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He gritted his teeth, knowing that each and every person was listening to their conversation. She ascended the three steps of the dais and dropped into his lap. Raz’s hands reflexively went to her waist, shock widening his eyes.

She wiggled, slipping farther into his lap. She threw one leg at a time over the arm of his seat before draping one arm around his shoulders. Her fingers caressed the stitches along his neck, and he stiffened. She was taunting him.

For once in his life, Raziel didn’t know what to do.

Per their customs, Methians didn’t engage in public affection. Hand-holding, yes. Maybe a chaste kiss, but never something this bold.

“Ah,” she sighed in his ear, the ghost of her breath causing the hair to rise at the back of his neck. “This is better, isn’t it, my king?”

Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched them, waiting for his response.

Play her little game.

Raziel released the tension in his body and purposely lifted his left hand and placed it on her bare thigh. He squeezed gently over the bruised imprint of his hand, ignoring the titters of the crowd. She stiffened slightly before he felt her melt back into the role she was playing.

“Naughty,” she murmured into the side of his neck. “What fun we will have.”

By fun, he presumed she meant bloodshed.

Hyperaware of her pointed nails stroking his stitches almost lovingly, he turned his face until they were nose to nose. Her magenta eyes glittered with malice and a touch of the devil. She enjoyed torturing him and causing a scene.

He planned to return the favor.

Raz brushed his nose against hers. “What fun we can have right here.”

His mother gasped, but she stifled it with a cough.

If this Sirenidae thought he’d balk, she was sorely mistaken. Raziel wouldn’t let her have all the fun.

He could feel the disgust coming off his bride as he caressed her thigh in a long fluid stroke, his fingertips running over a few delicate scale patches. She did a good job of hiding it though. By all accounts, they looked like a couple ready to tear each other’s clothes off.

The only thing they wanted from each other was pain.

“You recovered well,” he said softly, squeezing her rounded hip. He glanced at her bruised temple.

“I did. I wasn’t as ill as everyone believed.” Translation:you didn’t hurt me.

Part of him was relieved, even if it was from bravado. Raziel might despise his new wife because of what she represented, but after the moment of rage had passed, all he’d felt was shame and crushing guilt for what he’d done. Raziel had gone over the line.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replied. And he meant it.

He intentionally flicked his gaze down her neck to her breast, eyeing the intricate trident tattooed on her fair skin. “Will you tell me what it means?”

She laughed, dipping her hand inside his shirt and caressing his own markings. “You are first.”

“I received them when I was crowned king. They represent my domain over the heavens.”

“My goodness…I didn’t know the heavens belonged to anyone.”

“No one can own the skies, but it is my birthright.”

“Ours, darling.”

“As you say.”

She squirmed in his lap, and Raz hissed, his stomach bottoming out.

Despite everything, his traitorous body still reacted to his enemy.