His eldest daughter was like a sword, the Fairy King thought, fondly and exhaustedly, on more than one occasion during her childhood. Marianne was sharp and quick and bright … and perhaps a bit more combative than he would have hoped for, but she was young and would surely mature out of that.


The Crown Princess was like a sword, Roland mused when he first decided to court her. She was mostly decorative, but Marianne could be powerful if wielded properly; an elegant symbol of the high qualities a noble should aspire to and that only a noble, such as himself, could reach.


Her sister was like a sword, Dawn decided in frustration, during the year that Marianne swore off love. She had gone hard and cold and had developed a cutting tongue against anyone who tried to get close to her, and even if she blunted her sharp edges then she would still hit just as forcefully.


Marianne was like a sword, the Bog King realized over and over during their relationship. Not just physically, long and slender with a sharp point to her nose, and the elegant edge of her jaw, and the obligatory romantic blather (which somehow didn't seem so ridiculous when he applied it to her) about the sharpness and brightness of her eyes; Marianne was also versatile and clever and elegant and resilient and powerful, and absolutely terrifying to anyone opposing her.


Marianne was never sure what it was about swords that made them her favourite weapon. They just seemed … right.