Blaine's stomach lurched nervously as the royal carriage crossed the river separating his father's kingdom from the Kingdom of Westerland. Partly this was because his brother Cooper had told him so many stories growing up about the hated Westerlanders, about how they had horns and forked tails, they ran wild at night, and they had no concept of honor and reveled in breaking the laws of nature. But Blaine was 15 now, and he knew those stories to be the typical lies of a big brother. Or at least the logical part of his brain knew that.

What was really bothering Blaine was the realization that with every passing mile, he was drawing closer to a fate he could not escape. He had always dreamed of finding true love, of having a romance the bards would sing about for centuries to come. One in which he and his beloved would exchange rare and exotic gifts, have great adventures together, and steal loving kisses in secret corridors.

Instead, Blaine was being traded like chattel, betrothed against his will to a complete stranger, the Queen of Westerland's only son and heir. He imagined that the heralds dispatched from the capital to distant lands bore a message that went something like: "Hear ye, hear ye, the hand of a prince of the Dale in exchange for some lucrative trade routes and a few shipments of gold. Slightly blemished, what with his unfortunate predilection for members of the same sex, but otherwise a fair ornament for any reputable wellborn house."

Still, Blaine supposed it could have been worse. Before he left, there was a rumor in the castle that the King of the Dale had asked his advisors about starting a war so as to provide his second son with the "opportunity" for a heroic death.

Blaine's thoughts were interrupted by Cooper snuffling in his sleep, sprawled out beside him on the carriage seat and apparently utterly unperturbed by Blaine's angst. But despite Blaine's annoyance at his brother's characteristic insensitivity, Blaine knew Cooper was his only real ally. The heir to the throne had convinced their father to let him represent the Dale at Blaine's wedding rather than their ambassador, and soon their only communication would be through written letters. Blaine would be alone in an alien land for the rest of his life. Reflecting on this, he began to wonder if a gallant end on the battlefield might not have been the worse option after all.

"Show me his portrait."

"Again? Your highness, he will be here soon enough. You can look upon his face then."

Sebastian paced around his room as his page scrambled to keep up.

"Is it true that those savages in the Dale put men to the sword for wanting other men?"

"That's what they say, your highness."

Sebastian had been furious when his mother announced to the whole court at his 18th birthday celebrations that as he was now well into marriageable age, he would do just that. With the younger son of the King of the Dale. But when it came to matters of the heart, or more accurately, the loins, Sebastian had an attention span of less than one turn of an hourglass. Westerlanders were famously libertine on matters of the bedchamber, but the Dale was different. And as much as Sebastian's diplomacy lessons bored him to tears, he understood that the Dale would not take kindly to the crown prince of Westerland making a mockery of a relationship they could barely bring themselves to consent to in the first place.

"My page friend at the King of the Dale's court says Prince Blaine is quite charming." Trent ventured tentatively.

"I've heard the reports. I still want that portrait."

Trent sighed. "As you wish."

Sebastian continued pacing.