Winter's Bride - Candace Wondrak Page 0,22
into that head of hers.
“I am Morana. What do I call you?”
Waiting a few moments to respond, I frowned. “Winter.”
“Surely you have a name.”
Grinding my jaw, I said, “Abner, though I would prefer it if you continued to call me Winter.” Ishan might like to go by his name, but it was easier for him to separate from his power, from his season. Me? The cold was too much a part of me, as much as I hated it. “Why are you wandering these halls, Morana? Were you not told to stay in your room?”
“I was,” she spoke with a shrug. My icy tone clearly did not affect her. I supposed that was a good thing, for some of my old brides, they’d flinched after every single word I said to them.
I lifted my eyebrows, waiting for her to say more.
“My parents often told me to do a lot of things,” Morana spoke, breaking eye contact with me as she wandered to the windows lining my back. I did not lean forward and peer over my shoulders to watch her, even though I wanted to. This one… I did not know what to make of her. “Things which I ended up ignoring.”
After a while, she reappeared in front of me, though she stood less than half the distance away that she had before. The attitude on her face was almost refreshing, and I found myself waiting with bated breath to hear what she would say next.
“Including finding a husband,” she finished.
“Normally, are humans not forced to listen to the word of their parents? I was under the impression it was common law, especially for females.” Girls were bred to listen to their parents, and then to their husbands. It was how every other bride of mine was raised, although their subservience was never a saving grace. If anything, it only helped to fill them with my chill faster.
A tiny smirk grew on her face, though I could tell it was not one of happiness. “Yes, us females are supposed to worship you men, aren’t we? Magical gods aside,” she added with a wave of her hand. “I had plenty of suitors who would’ve taken me from my parents’ home and wed me.” She sounded almost bitter as she relayed that part to me.
I could not help but wonder aloud: “Then why didn’t you?”
Morana let out a chuckle. “I wanted freedom. I wanted to make my own choices. I came up with the idea of building myself a home on the outskirts of my village, content to be the town crazy.”
That… I’d never heard of anything similar from any of my other brides, so I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I didn’t. I kept quiet, feeling myself continue to frown at this girl and her attitude.
“But then your messenger came to town,” she went on. “He chose my sister as your bride.”
“Yet here you are, instead.”
“Yes, here I am. I took her place, because she’d already found her happiness.” Morana broke away her strong gaze, staring at something on the floor. “I’m under no impression that I will be happy here, but I would rather be here than force my sister to marry you while knowing she would never like it.”
Her words… were confusing. Most others who came here came here with anticipation in their hearts, hope in their veins. My other brides had wanted to find their happiness with me, wanted to be the missing piece I was searching for.
They never were, but that did not stop them from hoping, nor me from wishing it, too.
“You search for a new bride every twenty-five years,” she said, those eyes locking with mine once more, boldness and defiance resting in their depths. “I’m under no impression that will stop after me. I don’t know what happens to your brides after twenty-five years, but I will tell you this.”
I watched as she took another step closer to me, then another. Morana only stopped when she stood just before me, close enough I could feel the heat radiating off her, the fire in her soul. She did not gaze upon me with awe or worship, did not hold a kernel of adoration for me, and yet she held every ounce of my attention in spite of all that.
“I will not spend the rest of my life sitting in that room, doing everything you ask of me. I will be your bride, but I will be no slave. Once I marry you,