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Live Like Legends
by Kate Cornell

Copyright © 2020 by Kate Cornell. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Chapter One

I ran my hands down the bodice of the red and black dress, the traditional wedding dress of my homeland.

This was it.

Marriage.

My whole life, my entire upbringing, leading to this moment. One more door, one quick ceremony, and it was all over. Why did it feel like I was staring down the haft of a spear?

I took a deep breath. Only one thing left to do. I lowered the black veil over my eyes. I would wear this until my new husband saw fit to remove it.

I was ready for this, wasn’t I? As ready as I would ever be.

I rested a hand on the door, trying to settle my nerves. I was ready for this. I knew the princeling of Latak, nowhere near the throne, as inconsequential as I was.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open.

The man standing in the bridegroom’s position was an enormous, blond stranger clad in gleaming molded leather armor.

I’d been betrothed to an enemy from birth, our marriage meant to end a century of war and this was not him.

Aris. Who was this?

There’d been a change, an occurrence, something strange uncovered in a faraway land. A prophecy, or something. Vague, but I fit the description and was disposable.

For a moment, my feet refused to move. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

An Arihan monk stood ready to conduct the ceremony. He was already impatient, clearing his throat at my short delay.

My legs connected to the rest of me, and I moved forward.

I took my place. I found a spot on the floor and stared, not hearing the words as the Arihan went through the ceremony, a buzzing at the edge of my hearing. My whole life, built to nothing.

The man next to me was a prince, too, yes, but he was next in line for the throne. I was going to be a queen. All of a sudden, I mattered.

“Milady,” he said.

I looked up.

“In Aris’ Sight,” the monk said.

I hadn’t even heard him.

“In Aris’s Sight,” I repeated.

A few moments, a few signatures, and I was married to a man I’d never met before.

Carson of Estral.

Estralian. Nobody cared about Estral. Nobody knew anything about the country.

Blond hair, cut short, with ice-chip blue eyes. I was considered tall, yet he was towering.

I took full advantage of the privacy of my veil to gawk up at him. He didn’t seem much older than my own eighteen years, but it was hard to tell.

Imagine, a prince, destined to be king, beardless and wearing leather armor to his wedding. Battle-ready even in front of his betrothed.

No. Wife now.

We were married.

Aris.

Who was he? Why me?

I couldn’t breathe.

I wore a traditional wedding dress, black and red, bodice cinched so tight, I forced myself to breathe. At least, I blamed the dress.

“May Aris bless the union of Kalista of Reeves and Carson of Estral,” the monk of Aris who’d presided over the ceremony concluded.

Well, Aris had to bless the union. The only reason I was marrying this man instead of another was because of some prophecy. I didn’t know they made men so big. Maybe he wore armor because it was the only thing that fit.

Carson extended his hand, palm up.

I stared at it. What was this?

An indecipherable cluster of hard consonants and vowels barked from behind me. Estralian words. Carson’s language. Someone told him something.

He nodded and lowered his hand.

I would fulfill the Will of Aris. If this was the one meant to be my husband, I would do my duty. I reached out and took his hand.

It was rough, warm. Gentle. He held it lightly. Was he unsure about this, too?

Once upon a time, I was betrothed to someone else. Nothing but a line in a contract.

What did that make me now?

Was a line in a prophecy any better?

Carson ran his thumb over my fingers, sending a chill down my spine.

I belonged to him. First my parents, now him, someone almost entirely different.

It was all the same. I was just a commodity.

Bought and paid for.

Chapter Two

I dropped down heavily on the carriage seat and reached up to remove the veil.

“You’re going to want to leave that.”

I jumped.

An Arihan monk sat in the seat opposite, a book across his knees. It was as though Aris granted them the ability to turn invisible when they took their oath.

I readjusted the veil.

“Why?” I asked. “You’re an Arihan. What would it matter?”

“The honor of removing your veil belongs to your husband.”

Husband. The word hammered through my brain and settled in my gut, twisting. He’d never even seen my face.

I snorted a laugh. “He probably thinks I have something to hide.”

The monk lifted his shoulder. “Maybe. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before, hiding a dreadful face beneath the facade of tradition. And, it isn’t as though anyone is singing of your great beauty.”

Typical Arihan. As if some blue robes and chanting made you infallible.

“Thank you…oh, so much.” I shifted on the uncomfortable seat.

The monk turned the page. He hadn’t even stopped reading to toss insults. “You’re going to have to stop taking my comments personally. I’m not a teacher. No one learns Estralian to be a teacher. I am simply an expert sent to impart my knowledge.”

“That is the exact definition of a teacher,” I said.

“Yes, but teaching implies some altruism, which I’ve never been accused of having. Also, to address your outrage, your people, Reevens, tend to place high value in more cerebral qualities and more metaphoric comparisons of physical traits.”

“In other words, you can be ugly as long as you can read,” I snapped back.

“Indeed. Teaching accomplished.” He threw out his hand with a dramatic, mocking flourish. “Furthermore, writing songs of you would have been a waste of time.” He clapped the book shut. “Tell me, what do you already know of Estral?”

I had never learned much about my new husband’s country. Estral was inconsequential.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” I answered. “They don’t have any grasp of High Aris, the one true language.” I learned the holy language by my third Nameyear, six years old, enough to draft a contract. Of course, the only way for such a contract to be binding would be if an Arihan monk wrote it, which was a good thing, as my first contract had given me dibs on of all my brother’s future desserts. He’d handed over many a custard before Father caught on.

“You think them ignorant?”

“You don’t have to be able to read, as long as you’re pretty.”

“You think Carson is pretty?”

My face burned. It was dark and I was veiled, so he was unlikely to see my blush.

Byron, my former betrothed, had been pretty.

Carson was something entirely different.

Massive and gentle, but I’d only known him for an hour. I wasn’t used to seeing grown men without beards unless they were holy men, and I certainly hadn’t found any of them pretty.

“I didn’t say he was pretty,” I said. Carson was something…else.

“Hm.” The monk grinned.

I’d taken too long to answer.

“What would you know about it?” I asked. As if he had any experience in that arena.

“Fair little, I’m afraid.” He pulled back the curtain on the window and called out in those hacks and barks of Estralian.

The sun was still high and the wedding party was ready to move.

Carson trotted his horse over.

They spoke.

I watched Carson’s lips move around the sounds, forming mine into those shapes in response.

Pretty wasn’t the word for it. Handsome, of course, but not in the way my people judged such things.

I never thought much about it. I was spoken for and not allowed a wandering eye.

Carson turned to me and I looked away. He caught me staring.

Had he felt me watching?

The curtain fell back into place.

“On second look?” the monk asked.

“Barbaric,” I answered. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Seems you’ve made up your mind. Can’t imagine that will make your life easier.”

“What will they do with me? When we get there?”

“I’m not sure,” the monk answered. “You’re the first wife I’ve escorted.”

A monk? Admitting ignorance? That was a first.

“At least with my previous betrothed, I was afforded with time to get to know him. At the very least we can…”

What? He was my husband now. I belonged to him.

But I would be a queen one day. Might as well start my rule now.

“At the very least, I can be afforded my own chambers.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

I could feel him regarding me, assessing me. I turned my veiled face toward him.

“The hand-holding,” I interrupted his appraisal. “At the wedding. Is it an Estral custom? I should learn his customs.”

“When Estrals are courting, they often hold hands.”

“Why?”

“Well…” He paused.

Finally. Something he had to stop and think about.

“Estral is cold,” he said. “Maybe holding hands keeps them warm.”

“No, I meant, why bother with courting? We’re married.”

“I may be stepping beyond my area of expertise here, but I suppose he thought it would feel nice.”

“Huh.” A good enough answer as any.

“Did it not feel nice?”

It had. But I wasn’t about to admit that to a monk. “Do they kiss?”

“Of course.”

“In public?”

“Sometimes. Everyone kisses.”

I never had. Then again, I wasn’t a veteran of hand-holding, either. Most people kept their distance from royalty.

We sat in silence, bouncing and rocking with the carriage sway.

“Does that feel nice?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t know.”

At least I wasn’t the only one.

Someone knocked on the window.

I pulled open the curtain.

Carson stood right outside, eye level. I startled back.

He thrust a wineskin through the window.

“I told him you were thirsty.”

I wasn’t. I took the skin from him, careful not to touch him. Not yet.

“Tell him thank you for me, please.”

The monk spoke.

Carson, brow furrowed, nodded once and turned away, mission accomplished.

We had a long way to work up to the kissing.