Chapter Two

“Marriage?! Father, how could you agree to such a thing?” Cyrus Grenwood demanded, forcefully putting down the knife he was sharpening before he accidentally stabbed himself with it. It had become rather dull from his recent whittling hobby, and it had been in need of a proper blade for quite some time, but that wasn’t the point. He could not be getting married. Not again.

“What unheavenly powers have possessed you? Cyrus, you simply cannot flee your familial duties.” His father pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. “We have discussed this a myriad of times. Every young lad must take on a wife and grow the family name. And now it is your turn. You hath seen your cousin, yes? Markus? He got married last year, and he’s doing quite splendidly.”

“Markus has no ambition! I want to be an explorer, father, not a husband! I simply cannot traverse the Glaucous peaks with an ailing wife and a crying baby,” He reasoned. His father had tried to find him a wife ever since he was sixteen, and he did everything in his power to convince the bride’s parents that he would be a stain on their family name. From forging letters to releasing a honey badger into a courtroom, he’d done it all.

Though it now seems that all these efforts over the last five years have failed.

“You will be married to Lady Dahrian! And that is the last I will hear of it! I will not have you sabotaging this arrangement, young man.”

Cyrus felt the floor tilt beneath his boots.

“Lady Dahrian? Lady Dahrian Brown?”

“Yes, the Browns offered quite a large dowry for her, and I am friends with Lord Brown, so it works out for both of us.”

Cyrus stared at the wall in shock as if to say, “Are you hearing this madness?”

The wall didn’t respond. It was only a wall after all.

“I’m going to be wed with an aetherin? I could never marry one of those vile beasts!”

From what he heard of Dahrian, she was dreadful. She seldom went outside, and when she did, she was always either wielding a sword or in town with the blacksmith’s daughter. And Cyrus never noticed anything about her physical appearance or beauty because he was always distracted by those blasted wings on the side of her head. He shuddered. He would have to be seeing those ears for the rest of his life, apparently.

Bollocks. I should’ve used a skunk.

“Lord Brown said she was a bright young lady and was very charming. Now, I only met her as a young lass, but I’m sure she’s not completely unfortunate looking as of now.”

Cyrus didn’t respond. He was already plotting how he could get out of this. He could… run away! Alas. That didn’t work the last time he tried. Maybe he could beg? Plead? Never mind. He could fake his own death, mayhaps? Nay. Too risky.

He needed to think.

“I’m going into town to get some air,” Cyrus muttered, already rising and turning towards the back door. He needed a plan. A good plan. A plan that would work. He hastily donned his jacket and cloak.

“Alright. I have already alerted the guards to make sure you don’t run away,” his father called after him. The sound of a slamming door responded.

The Oclen countryside was quiet at this time in the morning, and the sun was just peeking over the mountains with a warm hello. It was still quite dark as Cyrus left his family’s property and took the main road to town, but the sky was slowly morphing into a distant orange. The pine trees along the path danced slowly in the slight breeze, bending and dipping subtly to the wind’s will, commanded by an unheard melody. The tangy scent was almost painfully strong, and it certainly didn’t help that the air around him was as cold as the ice beneath his boots. Snow flurries spun around him, playing with his dark blonde locks and stinging his cheeks and nose a brilliant pink. He pulled at the collar of his jacket, trying to gain a little warmth and protection from the frigid breeze. Every breath was a cloud of white in front of him.

To take his mind off the cruel weather, he pondered the news that brought him out here in the first place. His thoughts raced as he pictured the future. He didn’t know much about romance, just what he read in books. Chivalry. Holding hands. Occasionally rescuing a hapless damsel from the greedy clutches of a lesser dragon. And of course, true love.

Ew?

Hmm…

He wasn’t fully sure what he felt about love yet.

He wandered down the path with romance on his mind and was entirely lost in his thoughts, which was a mistake. He collided straight into a girl.

“Ah!” she yelped, stumbling back into the snow.

“My most humble apology! I didn’t see you,” Cyrus stammered, the words tripping and tumbling as he spoke. The sun carved its golden way through the pine needles, revealing the maiden. Her blue eyes met his from under the hood of a cloak. A small smile broke the awkwardness between them. There was also something oddly familiar about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe he had seen her around town?

“Here, let me help you up,” Cyrus said, holding out a hand to the lady. “I am incredibly sorry.”

She took his outstretched hand and he pulled her out of the snowbank.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t watching my step either,” she said, smoothing her dress.

Cyrus didn’t respond for a moment. He was too enamoured with how beautiful this girl was. Her skin, though very fair, flushed a rosy pink in the cold. Dark curls of hair framed her face and pooled from under her hood around her collarbone. And her face—it was the sort of face that would inspire a poet.

After a moment of ogling, he not only realized he had been staring, but he was also still holding her hand. He let go, clearing his throat.

“What is a fair maiden like thyself doing out here this early in the morn?” he asked, breaking the silence. Her smile wavered, and Cyrus frantically wondered if he had somehow offended her.

“I… I just needed some air.”

“Ah, yes, of course. Air. A noble pursuit indeed.”

Oh dear. Why did you say that? Cyrus demanded to himself. There is no possible response to that answer. She must think you’re a fool with no social skills.

Cyrus was, in fact, a fool with no social skills.

“And what are you doing out here? Mysteriously wandering the morning roads before dawn?”

“Mysterious? Me? Nay. I was merely… uh…” He scrambled for a quick reason. He landed on the word, ‘reflecting.’ It seemed casual enough. “Reflecting. A man needs time to think.”

“What about?” She asked.

“Well,” he began. He didn’t want to tell her about Dahrian Brown. “My family has decided to wed me against my will.”

For a moment, the maiden had a strange look in her eyes. He really wished he could figure out who this girl was. “Really?” she asked, the smile returning to her lips, which were either the color of carnelians or roses. Cyrus couldn’t decide, but he knew he should probably stop looking at her lips. “I thought young lads liked to be married off.”

“Well, I got promised to a horrid wretch. I would have preferred a pretty maiden, but alas, I did not get to choose,” he said with a small chuckle. “Anyway, I long for freedom more than anything else.”

“I see,” she said.

“And what about you, m’lady? Is air truly your pursuit, or are you also avoiding something?” He tried to give her a smile, or at least appear a little charming, but his face didn’t seem to be working right. It was probably the cold.

She pressed her lips together. Carnations, perhaps. “I’m also being married against my will. I didn’t get to choose him, so he’s some self-righteous prat that my parents picked.”

“Do you jest?”

She shook her head, and the slight grin returned once more. Cyrus assumed she was having some sort of heart issue because of the strange fluttering in his chest. He probably needed a good bleeding.

“That’s rather unfortunate,” he said.

“Indeed.”

The two exchanged shy smiles again. He suddenly realized that this was the girl he wanted to marry if he had the choice. Not Dahrian Brown with her creepy wings. Maybe he could change his father’s mind now that he was finally willing to give up his title of bachelor for this lady. At that moment, Cyrus took a quick, deep breath and decided to take a risk.

He held out his hand once more and put on a more sophisticated accent. “Well, while we are both still unmarried, shall I take thee to town, m’lady?”

She blinked, and the sunlight was caught in her lashes. Cyrus caught a brief emotion that crossed her face. Alarm. Then, it quickly vanished, and he wasn’t sure if he had actually seen it.

“Sure,” she gave him another lop-sided smile and took his arm.

As the sky turned into a peachy blue, they strolled into town, discussing silly pleasantries and other things. When the two finally made it to the Square, the maiden waved goodbye, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

That’s when Cyrus realized his terrible mistake.

He didn’t get her name.

“M’lady!” he called after her, desperately searching for a deep red cloak amongst the sea of commoners. “I didn’t get your name!”

But there was no response from his new acquaintance.

As the young maiden passed by the flower shop, she ducked behind the stand, finally out of sight of the man she had just met. She sighed in relief as she took off her hood. Her winged ears quivered from being forced to sit still so long, and her hands trembled from fear.

She risked a glance over the counter.

So that was Cyrus Grenwood.