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Those startling green eyes skim down my body and then he shrugs. “Could be.”

“It is,” I grin, “Jaded Society? Do you know her?”

“We’re friends,” he allows, eyes listing to the side. I notice his thumb is still on her hip, but no longer moving. “Your choice?”

I shake my head. “No, the King gave it to me as a gift.”

“Black,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. “As if.”

There’s an awkward moment, mostly because I’m trying to decipher his words, but Sarah breaks it saying, “It’s nice to know the King is supporting small creatives in Forsyth.”

“Rem,” the husband with the darker complexion says, “let’s go get some food.”

“Grab me something too,” Lav calls after the men as they walk off.

I exhale, and look around. “I should probably find…” I feel my eyes widen, “my husband. How weird is that to say?”

“Super weird,” Lavinia says. Sarah shoots her a stern look. “You know, just because it’s new and stuff.”

I nod and step back, meeting something hard. Hands steady my hips, just for a moment. “Careful, Baroness.”

I don’t have to look to know it’s Hunter, but I turn, grateful for a reason to escape.

“Have you seen the King?” I ask, searching through the sea of black suits and gowns.

“He sent me to find you. Said you shouldn’t be wandering around on your own.” His chin lifts, and I follow the direction he indicates to see The King near a dais. It’s the first time I’ve noticed it.

As we cross the yard, we pass a table of women near one of the bonfires.

They’re young. Pretty in the polished, practiced way of royalty. They’re not crypt chasers, at least not current ones. It’s not their looks that get my attention, but their conversation.

“I couldn’t sleep with a man I’ve never seen,” the one in a faux-fur stole says, taking a bite of a honey-drenched tart. “I don’t care how rich he is.”

“Do you think he takes the mask off during sex?” Her friend giggles. “Or does he make her close her eyes?”

A third girl, blonde and bored-looking, pops a pomegranate seed between her teeth. “He’sold.No one even knows how old. I bet he can’t even get it up.”

“Oh my god,” the girl in fur says, laughing. “His sperms are probably like the dinosaurs. Dusty and extinct.”

The group dissolves into sharp little giggles, their laughter shattering the air like glass.

I freeze, the taste of wine thick on my tongue. My skin prickles.

“Ignore them,” Hunter says, continuing to walk. He touches me more often now, but it’s still rare, brief gestures as he’s herding me in one direction or the other. “They have no fucking idea what you’ve been through.”

He’s right. They didn’t feel the altar’s cold stone against their back. They didn’t see the look in his eyes behind the mask when he took what I offered–not just my body, but my blood, my breath, my fear.

They didn’t hear me cry when the object pushed inside, breaking me, or when Damon stifled the sound with the palm of his hand.

They didn’t feel the way the King’s mouth–hot, intimate and reverent–sealedme to him.

The girls keep laughing, oblivious. I take a step back, breath catching in my throat.

“They can talk all they want,” he continues, his hand tensing at my elbow, adding, “but you’re the one he claimed.”

He delivers me to the base of the dais where the Baron King waits.

His black mask shimmers in the bonfire, sleek and gleaming, the surface broken only by the curling gold tips of the horns rising from his crown. My fingers itch to pull it off–to see the face of the man I just married–not just the tease that is only enough to imagine more. The line of his jaw is unmistakable. Sharp, rugged. Masculine in a way that confirms he has long been a man, and the thought makes something flutter low in my belly.