All of the others didn't think she was beautiful enough. They told him he could easily find an elf that surpassed her in every way, but he wanted her. She was to be the King's Bride.

Her hair was long, and the first thing that drew his eyes to her. Bright reds curled wildly together with oranges, like fire. Exactly like fire. Her skin was pale and freckled all over. This was all fine. It was the other things that his advisors disapproved of. Although shaped like a woman, she was taller than average and comprised mostly of lean muscle. This, while not desired, could be excused easily. Her eyes were not a light color like most red-haired girls; instead they were so black they were nearly brown. Her nose was thin and turned up, and her mouth, although not too wide, sported a pair of very large lips.

Marak liked all of these things about her. His advisors did not. They were so picky lately, only the best genes for the King's Wife, and therefore for the next king. They wanted either dominant or extremely striking traits in his wife, and they demanded an elf. This Marak, while talented in magic, was not quite as talented as his grandfather had been. Marak Catspaw was a name he never wanted to hear again. He was tired of constantly being compared to him.

But this, this girl was perfect in his eyes. She sat, beautiful and quiet, on the pier of Hallow Lake. Her long dress hiked up and her corset forcing her into an awkward sitting position. She dipped her dainty feet into the water, daydreaming. He daydreamed as well, but about different things. About her.

"Are you sure she can bear a strong king, Marak?" One of his advisors asked. He was a short goblin with a shaved head and a large beak.

"I'm sure." He replied. He was never a man of many words.

"But her aunt is the innkeeper. What if she breaks her deal because of her niece's kidnapping?"

"Then we will find someone else to run our inn." An inn placed strategically on Goblin Territory allowed for the best choices of wives for both the goblins and their king.

With that, he touched the water mirror. The liquid rippled under his skin, and he stepped through, appearing behind the girl. She didn't notice him. He couldn't help but wonder why she had never married before. She was of age, nineteen years old, but she wore no ring and spoke to no men. She actually didn't speak to very many people, much like him. Maybe that's what drew him to her.

"Hello." He said to her. She whipped around, her hair dragging across her face as she did so. He was enthralled. She said nothing, but wore a look of pure dread on her face. He didn't blame her. He was frightful. "May I have your name?"

"You haven't given me yours, demon." She said, rising cautiously but preparing to do anything to escape. The only route she could see was diving into the water because his hulking form trapped her on the pier. That wasn't a problem. She could swim like a fish.

"Marak Scalecloak." He replied politely. "It's not much of a name. You can call me Marak."

"I am Meriel." She couldn't help but stare at his strange appearance. He noticed she was Scottish. Her accent betrayed her. He found it charming, and smiled warmly at the thought. She did not detect the warm in the smile and quickly attempted to flee by jumping in the water.

Before she could even break the surface of the water, she was hauled up into his arms. To his surprise, her foot rose up quickly and kicked him solidly in the chest with a loud thump. He reared back, breathing in deeply, as she barreled past him to the end of the pier. It was then that he caught her, but only when the sand slowed her down. She kicked and bit, but never once screamed. Not even when they entered the caves.