The Marriage Game

In Which Magic is Scary

 When Camila was twelve, she went for a walk in the forest.

There'd been a horrible fire the night before—a rebel had tried to burn down the palace and only partially succeeded—and the air stank of smoke. Plodding along a run-down path near the garden, she'd come along a small group of people sitting quietly in a circle.

Their eyes were closed and they held hands like a kindergarten class playing duck duck goose. Camila remembered them vaguely: a woman old enough to be her grandmother, freckles dotted across her wrinkled palms, a young boy with deathly pale skin and a blue cast on his skinny arm, a girl missing a pinky, with bubblegum stuck in her blond hair. Camila stopped, wondering what they were doing sitting alone in the rainforest on a humid day, their eyes closed, humming a song she'd never heard before.

Clearly, she'd interrupted something private. Camila had turned to go and a stick cracked under her foot. The older woman looked up with cloudy blue eyes and a hungry smile. She beckoned Camila over. They were praying to the Moon Goddess, she'd said, her words dripping with devotion. Camila had nodded respectively and murmured something about her mother needing her.

The woman had sunk her yellowing nails into Camila's arm. "Faith is stronger than fear," she'd whispered with a passionate fervor. "Are you so scared you cannot help your people? Sit. Pray. We need you now more than ever."

Even at twelve, Camila understood that sometimes you needed to suffer and smile for the sake of the kingdom. So she summoned a polite smile. She sat with them and attempted to hum, all the while brainstorming possible escape routes. She didn't know the tune of the song, so she just hummed random notes and hoped no one was looking at her. Every now and again, she started to leave and the young boy would tug on her arm.

"Please," he'd whisper, staring up at her with wide, unblinking eyes. "Stay."

And she'd stay a little longer. Wasn't that her duty: to be there for the people?

Nineteen-year-old Camila, trapped in a hotel room with a thin door separating her from Declan's murderous allies, felt like the awkward girl she used to be: trapped.

"We could try the window?" Alex suggested.

"Bulletproof and reinforced with silver. Declan had it specially made." Camila grabbed two kitchen knives. They weren't quite her ornate set of daggers, but they would do. "How'd you get onto the roof?"

"Gwen did some kind of spell."

"I'm assuming Gwen is the witch and she's long gone?"

"Yep." Alex loaded his gun and clicked off the safety. "We could make a trade? Give them Declan if they let us go free?"

There was knock on the door. The hinges rattled. "I'm running out of patience," someone snapped. It was a woman's voice, hard as steel and equally unforgiving.

Camila nodded, darting into the laundry room. Declan blinked when she came in. "Wow," he said, yawning. "I thought you'd have at least another hour."

His upper body was still bare—Alex hadn't bothered to cram him into a shirt—so Camila kept her gaze fixed on the wall behind his head. She couldn't afford to get distracted.

Her heart ached.

"Want to bet on how long you'll last?" Declan tugged at the ropes, biceps flexing. He glared at her. "I say ten minutes. Fifteen if you're lucky."

Camila flexed her wrist, stretching her range of motion. She felt surprisingly flexible. Ready for a fight. Alex nodded briefly at her. She shot him a brief smile.

"In fact, maybe you should just surrender now." Declan studied his fingernails. "I'm trying to decide how to kill that bodyguard of yours. I might go easy on him if you cooperate."

"You're horrible," she growled.

"Maybe. But I got you to respond. Are you really planning on fighting my pack? Because that's not just petty, Camila, that's stupid. They'll rip you to bits."

She pulled her knee to her chest, stretching out her hip joint. She jogged in place, letting her feet bounce lightly off the tiled floor.

Alex called through the door. "We're willing to make a deal. Declan for our freedom."

Declan snorted. "That's not going to work."

"Shut up!" Camila kicked his chair. It slid across the laundry room and toppled over. She winced.

Oops.

At least Declan had shut up.

He smirked at her from the laundry room floor. "Was that supposed to intimidate me? Because you don't have the guts to actually hurt me."

"Try me." Camila clenched her jaw and tightened her grip on the knife. The idea of hurting him made her stomach curdle—stupid mating bond—but he didn't need to know that.

The buzz of conversation in the hotel hallways had quieted. Camila tensed. She missed her set of daggers, each one crafted with witch magic, perfectly balanced, and forged from dwarven steel. At least she had the kitchen knife, poor substitute that it was.

"That's not going to work for us," the woman said. "You might want to step away from the door. We're coming in."

A warning. How considerate.

The door shattered with a resounding bang. A cloud of paint dust and wood splinters splattered across the bedroom. The Vindicators filed inside.

They moved like an army unit. Every movement was clean. Synchronized. The lead woman reminded Camila of a bodybuilder, lean and muscular. Her short hair emphasized angular cheekbones and sharp grey eyes.

"That's Zora," Declan piped up helpfully. "She's killed more people than I have."

Despite herself, Camila shivered. Zora certainly looked murderous. There wasn't a hint of emotion in her dark grey eyes or a scrap of fat on her body. She looked like she could snap Camila's neck with one hand.

"Last chance, princess," Zora said. When she smiled, her eyes glowed silver. "Surrender. I won't ask again."

"You really should con-" Declan started.

"We'll kill your leader." Camila raised her knives. She set her feet in a fighting stance and clenched her jaw. Alex took a step forward, blocking her body with his own.

"He's your mate and if you do, you're out of bargaining chips. I'm calling your bluff."

Camila's heart stuttered. She took a slow step towards Declan. The longer she took, the sooner she could come up with another plan.

Zora snapped her fingers.

Camila frowned. What was that supposed to accomplish?

Someone grabbed her arm. Alex, pulling her backwards, towards Zora and away from Declan. Her foot snagged on a cabinet. She managed to keep herself steady. Camila looked up-

The ropes around Declan's wrists were moving, slithering off of him and pooling onto the floor. An invisible hand lifted the chair, bringing it to its feet. There was a light popping noise.

The silver bracelet shattered.

"Oh. Right." Declan nodded, as if remembering something. "She's a witch too. Now how did you feel about surrendering again?"

Thank you for reading! We're definitely deep into the story now and I'm so grateful you've chosen to stick with it. I hope you're enjoying!

-Harley