Chapter 2 — Chapter 2

Riven (First Person)

Vaelen has gone completely still, his mouth falling open. I’m sure my own face mirrors his—jaw slack, eyes wide with disbelief. “Melt a maiden’s heart? You mean take a chosen mate?” I ask, my voice rough with the weight of the words.

I won’t pretend the thought hasn’t flickered through my mind before. But I’ve never truly believed there’s a mate waiting out there for us. Since our birth, we triplets—Theryn, Vaelen, and I—have been an enigma. Three of a kind where none should exist, bound by a mind link that hums constantly between us. A sharp ache pierces my skull if we clash too fiercely, and we feel each other’s emotions deeper than any of our other siblings. Sometimes I wonder if we were a mistake, if the goddess herself stripped us of fated mates to halt our bloodline.

“You haven’t heard the rest,” Quinn mutters, his tone bitter. “You think he’d make this simple? Goddess forbid we’d solve anything without a mountain of effort.”

“What does he mean?” I turn to our father, my stomach twisting. “Dad?”

He stands at the head of the meeting room, a towering figure against the frost-etched windows. The air is heavy with the scent of old wood and wax, the cold of Frostveil seeping through the stone walls. His hands clasp behind his back as he speaks. “Since my grandfather’s reign, our ties with the Sahari Dominion have been frayed. When I claimed the Frostveil Dominion and King Naseem took the throne of the Everlasting Desert, we forged a truce. Our lands slowly mended. For years, we’ve negotiated a true settlement, and now, the King and Queen Consorts have agreed to a peace treaty and alliance.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “Under one condition.”

Theryn, ever the skeptic, leans forward. “And what’s that?”

A shadow flickers in Dad’s eyes—something raw and resentful—before it vanishes. “To prove his sincerity in this new bond, King Naseem has offered… a gift,” he says, the word dripping with disdain.

“A gift?” I echo, brows furrowing.

Dad’s gaze hardens. “His youngest daughter. The Princess of the Everlasting Desert is said to be beautiful, sharp-witted, and blessed with rare talents—abilities only a few in their royal bloodline possess.”

I frown, sifting through what little I know of Sahari lore. “If her powers are so rare, why send her away?”

Dad’s eyes meet mine, searching. “Can’t you guess?”

Memories of whispered tales surface. Though human, certain Sahari princes and princesses wield mysterious gifts, revered and feared as near-divine. Or perhaps as monsters. The king takes multiple concubines to ensure heirs, hoping to pass on these secrets, yet not all children inherit them. Is she a liability, then? A power too dangerous to keep close?

Vaelen’s voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and cold. “He’s selling her to us, isn’t he? Banishing her to the rough North, where he assumes only savages dwell?”

“We don’t deal in slaves,” Dad snaps, his tone clipped. “Fortunately, he doesn’t know that, or she’d be pawned off elsewhere. But this is a delicate political dance. Frankly, King Naseem is a viper draped in silk, and reasoning with him is futile. Whether we approve or not, his daughter arrives in a matter of days.”

Vaelen’s silver eyes narrow. “You want us to court her?”

“What will be, will be,” Dad replies, evasive as ever. He paces a step, the furrow in his brow deepening. “You know one of you will succeed me as king. All three of you are strong, skilled, each with unique strengths. Choosing has grown harder with every year.”

Quinn interjects, his voice low. “There’s another reason Naseem sends his precious daughter, beyond ridding himself of a perceived threat. She’s only nineteen, said to be kind and clever, blessed with a gift—whatever that may be.”

“She’s a sacrifice,” I mutter, the realization bitter on my tongue. “He means for her to marry into our kingdom.”

Dad’s expression darkens further, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I won’t force a marriage. But I task you with winning her heart, in whatever way you see fit. If love blooms between her and one of you, all the better. Rumors claim she’s been caged within palace walls, forbidden from speaking to anyone her age. She’s a lonely soul, and human at that. I want to see which of you can open a wounded heart, make her feel truly welcome here. Politically, her alliance could strengthen whoever rules, as an advisor with her unique perspective. Personally…” He scoffs, a rare crack in his composure. “I’d relish showing Naseem we’re not the brutes he imagines, that we can cherish his child better than he ever did.”

A heavy silence settles over us. My chest tightens at the thought of her—a girl younger than us, traded like a token. What if she’s too broken to let anyone near? “Dad,” I say quietly, “what if none of us succeeds? What if she’s too scarred to trust?”

“Then we fall back on Quinn’s plan with chosen mates,” he grumbles, waving a hand dismissively.

Silence stretches again until Theryn, of all people, breaks it. “Alright, I’m in,” he says, his usual sharpness softened by resolve.

I blink at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m tired of the uncertainty. Dad needs to choose an heir, and if she suits one of us and it helps, I’m willing. We’ve danced around this long enough. One of us must step up.”

Vaelen smirks faintly. “And if she despises you on sight?”

Theryn shrugs, a rare grin tugging at his lips. “Then you two bleeding hearts will still try, won’t you?”

Vaelen nods, his gaze distant. “I’m not against helping her. A young woman neglected her whole life deserves kindness.” His voice catches slightly, and I feel a pang through our bond—a memory of our own isolation as triplets, shunned as oddities in our early years. It stings even now.

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. “I can view it as a mission.” But doubt gnaws at me. I’m no savior. What if I’m the last person she needs—a schemer dubbed Master Manipulator? Still, Theryn’s right. We crave resolution. We each carry the drive of an Alpha King, but only one can wear the crown. And beneath it all, I sense Dad’s hiding something—a deeper reason for wanting her here.

As we leave the meeting room, the weight of his “brilliant idea” lingers. He even uncorked a bottle of wine to toast it, but I know brilliance, and this isn’t it. Too much can go wrong. What if she’s so traumatized she loathes us? What if she simply finds none of us worthy? She might need a healer, not three suitors vying for her trust. If we fail, Dad’s no closer to naming an heir by next year’s end—a deadline he’s quietly set, though unspoken today.

“What’s the old man scheming now?” I mutter to Vaelen and Theryn as we stride down the icy corridor, our boots echoing on stone.

Vaelen’s voice hums through our link, quiet but clear. *He’s afraid to choose. He thinks picking one will fracture us, that envy will sever our bond.*

*It won’t,* Theryn growls back, his mental tone as gruff as his spoken one. *We’re not like others. This connection—it won’t let us turn on each other.*

I sigh aloud. “We know that. But no one else understands. They see alpha blood, leadership drive, and expect a fallout when the crown passes.”

Vaelen nods, his silver eyes glinting under the torchlight. “Come on, the blizzard’s passed. Let’s assess the damage outside.”

I smirk despite myself. “Work? Are you feverish?”

He rolls his eyes. “Hilarious.”

A lanky figure barrels toward us, waving wildly. Nevyn, our younger brother, looks almost comical with his towering height and delicate features—pale skin, green eyes, near-black hair spilling past his shoulders. Theryn’s nagged him to cut it, but Vaelen shut that down quick, insisting we accept Nevyn as he is. The guilt of being a “bad brother” worked like a charm.

Vaelen snags Nevyn in a headlock, ruffling his hair. “Now you look funny.”

Nevyn scowls, smoothing his locks. “I was about to say I missed you, but I’m reconsidering.”

“We missed you too,” Vaelen says with a grin. Despite sharing black hair, they couldn’t look more different—Nevyn soft and pretty, Vaelen rugged with a broad jaw and those striking silver eyes, a genetic quirk that makes him stand out even among us.

“Speak for yourself,” I tease. “I didn’t miss my irritating siblings.”

“Really? Not even me?” Maelis chimes in, her laugh light. She’s my weakness, sharing my red hair and disdain for royal pomp. We thrive on independence.

“You, I always miss,” I grin, grabbing her hands and spinning her. She snorts mid-laugh, a sound so her.

“Are you truly the oldest?” Selira’s voice cuts in, regal as ever. I hadn’t noticed her approach. She’s always dressed impeccably, relishing her princess role—a trait I find insufferable at times.

“Wrong. Theryn is,” I smirk, relishing her faint flush. “Can’t tell us apart, Princess Selira?”

Her lips tremble, but Theryn glares at me. “Ignore him, Selira.”

Vaelen nudges her with a smile. “Good thing one of us minds etiquette. Keeps Dad from keeling over.”

I roll my eyes at his goody-two-shoes act, though I can’t help but love him for it.

“Speaking of Dad,” Maelis says, brushing her short hair with a mischievous grin, “why’s he so pleased today?”

“Secret,” I reply. “Tell you, and we’d have to bury you.”

“Who’s getting buried?” Eibhlin charges in, leaping into Theryn’s arms. She always picks him, the grumpiest of us, as if he’s a brooding bear to cuddle. At sixteen, she’s underestimated for her youthful look—pale as moonlight, white-blonde hair, always in black with that eerie doll in tow.

“No one,” Vaelen sighs.

Theryn tries to pry her off, but she clings tight, tiny yet stubborn. I grin. “How about tea and cake in the kitchen?”

He frowns. “Weren’t we checking the blizzard damage?”

“You know the saying,” I quip. “No cake, no make.”

“I’ve never heard that,” he deadpans.

“Don’t be dull,” I retort. “Let’s spoil the little ones for an hour, then we’ll tackle the damage all day.”

I sling arms around Maelis and Nevyn, steering them toward the kitchen. The chef adores me; there’s always extra sweets stashed away. Eibhlin drags Vaelen and Theryn along, Selira gliding behind. My thoughts drift briefly to the princess—will she ever laugh with a family like this, or is she too broken for even that? The question lingers as Maelis glances back at my brothers. “Nevyn and I will help later, promise.”

Vaelen chuckles. “Outvoted again.”

“Aren’t we always?” Theryn grumbles.

He’s not wrong, but none of us truly mind. Mom often spoke of her loneliness as an only child. As maddening as siblings can be, I’d never trade them. Still, as we near the kitchen, a servant’s hushed voice catches my ear down the hall: “The Sahari caravan—they say it’s closer than expected.” My pulse quickens. Ready or not, she’s almost here.