Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong by Amy Knickerbocker

almost immediately. The old man stepped away with an indifferent shrug.
    “What brings you here outside my private bedchamber?” Toran asked, not bothering to hide his anger. Law held that no daemon was permitted to pulse into the royal living rooms.
    Yet here his uncle stood.
    Such impertinence.  
    “What do you want, Arman?”  
    “I wanted to share in this kingdom’s good fortune.”
    At his uncle’s words, Toran found himself unable to completely damn the old daemon for his lawless temerity. It was easy to chalk his presence off to wanting to catch a glimpse of the faine, a creature lost to their plane for centuries.
    He would have wanted the same.
    “I see she still sleeps. Have you done your duty?”
    Toran knew what his uncle was asking.  
    “I have,” he answered.  
    He had touched her.
    “This is good news. She will awaken soon. I am sure of it, and all will at last be well.” Arman smiled. “With this faine, your… impotence … can finally be cured.”
    Toran’s venna drummed against the walls.  
    “Guard your tongue, uncle.” Stepping into the outer room, Toran slammed the door shut behind him. In her seemingly unconscious state, Toran wasn’t sure how cognizant the faine was of her surroundings. He certainly didn’t want her to hear any part of this conversation.  
    “Of course, son, apologies again,” Arman replied pleasantly. “I’ll leave you to get back to business. But first,” he added, “I thought it important that I come and tell you personally that all has been arranged.”
    “What has been arranged, Arman?” Toran fought to give the old man his full attention. As much as he was loath––and embarrassed––to admit it, he was near desperate to get back to his faine.
    “Your marriage, of course,” Arman answered.
    “What the hell?”  
    Was that panic in his voice?
    Arman nodded with energetic enthusiasm. “Yes, when I heard the faine had been found, I took the liberty of putting things in motion.”
    It shouldn’t have surprised him that his uncle would have stepped in to help; over the centuries, Arman had always been eager to forward Toran’s best interests. Besides, Toran himself hadn’t spoken to his fiancée, or her father, in years.  
    His uncle’s thoughtful intervention was good news.
    Wasn’t it?
    “And,” Arman added, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that Sarai is most eager to marry. In fact, she has told me she will be primed to accept you at the first of the year, just over four short months away.”
    Shit. So soon?
    A sweat broke across his brow. Unable to mask his agitation, Toran began to pace the room. He could feel Arman’s curious eyes upon him.
    “The timing is nearly perfect, is it not?”  
    Something in his uncle’s voice stopped him cold.
    Shrugging it off, Toran crossed to the furthest part of the room. From behind his bedroom’s door, he could feel the soothing pull of the faine.
    He breathed out a curse.
    “Of course,” the old daemon continued with affable ease, “there are certain conditions that must be met to make the marriage arrangement… agreeable… to both sides.”
    “What does the old bastard want?” Toran demanded, fully expecting that Sarai’s father would demand a hefty price for his daughter. Despite their long-standing engagement, it was expected that Toran would expend either wealth or favors to “win” his female from her father’s home.
    Toran had a pretty good idea which option Narcyz would choose.
    “Narcyz asks for nothing,” Arman answered, “other than the liberty of living out his remaining years in peace and safety at his estate in Baltia.”
    Toran leaned forward and cocked an ear.
    “Come again?” he asked.
    “As I said, Narcyz asks for nothing of consequence.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense,” Toran exclaimed. Over the past three centuries, an army of rebels had waged a brutal war to weaken Narcyz’s base of power in Baltia. Lead by Kellen the 8th, one of Narcyz’s