Rodion slammed open the thick wooden door to the training hall and scanned the crowd until he found me. “Your king is dead,” he shouted across the room with a wide smile. 

          A tricky winter wind swirled snowflakes around, causing goosebumps and shivers among the trainees. 

          My odious husband, Duke Rodion Von Lubov, interrupted afternoon training with his unnecessary announcement. Something I had told him– countless times— not to do. His abrupt arrival startled the occupants of the knight training hall, especially the young trainees. How often did I have to warn people that holding sharp objects when unattentive only leads to bloodshed and missing limbs? There was something about the Astardoese people that caused most of the county's occupants to be insipid; it must be their god, Yahai. Gods accrued nothing but adversity and misfortune. Trapped here for three years, had only strengthened my resolve that Gods were a blight on the world, and worshiping them equaled dependency and weakness.

          “I don’t have a king anymore,” I grumbled. “They exiled me here to this god-blessed land.” He was too far away to hear my words.

          My opponent for the session–the captain of the Von Lubov knight order–faltered at my husband's announcement, stance relaxing and weapon lowered a fraction. Wide open. In two steps forward, I knocked the spear from his loose fingers and then swiped his feet from under him. He crashed to the dirt floor, drawing eyes from my rude husband back to me. A loose strand of my ugly gray hair tickled my cheek, and I brushed it aside.

          “Never look away from an opponent holding a weapon,” I warned the older man, who nodded begrudgingly, not wanting to acknowledge me but unable to disrespect my position. 

          If I cared about a commoner's opinion, I might have been unsettled by his and the other knights' regard for me. However, I knew my self-worth and skill, which was leagues above everyone in the training hall, Rodion included.

          The vice-captain rushed over to help the captain stand. The military force of Astardosa lacked discipline, strength training, and ingrained reflexes compared to the Traonina Guard of my home country. One of the new trainees fumbled her training stick and almost cut her partner. Disgraceful. She'd run laps around the estate until she puked if she made one more fatal mistake.

          My husband continued talking, as he did, fond of his own voice and imposing self-importance. “Your country opened an investigation into your king’s death. They claim it was an assassination.” 

          Quit saying ‘my king’ or ‘my country,’ they got rid of me. Traonia was— begrudgingly— no longer my country. My sister ensured that with the nasty slash along my spine, even three years later, I ached with the cold. I ground my teeth to keep them from chattering.

          “Arms down.” I barked the order before the insipid Captain could speak. Swords, spears, and knife points immediately tilted to the ground, the occupants stood at attention.  “Pathetic. On a battlefield or in a fight, most of you would be dead. Distraction kills. Stay focused.” 

          All fifty or so knights and trainees stilled. Loud clambering, yelling voices, and the thunk of wood hitting wood ceased; it seemed none of them were breathing. The hissing flicker of candles in lanterns around the gray walls of the rectangular hall, the howling wind let inside that threatened to blow out the lights, the unsteady heartbeat I attempted to calm, and Rodion’s boots crunching against the packed dirt of the worn-down floor were the only sounds.

          Behind the disposable man, his two lackeys, Viscountess Catherine Thoe Himbersham and her husband, Consort Count Gilbert, followed. Like descended testicles on a feral dog, the two matched Rodion in footsteps, temperament, ostentatious clothing, usefulness, and red lips.

          “Did you hear me, my lovely Claudia? The king of Traonia is dead.” Rodion waved a letter in the air, emphasizing his words.

          “I would kneel to a god for the chance to kill you,” I muttered under my breath. 

          Annoyed at my ugly husband's approach, I twirled the spear in my hands before jamming the dull wooden head into the packed dirt ground. The Consort Count flinched at my motion, and I flashed him a predatory smile. A muscle spasmed in my back, skin pulling tightly at the large scar. I needed to stretch more, but I refused to let it slow me down. More gray hair escaped the braid around my head, and I hastily swiped it back up. My breath fogged in front of my face, and the cold wind brushed against my flushed skin like a lover I had never known and tickled the fur that lined my neck and wrists. 

          I imagined shoving a spear down Rodion’s throat as he strode past the knights and squires, who all bowed and averted their eyes, murmuring ‘Your grace.’ His new clothing, shiny boots, and thin frame without definition painted a portrait of a luxurious life and little training. In a room full of dirt, muscle, effort, and skill, he stood out like a bloodstain on white linen. 

          Six years my senior, at thirty-two, I had heard various members of the nobility and even servants whisper about Rodion’s attractiveness. I knew of a few who had even tried to get into his bed while I was married to him, without luck. Not that he held any loyalty or love toward me. His long, thick, curly brown hair, deep hazel eyes, wide nose, and thin red lips disgusted me. I found him to be the ugliest man I’d ever seen. Not even the darkness of our bed at night could mask how hideous he was for me to feel a sliver of attraction.

          “Claudia,” he spat, jaw clenching. “I spoke. Did you hear me?”

          “Yes,” I answered, unwilling but forced by my status as the begrudging Consort Duchess to do so. What did it matter to me that the Tronina king had died? I’d been banished from Traonia, forced to seek refuge in Rodion’s pretty cage or face death. 

          Satisfied with my answer, Rodion continued chatting, waving the letter in the air. “It was sudden. During the day, he just keeled over dead. Lady Bulga wrote that she heard from a reliable source in the palace that he seized and bit his tongue off. Heart attack? Poisoning? Not many liked him anyway.” The duke loudly announced private information for the lower class to chew up and regurgitate for others later.

          He slapped the letter to my chest, barely strong enough to make me lean back. I ground my teeth at his blatant disrespect in front of the knights and disciples in the training hall. I read it once, then once again. My father, Duke Lawrence Von Shezel, hadn’t written to me since my banishment and rushed marriage. My hands shook. Cold? Excitement? 

          “Leave us,” I commanded the training hall. When not a soul moved, I raised my voice. Rodion may have been the first Duke of Astardosa, but I’d been personally training all of them. They owed their success and improvements to my training and work, not Rodion. He’d never done a single thing for them. Not even their budget. “Now.”

          They did as bidden. Once the hall cleared, except for Rodion’s lackeys, the wooden door closed. I scanned the content of the telegram and then looked up. The gray stone walls appeared to loom forward, the wooden ceiling pressed down upon me, and I couldn't breathe for a moment. Shadows wiggled and curled around me. I hadn’t dared to hope, but in my hands was an escape from my unwanted marriage. 

          “This is official?” I questioned the legitimacy of the contents.

          He ignored my question. “You are allowed back in Traonia for the memorial of the king. Your father has been benevolent enough to host us for a week. How nice, you can make peace with your siblings after their betrayal. Oh, what is that funny idiom your people use; bury the ax in the woods?" The Viscountess laughed behind a gloved hand.

          “Bury the hatchet in the snow,” I corrected. 

          No, what my siblings and I wanted to do to each other was far from civil and forgiving. A phantom ache in my shoulder pulled my attention. I rolled the muscle with a grimace. I wanted to bury a hatchet in Bianca’s face.

          My heart thundered at the thought of stepping on my family’s land again. To see my own people once more. No more red lips and ugly yellow hair. No more detestable gods and altars. To step into a more advanced civilization that paraded progress unburdened by magic. A letter from my father after our disastrous parting was suspicious. Yet, I would do anything to leave Astardosa and return to my homeland.

          As if sensing my revulsion for him and relishing in riling me up, Rodion gently stroked an ungloved, cold finger across my cheeks. My ring on his finger was a constant reminder of my unwanted marriage. Unable to lash out at him in any way, I did as I had learned to do and stood as still as a hare in a meadow, frozen in front of a predator. If given the chance, I would happily crush his chest with my boot, rip it open, and make him eat his shriveled heart.

          “I adore your angry face. Since the royal family will be there, that means the new Consort-princess will be in attendance. Your little obsession.” Rodion trailed a cold hand down to my neck. “What was her name? Serin? Yaken?” He yanked the chain around my neck with a small purple vial. Dangling it in front of me. “Oh, yes. Yarin.”

          I reached out and grabbed the spear next to me, black gloves creaking, needing something to grip as anger coursed through me, so hot I felt I had been set on fire. Yarin, that bitch. Had that commoner Sunsetter known her place, none of this would have happened, and I’d still be the Von Shezel heir. 

          My younger sister, Bianca, held an equal amount of blame. That little snow spider. 

        The mention of her name brought Yarin’s hideous face to mind. Dark skin tattooed with white symbols and runes to worship her god–Beliett–as one of the chosen priestesses, dark brown eyes, and beads in her hair that clicked with every movement, aggravating me. I despised her almost as much as I loathed Bianca. If I had one bullet and two of them in a room, I might hesitate before choosing. 

          “How did you find out?” I asked.

          It had been extremely challenging to retrieve, even with the help of my only loyal friend left, Edwith. Did he, too, betray me?

          “Once a snow wraith, always a soulless corpse.” Rodion lovingly cooed the slurs at me, his fingers brushing over my purple lips. I envisioned myself chewing off his fingers with a satisfying bite. “You’d think living here would make you less godist and vile.”

          Why did he need an audience to perform?

          “Gods do not belong in Traonia. We functioned and thrived for over a thousand years without gods or magic. Yarin is going to be the harbinger that kills us all. A commoner Sunsetter does not belong with a Traonian prince.” I pointed to my purple lips, the pride of our people, our rejection of gods and dreams. “A frosted-skinned kneeler belongs with her own kind.”

          “And yet, when they exiled you, into my arms you came running. A Von Shezel, in Astardosa, married to one of those kneeling god-worshipers you claim to loathe.” Rodion challenged my words; the argument was old. 

          He dropped the purple vial around my neck. I stuffed it back into my shirt. 

          “Survival.” I spat the word.  

          I didn't want to die. There was too much that I wanted and that I needed to accomplish, and a single setback would not deter me from my goal. I would be the Von Shezel Duchess. Throwing my sister down a cliff, executing Yarin, imprisoning my brother, cutting Serris’ hands off, and skewering my husband are simply extra desires. Like the flair of a garnish on a perfectly cooked meal. Dead people couldn't reenact revenge.

          “Hypocrite,” he whispered, his favorite word for me. His red lips brushed against my purple ones. The wooden spear in my hands creaked under the intense pressure in extremes, attempting not to drive it through his chest. His ring on my left hand was another unpleasant reminder. “Strength without intelligence makes you as dangerous as a rabid bear. One good shot and you’re gone. My lovely Claudia shouldn’t worry her pretty, empty head over that; you knew I was intelligently superior, that's why we made the perfect match. I’ll do all the thinking, and you just stab what you’re told.”

          Smarter my ass.

          “On Traonina land, you are not protected by the law of marital accident. I could twist your neck the moment we cross over the border,” I said.

          “You  stupid. Beautiful. Loyal. Rabid. Dog.”  He kissed each word onto my unresponsive lips. “Without my protection, you’ll be executed. Remember, you lost the duel. We leave tonight.”

          Gods bless me; I hated him with every molecule of my body. Red lips spilled bloody lies.

          He smashed our lips together, my teeth biting into the soft skin of my lips. Rodion’s unwanted kisses trailed up my face to my temple in a manner that might have been sweet had I not experienced how much he enjoyed causing pain to his intimate partners. I didn’t respond. Soon, he’d grow bored and return to the stables and his thoroughbred horses, or whatever he did there.

          His lips moved against my skin as he whispered, “Be careful, Claudia. Your greed will consume you.” One of his hands reached around and trailed his fingertips lightly up my spine, tracing the jagged path of the scar. “It takes more than strength to be on top. Next time, try not to make enemies of everyone; allies can mean the difference between success and a swift execution. You are mine, Claudia, and you need to accept that. You made a deal with darkness when you accepted my marriage offer. Let go of your idiotic notions of getting revenge and becoming Duchess; those won’t make you happy. People like you don’t know what happiness is, not that you deserve it. ”

          Rodion left with an unnecessary flourish of his winter cape as if he’d spoken some profound words that needed to be ruminated. The Viscountess blew me a mock kiss, her husband at her heels, both following in Rodion’s shadow. What a blowhole. I was aware of my own self-inflated ego and pride, yet not even a king's ego could ever hold a candle to the lighthouse that was Rodion’s idea of his own self-importance. What he had gotten from our marriage, other than the enormous sums of money my father had paid, still escaped me. I suspected he got the most enjoyment from my hatred of him and how he would exert power over me to bend me to his will. 

          We used each other, and he’d gotten the better bargain. Every day, I regretted my decision to marry him when I should have just challenged BiancaBinaca to another duel, despite being heavily injured from our last one. By the time I’d mostly healed, a year later, it had been too late.

          “Die.” I spat into the dirt.

          I twirled on the spot and hurled the spear through the air. It pierced the dead center of the nearest training doll, the sharp point shoved out the back. I hated him. I hated this place. I hated my sister and Yarin. I despised the gods. I was not made for this place and these people. My happiness would be going home and becoming the Von Shezel Duchess.

          Me. Me. Me. I sounded like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Admonishing my own thoughts did little to derail them or elevate them to more mature reason. There was nothing wrong with wanting what rightfully belonged to me. What was wrong was how cowardly I’d been since my almost assassination attempt at the hands of my siblings. Using the excuse–even to myself–that I was recovering did not absolve me of my hiding. What use was my strength if I could not act upon it?

          My thoughts locked behind tight lips, my hands tied behind my back, and my body strung up and pulled in every direction. This wasn’t living. I wasn't free. 

          “Just another pretty cage.” I glared at the gray walls of the training hall where I spent most of my time away from Rodion and his ostentatious house. 

          If I could gain the favor of the crown princess–soon to be Queen–then I could be acquitted and my marriage released. For such a favor, I would perform any task requested of me. I’d failed previously; however, I would not make the same mistake twice. It was no secret how strong and capable I was. The letter was safely tucked in the pocket of my black pants.

          Soon I would be free and happy. 

          I lowered my head, a few granite gray strands of hair escaping the tightly woven braid around my head. A smile stretched my face, and my shoulders shook as I attempted to smother my mirth in my hands. Small, sharp noises still bled through my lips. Freedom was so close; I could almost physically taste it.

          “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them. I will be Duchess.”

          Composing myself, letting my familiar cold mask of indifference and distaste settle over my face and body, I walked over to the door and pulled it open. A winter wind blew past me, swirling a few snowflakes. A sea of yellow and light brown heads all turned to me. Their red lips chapped from the winter cold were signs of their devotion to their god, Yahai. Disgusting, I detested gazing upon their faces and features. 

          Standing above them, as it should be, I looked over the knights and trainees I had been whipping into shape for the last three years. They whispered that I was the Ice Duchess, aloof, cruel, and dead. Who was I to let down their perception of me? 

          Near the back, two trainees huddled together, hunched shoulders, giggling. Useless nobles' children goofed off and took training like an extensive, luxurious vacation from home. People like them were what annoyed me the most, little effort and large rewards. 

          “Kiera, Bastion, twenty laps.” I barked, the two standing up straight. “The rest of you, get in. We have three more hours of practice. I will see improvements.”