many centuries of peace to come. As your people remain on our lands, know that they will be treated as our guests, whether within the castle or outside the city gates.”
Duma turned to face Andira, extending his hand, and she took it with practiced grace. Together, they descended the steps from the throne, every movement deliberate and poised. "As a symbol of our good faith, I, Duma Zar'Udes, offer the hand of my second-born, Andira Zar'Udes, in marriage, along with her dowry in full.”
Even as her father spoke the words, Andira struggled to fully grasp that this was real. Since hearing the news, everything had felt like a bad dream, one she kept hoping to wake from. She curtsied as her mother had taught her, her voice steady as she addressed their guests. “Warchief Halvor, Son of Halvor, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Despite Uhtred being the smallest of the orcs present, he still towered over Andira. She was forced to tilt her head slightly to meet his gaze, and she found herself noting the stark difference between him and the others. While still intimidating, his presence was less overwhelming, though there was an intensity in his amber eyes that caught her attention.
The king clapped his hands together, breaking the tension. “Now, I know the journey has been long, and we won’t bore you with the politics of the treaty today. Today is about celebrating the union of our people, and we have plenty planned for this evening to welcome you and celebrate our future. Our staff will show your party to their rooms, and we can reconvene for the festivities later. You are free to rest or explore the castle as you wish.”
Turning to Andira, Duma added, “Once they’ve had time to settle, why don’t you show Uhtred around the castle?”
Andira nodded, her eyes drifting to the orc in question. “Of course, I’ll come by once you’re settled.”
Uhtred’s amber eyes shifted toward her again, studying her closely. He hadn’t known what to expect when it came to his future bride, but now that he was seeing her in person, he realized he hadn’t given much thought to what she might be like. Her confidence, her poise, reminded him of the warriors back home—strong, composed, and ever ready.
"It has been a pleasure to meet you formally, King Duma," Halvor said, placing a large, calloused hand on his son's shoulder. Uhtred dipped his head in agreement, sneaking one more glance at his betrothed.
“I look forward to it,” Uhtred said, his voice calm but curious as he spoke directly to Andira before following the guards who led the orcs to their accommodations.
Andira stood silently, watching as the orcs exited the throne room. The space, once brimming with tense energy, slowly began to empty. One by one, courtiers and guards left until it was just Andira and her family remaining. Her mother, Tala, dismissed Andira’s younger siblings with a wave of her hand before walking over to where her daughter stood, lost in thought. With a gentle touch, Tala placed a finger beneath Andira’s chin, tilting her face up to meet her gaze.
"It wouldn’t kill you to at least fake it, now would it?" her mother asked softly, her tone a mix of chastisement and affection.
Andira looked at her mother before shifting her gaze away, her brow furrowed. "It’s not a love match," she replied under her breath. "Everyone knows it. He knows it. So why should I pretend?"
Tala sighed deeply, her expression hardening with the weight of practicality. "Andira, you are the key to this treaty. After it’s ratified, you will be put in charge of relations with Dhuma and the Orc Clans. Keep him happy, give him an heir, and keep them out of our hair. That is your duty now."
Before Andira could respond, Jana's voice cut through the room, laced with sarcasm. "Look at that, Andira! You're finally getting something important to do."
Jana’s gaze flicked toward the door where the orcs had exited, and she rolled her eyes. "But of course, they offer up the runt of their group."
Duma, their father, shot Jana a warning glance. "Jana," he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority. But Jana only shrugged in defiance, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Am I wrong?" she asked, her tone challenging. "Sure, he’s easier on the eyes than the rest, but probably weak. Andira herself is skilled, but not skilled enough that their children will be anything more than mediocre at best."
Andira, holding her composure, turned to face her sister. "Do you wish to take my place?" she asked, her voice even. "I’m sure they could benefit from your superior skills."
Jana only laughed, the sound sharp and dismissive. "Unfortunately, dear sister, I am prepping to run a country. I have no time to play house with the enemy."
As far back as Andira could remember, her parents had placed Jana on a pedestal, endlessly praising her prowess on the battlefield and her natural aptitude for leadership. Andira, by comparison, had always been secondary in their eyes. And yet, Jana was right—she was the heiress to the throne, while Andira’s value had now been reduced to the role of a political pawn.
"Jana, we are aware of your feelings on the treaty," Duma interjected, his voice firm, "but I am still the King, and they are our guests."
Jana held up her hands in mock surrender, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "This is all a waste of time," she declared before turning on her heel and striding out of the room without another word.
Andira sighed heavily, watching her sister’s retreating figure. She didn’t like the position she had been forced into, but she would accept it, for the alternative was far worse. She would take the treaty and this marriage over the never-ending cycle of bloodshed that had plagued their people for centuries.
War with the orcs had been a constant drain on their resources, a burden that weighed heavily on the kingdom. Andira knew this all too well. They were not just fighting the orcs but also struggling to keep other enemies at bay. The treaty made sense, strategically at least, but she couldn’t help but wonder why the ceding of lands hadn’t been enough to satiate them. Why marriage? Why her?
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when her father’s voice cut through the silence. “Andira,” Duma called, his tone steady. She blinked, realizing she had been lost in her own mind. “Go to Uhtred. Your mother was not wrong. If you are to wed tomorrow, at least make an effort to get to know him.”
Andira’s eyes dropped to the mosaic tiles beneath her feet. The very idea made her stomach churn. The last thing she wanted was to speak with the man, let alone be left alone with him. What could they possibly have to talk about? They came from two entirely different worlds, their lives and cultures clashing at every turn.
"Vekra yethari. My dear. Go." Her father’s voice softened, but the command remained clear.
Andira took a deep breath, resigning herself to the task ahead. She wasn’t sure if this was just another part of her duty or if there was something more to be gained from this encounter. Either way, she would find out soon enough.
After her father’s words, Andira stood still for a moment, her thoughts churning. It had been a long time since she had heard her father call her Vekra yethari—a term of endearment he hadn’t used since her childhood. It was almost enough to make her smile, but the weight of her situation pressed down too heavily. She was no longer a little girl seeking her father’s affection. Now, she was a piece in a game of politics.
She nodded reluctantly before leaving the throne room, feeling the knots in her stomach tighten as she made her way through the halls. Her footsteps echoed softly off the mosaic-tiled floor as her mind raced. Uhtred. The man she was to marry. The stranger who would soon be her husband. What could they possibly talk about? What did they have in common?
