The War God Alpha's Arranged Bride novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Spare Sister
At her betrothal feast Ylva's fiance chooses her stepsister, her stepmother sells her to the War God Alpha, and Ylva signs the treaty herself and takes her mother's brooch; at Hartfell's gate the Alpha says he does not take thrown things.
My fiance stood up in the middle of our betrothal feast and chose my stepsister instead.
He did it with a goblet in his hand and a smile on his face, so that all two hundred guests would see it.
"Lowmere has two daughters," Brage Falk said. "I have decided to take the one I want."
The hall went silent.
I was sitting at the head table in my mother's grey wool dress, because it was the only good dress I owned.
Vigdis was sitting two seats down in white silk, and she was already crying, softly and well.
"Ylva, I never meant for it to happen," she said.
I set down my fork.
"Congratulations," I said to Brage, and my voice came out level.
"Your father signed the contract with my name on it."
"He'll want to hear this."
"My father will do as I say," Brage said.
A few of the older wolves looked at the floor.
My stepmother put down her wine glass and rose, and the whole hall turned to her.
Gudrun Rask had been regent of Lowmere since my father died four years ago, and she wore his silver rings on her fingers.
"Do not weep, Ylva," she said, in the voice she used for sick animals. "The Alpha of Hartfell has a place for you."
I did not weep.
"Three years ago, at the Skarn pass, Lowmere's men broke and ran," she said to the guests.
"Alpha Torin of Hartfell held the line for nine days and won us the peace."
"The Treaty of the Pass says Lowmere owes him a daughter as a wife."
Somebody gasped.
Everyone in Northreach knew what they said about Torin Askeland.
They called him the War God.
They said the war had broken his mind, that he could not rise from his bed, and that he had killed two servants for bringing him the wrong cup.
"I have kept the debt unpaid for three years because I could not bear to send my own girl," Gudrun said.
"But Vigdis is promised to Falk now, and so it falls to you."
Vigdis wept harder.
I looked at the treaty lying on the table, because Gudrun had put it there before the soup.
She had planned this for weeks and had let me sit through the whole feast first.
I picked up the page and read it properly, the way I read every ledger.
The clause was short.
"A daughter of Lowmere, of her own free will."
"It says free will," I said.
"Of course it does," Gudrun said smoothly. "And you will give it, because you are a good girl."
The guests were watching me.
I picked up the pen from the clerk's tray and signed my name at the bottom of the page.
The scratch of it carried to the back of the hall.
"I'll go," I said.
Gudrun's smile slipped for half a heartbeat.
"But I take what's mine," I said. "My mother's silver wolf brooch, and my father's ledger box."
"The brooch is Vigdis's," Gudrun said.
"The brooch was my mother's, and you took it off her dressing table the week she was buried."
A murmur ran down the benches.
I walked to the end of the head table where Gudrun kept her jewel case under her chair.
I took the case, opened it in front of two hundred people, and lifted out the little silver wolf with the garnet eye.
Nobody stopped me.
Then I climbed the stairs to my father's old study and carried down the iron-bound box where he had kept Lowmere's books.
Gudrun's face had gone the color of tallow.
"You'll be sorry," she said quietly, so only I could hear. "He eats brides, Ylva."
"Then he'll have to eat quickly," I said. "I'm leaving tonight."
I walked out of my own father's hall with a brooch pinned to my dress and a box under my arm.
The carriage from Hartfell had been waiting in the yard since dusk, which meant Gudrun had known I would sign before I did.
It took three days to cross the mountain road, and on the fourth evening it climbed to a rock above a black river.
Hartfell keep stood on top of it.
The gates were open.
Wolves lined the courtyard on both sides, silent, and every one of them was watching me climb down.
The steps ahead were wide and grey, and at the top of them stood a man.
He was the tallest man I had ever seen, and he stood on both feet without a cane or anyone holding his arm.
His long hair was the color of ash and tied back in a warrior's braid.
His eyes were pale gold in the torchlight, and they went over me once, the dress, the brooch, the box, and stopped.
"You are late, and you are alone," said Torin Askeland.
His voice was low and dry and perfectly clear.
"They sent me," I said. "I signed."
"I know what they did." He looked past me at the empty road. "I asked Lowmere for a wife, and I was sent a package."
I lifted my chin.
"Go home, Lady Ylva," the War God said. "I do not take what has been thrown at me."
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