Page 21

Talan’s eyebrows raise. “There is some confusion, Lady Arwenna. How embarrassing for you. I am, in fact, already married.”

The color drains from Arwenna’s face, and she breaks protocol to stride in front of the king. “Do not joke about this.”

King Auberon steps closer. “You fuckingwhat?”

The king’s voice is glacially cold, and the threatening chill of his power ripples through me. My breath catches. Fear crackles up my spine. Internally, I start to summon my magic. I don’t want to reveal my power to the king, but I also don’t want to die.

“He’s not serious.” Arwenna tries to keep her voice light, but the rigid strain beneath it betrays her. I see the anger in the tight press of her lips. “This is a jest. Very funny, Talan.”

A faint half smile from Talan. “I am deadly serious. I did what anyone should have the right to do—I married the woman I love. What’s the point of being a prince if I can’t do what I want?”

Auberon shakes his head. “It is not legal. I have not approved it.”

Talan shrugs slowly. “Griflet, Keeper of the Hawthorn Groves, is the cleric who married us. Nia’s sister, Nivene, was our witness. I have brought them here to attest to the marriage.”

Auberon’s face is a mask of fury. “I will annul this farce. A fucking peasant? There were no noble witnesses. You will marry Arwenna today as I decided.” His voice booms, carrying across the courtyard.

Talan steps between Auberon and me. He’s taller than his father and broader, too. As shadows coil around him, his magic stains the air with darkness. Is he threatening to use his magic on his father now, probing the king’s mind? Brushing against his thoughts with nightmares? Auberon’s portal magic is a powerful tool for creating new worlds or invading old ones, but it’s not much good in a one-to-one fight.

“The Keeper of the Hawthorn Groves will confirm this marriage is legal.” Talan’s smooth voice belies the iron underneath. “He didn’t participate willingly, of course. He required some…persuasion.” He flashes a charming smile. “You should have heard the way he screamed. A thing of beauty. Of course, I used my powers to compel him to do what I wanted. Why would the gods bother gifting me these powers if they didn’t want me to use them?”

A lethal threat laces his voice. The way he’s speaking to his father and looming over him brings to mind an image of a younger stag locking antlers with an old one, tearing him down.

Tension spikes the air around us, sharp as thorns, and I feel as if Talan’s magic calls to the skies. The clouds answer him, and cold rain strikes my skin like tiny drops of ice. A low hum of power roils through the storm clouds as lightning races down from the sky and strikes the wedding tent. Flames erupt from the fabric, and the scent of scorched silk fills the air.

Talan turns to the crowd and slides his arm around my waist. “I present to you Princess Nia de Morgan.” His deep voice blends with the resonant sound of thunder.

A few members of the crowd curtsy, but you can feel the unease in the air. Right now, they don’t know whom to fear more, Talan or his father.

Auberon’s lip curls, exposing his canines. “Do you really think this will be the end, my useless wastrel of a son?”

Talan gives him a dark smile. “Father, this is just the beginning.”

Auberon growls, then crosses past Talan, leaving Arwenna standing with her ladies.

“Soldiers of my guard,” Talan calls out, “please escort Griflet to his new home. He will tell you where.”

Arwenna trembles, the rain slicking her pale hair to her face. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Talan cuts her a sharp look. “Curtsy, Countess. You are supposed to curtsy to a princess.”

She pales, frozen, a statue made not of marble or bronze, but of pure outrage.

He exhales, then arches an eyebrow. “Must I really repeat myself, Lady Arwenna?” His voice is quieter now, mocking. “You know the rules better than most. Or have you somehow forgotten even the most basic etiquette?”

Gritting her teeth, Arwenna keeps her eyes locked on me. Her lip curls slightly, baring her canines. Though vibrating with tension, she slowly bends her knees in a stiff, perfunctory curtsy. Her face flushes with fury.

How long will it be before they start digging through Lauron, uncovering each and every piece of my carefully constructed lie?

CHAPTER 11

My new bedroom is a library. Talan’s sanctuary crowns a remote tower of the castle. He led me on a labyrinthine path here, through dark, winding passages that seemed forgotten by time. Fortunately for me, Fey tradition means that royals often don’t share bedrooms with their spouses, so I can stay in here without raising any suspicions.

I peer out the mullioned windows. The tower is close to the castle walls, and I can see over them to a little tree-lined village on the other side. It’s the safest place in the entire palace, with fewer entrances to guard and no hidden doors to breach.

Outside the wooden doors to his sanctuary, Talan stationed his most lethal soldiers.

I pace across the flagstones. Sunlight slants in through towering windows, casting diamond shapes over the spines of the books.