The house was alive with activity, shouting, and panic in all directions. Sometime in the chaos, Wyrn sat down at the eating table, but could not find the strength to stand up.

Several sister-in-laws as well as Mother had to attend to the princess. Even with water put to her lips, she hadn’t the strength to drink it the last he saw of her. After everyone whisked her away, Wyrn came here.

The room eating area was small, or so everyone said after leaving this house for an extended period of time.

In the center, the large wooden table, which was actually two graphed as one, was worn but darkened in color by age.

And it didn’t feel small. Not even slightly. For Wyrn, thanks to his stunted stature, there would be no such feeling. The room didn’t feel small now, but rather, he did.

He supposed he should be thankful that the gazes that lingered on him in passing held sympathy and not contempt. He’d had a wife for a few days and had managed to nearly starve her to death. And when everyone eventually found out she was a princess her father had been eager to get rid of, he could suffer that embarrassment all over again.

The only advantage to all the hubbub was that his mother no longer stared at him, mouth agape, panting, “You haven’t! You mustn’t have. Who is this woman!”

Even now, Wyrn, quite stunned at the time, puzzled over his answer. “She’s my wife.”

“Oh?” Mother challenged. For a moment, she became hopeful. It wasn’t long. And it was simply a hint of it, but it had been there. “All right. What’s her name?”

Her name.

With each passing second, his mother’s expression of woe and fear deepened to the point that she seemed ready to go mad with grief. All Wyrn could do was break her gaze.

He hadn’t known the princess’s name. She’d never given it. Perhaps the king had said it in passing but Wyrn, quite fed up at the time, hardly listened.

“It’s….” His mouth hung open, but words wouldn’t come out.

The moment his mother looked away from him, he lost track of time. He was in motion, though he could not feel his steps. And then he came back to himself to find that he’d sat here all alone, safe from everyone’s judgement.

He hadn’t yet contended with his father and the disappointment awaiting him. Wyrn readied his excuses. He couldn’t say he didn’t know who she was—that he’d never seen her before—that she’d climbed into his wagon sometime on his journey. Once awake, she would prove that wrong. Nor could he admit to winning her in combat against a prince. Her father had been eager to give his only daughter, perhaps his only child, away to a hunchback he’d never seen before. That did not speak of a prize but rather a scapegoat. And Wyrn was that.

What was left to say? That they were lovers?

Scoffing, Wyrn watched the table at which he sat.

There was nothing to say. Nothing that would shine a favorable light on him. So, when two people sat down before him, he kept focused on the cracked brown, nearly black wood of the table.

Wyrn risked picking his head up to witness his mother’s forlorn expression. The man beside her wasn’t Father, however, but Bonn, his eldest brother.

A glance to the right, by the door frame, showed the big man standing there, arms folded, watching the show.

Mother, still too shocked to speak, matched Wyrn’s defeated posture, so Bonn took the lead.

“No one’s blaming you, brother, but you’re setting our people back a hundred years. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe they know each other well,” Mother tried to say but her excuse was halfhearted. “We won’t know until she recovers.”

Bonn glanced at her out of the corner of his eye before shifting his gaze to Wyrn eventually. “Her nails are well-groomed. She was clean otherwise. And the fabric of her clothes didn’t speak of someone poor. Think about what you’re doing, Wyrn. If someone comes looking for her…then what?”

“No one will come looking,” Wyrn said, but he wasn’t all that sure. Prince Orm very well might. Yet another failure. It had been a worthy kill—Wyrn should have had the courage to go through with it. Instead, it had been one debacle after another. Now he not only had this princess to contend with, but the slighted prince Orm he’d left half-dead and humiliated.

“What? How do you know this?” Bonn waited then demanded, “How do you know with such certainty? Brother, what have you done? This evil—”

“Enough,” a voice thundered. When the room calmed, Father eased off the door frame. “You don’t like how this happened. I don’t like how it’s happened. But it’s happened. And Jaffo do not deny what a man has claimed. Even in this.”

It was an old practice, long gone.

Wyrn didn’t dare focus on his mother this time. As far as he knew, as he guessed, she was the last woman stolen away to their people. A hundred and fifty years ago, it was a common practice. In fact, it was what they were known—and hated—for. Now, it was undone due to the pain and bloodshed it beckoned.

No, Wyrn hadn’t done this, but if he had to argue it, he could very well do so by reminding them that only The Living Goddess could undo his actions.

Father had reminders of his own. “We’ve still only but recovered from the last time we got the goddess involved.”

Bonn was no staunch believer, but even he found his resolve. “It is the right thing to do. We’ll visit her and allow her to undo this marriage.”

The words lingered for ages. Surprisingly, Father looked poised to agree.

Mother’s voice broke through the silence. “We don’t need the Goddess for this.”

She sounded far more confident, though she refused to meet Wyrn’s eyes.

“The Living Goddess will absolve this situation and set this woman free—” Bonn began.

“Her name is Vadde. And they are a couple. This is a misunderstanding. All is well.” Finally, Mother told her husband, “So there’s no need for the goddess. And besides, even if he had stolen her away, he’s entitled to a grace period.” She hurried to add, “Which he doesn’t need because they are a couple.”

The expression on her husband’s face bordered contempt.

“Vadde?” the man asked.

Wyrn’s breath caught. He didn’t know which lie he preferred—he simply wanted them to all leave.

He might have opened his mouth and confessed to the humiliating situation if not for his mother’s look of woe. Mother’s raw fear of The Living Goddess was unwarranted—the Jaffo served the goddess without fail. But the aftermath of their last encounter with her still hurt. It brought back memories Wyrn’s mother refused to face. Wyrn told himself he stayed quiet for the sake of his own pride, but truly, it was for his mother’s sake.

Bonn sighed with relief. “Good. Then let us see about giving her a warmer welcome.”

He stood and made his way out, calling for his wife.

Mother trembled as she sat there. Whether from fear or rage, Wyrn couldn’t tell. Finally, she managed to find the voice needed to say, “Congratulations, my son.”

Eyes averted when she bowed her head, she hurried out.

No one remained after that. Left with nothing but his thoughts, Wyrn closed his eyes and bowed his back.

Something slammed into the table, and he looked up just as the mug slid to a stop before him.

“Mead,” Father said, taking Bonn’s previous seat across from Wyrn. He carried a mug of his own. “You’re a married man now. Here’s your first step.”

Wyrn gazed at him as if he were a figment of his imagination. Something happened to the man’s face—something rare and unexpected.

He smiled.

Beyond his scruffy red beard, yellow teeth greeted the candlelight. “Look at that, you did something about your life.”

His words had Wyrn blinking. “Huh?”

“Huh? What kind of response is that from a man of your guts and underhandedness!” Father roared with laughter and stood to slap Wyrn’s right arm so strongly that he nearly tipped Wyrn over. “Good for you!”

The man took a swing of his mug then slammed it down.

“Was a time, we was nothing but a small clan back then. No girls. It was a problem. Snatching up those wives was a matter of necessity. Now, I won’t defend it. More harm came than good. But not all those stories ended in death and more death, my boy. A small few ended in love! You need only be patient.” Using his mug, he struck Wyrn’s and waited.

Hand shaky, Wyrn gripped his drink and raised it. His father slammed their mead into one another again.

For a small moment, Wyrn felt something he’d hardly experienced in his father’s presence, ease.

Nothing about their relationship had been pleasant for some time. That wasn’t always the case. Countless fond memories lingered in Wyrn’s mind of when he was young. His father taking him by the leg and tossing him into the lake with his brothers. Riding the man’s shoulders. Learning how to hold a bow and arrow for the first time.

But then the years passed, and everyone changed so drastically. And Wyrn, who the man was convinced was simply a late bloomer who would Not only catch up to his brothers, but surpass them, just you watch never did.

He just remained small while everyone grew into something further from his reach. He was sixteen when his father no longer looked at him with pride, but rather, pity.

Now, after so long, some of that pride had come back. But was it right to feel it for such a despicable thing of which he was being accused? Today was the first time he thought of his mother and feared that her response might have meant something far worse than he could understand. What were the conditions of her theft? Had she stayed by choice?

This time when Wyrn gripped his mead, still haven’t not drunk it, as he watched that hearty beast before him tilt his head back and down his own, he feared what he’d do to his own begot.

He didn’t stand a chance against his father, but for the first time in his life, he resolved to try.

Wood met wood as the mug slammed down.

Father wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned forward, braced on his forearm.

“Now. I won’t dispute your claim, as is tradition. I think it’s good and brave you want to change your place in life.” He thumped his chest. “That’s what men do.” Eyes squinted, he said in all seriousness, “But you cannot touch her. Do you understand?”

Wyrn’s own mounting fury dissolved, seeping out as his surprise rushed in.

“What?”

His father held up an index finger to him, sneering. “I’m not saying it hasn’t been done. And I’m not saying men haven’t gotten away with it. But I’ll tell you the secret to love in unforgivable starts, and there’s only one thing for it. Patience. You’ve wronged her, from her end. And she’s right. So, you cannot wrong her again. You let her come to you. And when she does, all is right then. D’you understand?”

Body free from all anger, Wyrn allowed that sense of ease to return and wash over him.

“Vadde,” his father scoffed, getting to his feet. “That was the name of a pet pig. Does this woman think I’m that thick!”

He lumbered away in a huff, leaving Wyrn to stare down at his mead.

“Vadde,” Wyrn repeated. It was a name he might as well use. Because now, whether he’d stolen her or she’d been thrown at his feet, meant nothing. His father saw something in it all, something Wyrn hadn’t thought of. And now, it no longer mattered how he’d come about her.

By their law, and even her father’s decree…she was his wife. When he thought of her pretty face and all the trouble she’d caused with just two days, he prayed he could uphold his promise to his mother and keep The Living Goddess out of this after all.