The BloodBound Heir

It all started with the Bridal Path...

Every five years, girls ranging from sixteen to twenty years are selected from Covosna to walk the Bridal Path. I was seven the first time I saw them. The brides were absolutely stunning as they walked by in their bright, silk gowns. I imagined myself as one of them, with my dark, almost ebony hair done up in waves, with pearls and gems strewn throughout the locks. A beautiful fantasy. My nursemaid was frantic by the time she found me up the pine tree hours later.

The processions were still going when I was dragged out of the tree by a stable hand. I was terrified she’d tell my father I'd been up the tree, but like most of my childhood, the Duke wasn’t around to tell and my mother never cared. Always absent, even in her presence. Their union only resulted in one child, and while neither spoke of the details, neither of them got what they wanted out of the arrangement; a Magebound heir.

The second time I saw the processions, I was twelve. I’d had quite a large growth spurt the year prior, nearly six inches to the seamstresses’ dismay, and I could see the brides without needing to climb up the tree. Hillcrest Manor stood outside the capital, but along the main road that led directly to the docks. I stood in front of the large iron gates, in awe as the beautiful brides passed by.

The way they moved was so graceful, the bottom hems of their gowns gliding weightlessly along the cobblestones. I stared enviously at the embroidery of their dresses, done with the most luminous of threads and glass beads. But then their expressions caught my eye. They ranged from blank and stoic, to resigned and sad. Few of them smiled, none of them cried.

When I was seventeen, I watched the procession from the shadows of the forest, far away from the crowds of the city wishing them well on their voyages, away from the staff of my own house who did the same along the road. Hiding out of sight, I watched their chests heave with silent grief. Upon their wrists they wore matching metal bands, intricately constructed with a carefully laid charm that forced their steps ever forward away from their homes.

Since the kingdom of Astalia had been conquered over fifty years ago, this was the way it was. The Empire of Etheroz executed all of the Astalian nobility, and required that thirty brides were given in marriage every five years to the empire during the Festival of Trasenmar. To walk the Bridal Path is to sell your sisters and daughters. Sold as tribute by their own families to cross the Emerald Sea, none of them were ever to be seen again.