In a place like the Spring Isle, especially among the nobles, the two didn't seem mutually exclusive. The more Ember read, the more he realized that they weren't.
One paragraph in particular caught the king's eye.
In the matter of trading one's bride, any bargain struck is contractually binding. A woman sold as a bride remains a bride whether traded, gambled or gifted, and the receiver is encouraged to fulfill all obligations to said bride.
The more times he read it, the more Ember's stomach cramped up.
"Filton!" he yelled so loudly that he knew his servant would hear him no matter where he was. The man never travelled far from his king's side.
It was barely a minute before the tall, gangly servant skittered into the room.
"You called, Your Majesty?" He gasped as if he had run a long way, and Ember saw that his clothes were disheveled as though he had thrown them on in a hurry. His wings fluttered as though he had practically flown to his king’s side, though Ember knew he couldn't have as Filton had spoken time and again of his ill-formed wings which were too small to carry him.
"Read this." Ember twisted the book around on the table and shoved it toward him.
Filton dropped his eyes inquisitively and began to read.
"What about it, my lord?"
"Were you aware of this tradition?" Ember demanded through gritted teeth. From the look on the other man's face, he was sure that he already knew the answer.
"Everyone on the Spring Isle is aware of the tradition of bride trading, my lord," Filton responded, his voice more than a little cautious.
"And were you aware of the contractual nature of the tradition?" Ember asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible.
"I... yes, Your Grace," Filton gulped as if there were a lump in his throat.
"Then how is it that you allowed me to make such a wager last night?" Ember demanded, and before he heard his servant's response, frustration got the better of him. He slammed his fist down hard on the desk, so hard that it made the very air around him tremble.
"Forgive me, my lord, but I thought that you were aware of the tradition."
Filton dipped his head low, as though he were scared to look his master in the eye.
"I was aware of the tradition," Ember snarled back, "What I was not aware of was the contractual obligation that one must marry a bride they have traded, gambled or been gifted!"
Again, he slammed his fist down on the table.
"I cannot help but think I have been tricked, Filton," Ember growled deep in his throat, anger festering like a wild animal in his stomach. "Somehow Perivale planned this."
"With all due respect, my lord, Perivale couldn't have foreseen that you would have stepped in," Filton said, and the moment Ember's eyes snapped up to glare at him, he shrank away from the desk, his cheeks burning a bright, luminescent red.
Ember grumbled incoherently and tightened his hands into fists once more. He glared at his servant and asked, "Why did you not step in? You are supposed to have my best interests at heart."
Filton's eyes widened with shock.
"I do have your best interests at heart, my lord! There were so many witnesses. I did not think you would appreciate my interference in front of them."
Ember groaned with acceptance. Filton was right. He would not have appreciated it.
With a shake of his head, Ember resigned himself to his fate.
"Have her brought to me as soon as she wakes."
"Yes, my lord," Filton gave an exaggerated bow and began to back from the room as if sensing he was being dismissed.
Chapter 3 - Iris
She was surprised by how soundly she had managed to sleep. Perhaps it was the feather soft mattress, or the fact that she no longer found herself in Perivale's villa. She couldn't be sure.