Blood Bond

"Get her dressed," Stonehand barked at one of his soldiers, gesturing towards the simple blue velvet dress the maids had laid out earlier. "Something less... flimsy. And bind his arms," he added, nodding towards Kael. "Keep him quiet."

The soldier flung the dress at me, and I grabbed it, holding it defensively in front of my nightgown. Others bound Kael's wrists behind his back with thick leather thongs. His eyes met mine across the room, filled with a mixture of fury, helplessness, and desperation. I looked away, shame and fear knotting together in my stomach.

"Bring them," Stonehand commanded, already striding out of the ruined doorway.

Flanked by Ironfell soldiers, with Kael shoved along behind me, I was marched back through the now torch-lit corridors. The silence felt heavy, broken only by the thud of armored boots and Kael's harsh breathing. We didn't stop until we reached the Earl's study – the same comfortably cluttered room I'd been in only hours before. It felt different now.

Stonehand was already there, having made himself comfortable in the Earl's high-backed armchair by the fire, looking utterly out of place amidst the stacks of books and maps. And waiting near the desk stood Earl Firlay himself, his face slick with nervous sweat, hands fidgeting with the tassels of his robe. Blaire stood beside him, her usual composure strained, lips pressed thin, though her gaze still held a flicker of cold vindication as she took in my pathetic appearance – clutching a velvet dress over my nightgown, cheek probably still showing the mark of her slap.

"Ah, Lord Stonehand!" the Earl exclaimed, forcing a nervous smile as we were pushed into the room. He wrung his sweaty hands. "Excellent! There she is, the Princess is secured. My household is entirely at your disposal, naturally. Whatever you require."

Stonehand shot him a look dripping with contempt. "Secured?" he rumbled. "Funny, seemed my men had to fetch her after dealing with her guard outside her door. Your hospitality needs work, Firlay. Or perhaps just your locks."

The Earl blanched, stammering something incoherent. Blaire simply met my gaze across the room, one eyebrow firmly raised in that silent, cutting "I told you so." I forced myself to look away, focusing on the worn pattern of the rug.

—

"See to my men," Stonehand ordered the Earl, dismissing him with a wave. "Food, ale. The good stuff, mind you. They've earned it." He nodded towards Blaire. "You can go too, girl." To his own soldiers, "take the boy outside. Keep him bound."

The Earl scuttled out, relieved. Blaire gave me one last, unreadable look before following her father. Kael twisted against his restraints as the soldiers grabbed him, knocking over a glow lamp that crashed into a glass bookcase. The sound of shattered glass cracked the room and rained shards over the rug, but neither Stonehand or his men paid it any attention. In the end, Kael was dragged out, his eyes locking with mine for a desperate second before the door closed. I was left alone in the suddenly too-large study with the Lord of Ironfell and two silent, watchful guards flanking the doorway.

Stonehand picked up a half-empty bottle containing a clear amber liquid from the Earl's desk, pouring a generous measure into a heavy crystal tumbler. He took a long swallow, eyeing me over the rim. The silence stretched, thick with threat.

Finally, I found my voice, though it trembled. "What... what are you going to do with me, Lord Stonehand?"

He finished his drink, setting the tumbler down with a heavy thud. "Taking you back to the Keep," he stated flatly. "The wolf pup insisted."

"Cassian?" The name tasted like ash.

"Aye." Stonehand grunted. "Prattling on about honor. Sent me chasing halfway across the province because he gave his word you'd be released unharmed." He gave a short, harsh laugh. "Seems the boy got his mail in a twist when the elf let you slip," – he paused, searching for the word – "made it my problem."

"Jarlen, the elf, he tried to kill me."

"And he did a piss poor job of it." Stonehand snorted.

The implication was clear: None of them care about me. The only reason I'm still standing is because of Cassian.

Honor? Releasing captured princesses? My childhood stories whispered in my mind – tales of chivalrous knights and noble bargains with kidnapped princesses. The idea felt laughably absurd applied to Cassian, the boy who'd held a dagger to my throat, whose allies had ambushed and slaughtered our guards. Yet... Stonehand was here. Because of Cassian's word? It made no sense.

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"Kael, my Protector," I breathed, clutching at the smallest thread of that supposed honor. "The prince swore he would receive aid as well, that he would be safe too."

Stonehand waved a dismissive hand, already pouring himself more of that amber liquid. "The boy? Long as he's disarmed and causes no more trouble than he already has, I don't care. Bleating annoyance. Keep him tied up 'til morning." He took another drink. "We stay 'til morning at the very least. Can't stand that Quintus bossing me 'round. And that Lelian always trying to ply me with her honeyed words." He nearly threw the glass on the ground before changing his mind, and scowled down at it. "They think me stupid, but I know their games."

—

He dislikes them. He hates the other Regents. Hope flicked amidst the despair. An opening? Maybe? My mind, desperate, grasped at straws, dredging up half-remembered plots from courtly romances and heroic epics. Powerful, gruff warriors sometimes had hidden depths, a weakness for innocent beauty, perhaps, or swayed by virtuous boldness... Then other memories intruded – movie scenes, ridiculous tropes of femme fatales charming villains, of strong women taking control through their gifts.

It's insane, My rational side screamed. He's a scarred warlord who just had your guard beaten! This isn't a game! He wounded Astrid.

But what other choice was there? Blaire was right. I had no power, no allies. Only this... this desperate, humiliating long shot.

No! He smells like bad beer! Look how big he is! Certain lewd scenes from the computer screen flashed through my mind. You don't want to experience that! No, I don't want to experience that!

I forced myself to move. I smoothed down the velvet dress I still clutched, and tried to move the way mother always did, gracefully swaying her hips to draw the eyes of every man in attendance.

Don't! Stop it! He'll break you. He'll break me!

Then I will be fully broken.

"Lord Stonehand," I began, my voice softer now, trying for an allure that felt utterly foreign and false. "You must be weary after your journey. Allow me..."

I reached for the bottle on the desk near him, intending to offer a refill, a gesture of... something. Hospitality? Submission? My hand shook violently. The heavy bottle tipped awkwardly, liquid sloshing onto the polished wood before I could right it. Cursing silently, mortified, I reached for a nearby goblet to pour what remained, hoping he hadn't noticed the spill too much. As I concentrated on steadying my hand, I didn't register the sharp edge of a stray glass shard – likely the result of Kael's earlier struggle – until it sliced across my finger.

A gasp escaped me, more from surprise than pain. A bright bead of red welled up instantly. Clumsily, I tried to staunch it with my thumb, turning back to pour the liquor with my other hand. The goblet was crystal, catching the firelight. As I tilted the bottle, I saw it – a single, impossibly bright drop of my blood fell from my cut finger, landing in the pale amber liquid, where it swirled and then hung like a crimson ribbon that refuses to fade.

Thump!

My heart beat hard against my chest. I could sense it, the ribbon in that liquid, pushing back against the pool of poison that threatened to engulf it, sitting there, waiting. Had I somehow done this on purpose?

I froze, holding the goblet, unsure whether to offer it or throw it away. But Stonehand had already turned, his gaze sharpening as he noticed my hesitation, then dropping to the goblet in my hand. His golden eyes fixed upon the red line spiraling through the liquid.

Silence descended, heavy and absolute. I braced for an explosion, for accusations of poison or witchcraft.

Instead, a low chuckle rumbled in his chest, building into a short, barking laugh that bounced off the book-lined walls. "Well now," he said, the irritation in his eyes replaced by a rough, almost startling amusement. He reached out and took the goblet from my trembling hand.

"Trying the honeyed cup on old Stonehand, are we?" He swirled the contents and I felt the blood spin. "Not very subtle." He looked me up and down again, his gaze lingering on my flushed face and trembling form. "And frankly, you look about as seductive as a wet kitten caught in a thunderstorm." He took another critical look. "All eyes and bones. Bah! My own granddaughters have more curves, and likely more cunning."

He then squinted one eye at me and shook his head. "Brave, girl. But very stupid."

"I know, but I had to try."

My body went still as everything drained out of me. There weren't any more cards left to play. I'd failed and yet I'd made peace with this. I was ready for the consequences of my decisions.

A memory took hold, of Mother holding my hand as a child, before a large frightening procession that we must walk through. She kept her eyes forward and said in that voice of hers, graceful and edged with steel, "Elara dear, always remember, you are a High Princess of Aethelgard."

I straightened my back, and picked up my chin. Then I leveled my gaze and stared right into Stonehand's eyes.

The air settled around us, heavy like lead, near suffocating. He was the first to look away.

"Impressive," he said as he moved the cup in his hand. I could feel the liquid sloshing from side to side, but I stood firm. "You know in the high country, it used to be that in order to prove one's worth to another, one must challenge him to a duel until each draws blood, and then you drink that blood to seal your pact. It's the seal of worth." He shook a clenched fist as he looked from one silent guard to the other. "But these days, them younglings don't take to that no more, calling it deranged acts of senile old fools." He leaned back and let go of a long sigh. "They've never tasted blood."

I stood watching him, this behemoth of a man looking worn down. There was a twinge of kinship for a fellow traveler, out of place, and out of time.

Borin nodded at me and raised his cup. "Well then, Princess. Here's to us idiots." He downed it in one gulp.