"The sky may demand its bride, but it is the hands of men who give her away."
— Fragment of the Stormbride Laments
The house is so still, I can hear the sea breathing against the rocks.
I sit on the edge of my bed, the veil untouched beside me, and wait.
The light outside dims to bruised purple. The walls creak .The tide sighs.
I wait.
Any moment now, I tell myself. Any moment, Mama will burst through the door, wild-eyed and furious, and tear the veil from my bed. Any moment, my sister will come running, muddy-footed and breathless, shouting that she won't let them take me.
Any moment—
The floorboards stay silent. The sky hums like a held breath. And no one comes.
I press my hands into the mattress until my knuckles ache, blinking hard against the sting rising behind my eyes.
They're not coming. They never were. Maybe they never even wanted to.
The first tremor shudders through the air—soft as a sigh, deep as the bones of the earth.
I feel it in my teeth. In my blood.
The storm is coming. No, not coming—Calling.
I stand, slow and unsteady, the veil still lying there like a promise already broken.
I don't want to touch it. I don't want to wear it.
I want someone to tear it away. I want someone to fight for me.
But no one moves. No one speaks.
The village has closed its doors, shut its eyes, sealed its heart against me.
A bitter breath escapes my lips.
If no one will stand with me—then I will stand alone.
If the storm means to take me, it will take someone who chose herself.
It will take Amarin Stormborne, not some trembling offering left on a bed.
My fingers close around the veil.
The fabric is soft. Lighter than air.Cruel in its gentleness.
I lift it over my head, feeling the weight of it settle across my shoulders—not heavy, but final.
Outside, the first bolt of lightning forks across a clear sky.A soundless roar, a bright wound.
The earth shudders.
And I know, before I even step outside:
He is here.
The storm has come for me.