Page 59 of A Frozen Pyre (Villains #2)

The king peered through the window at the people once more, appraising the crowd.

“I built this life for them. The mortals don’t realize how good they have it in Aubade.

They have my father to thank. They really turned out in droves, didn’t they?

I suppose royal weddings don’t happen in every human lifetime. ”

“Not when fae are on the thrones of the continent’s kingdoms,” Harland said. “Perhaps your citizens would feel differently if this were Sulgrave. Didn’t Dwyn say their comtes were democratically elected?”

“Don’t speak to me of what the witch said, filling Ophir with ideas, taking her from her home.”

Harland would have jumped at the chance to disparage Dwyn on any other day, but he was too disgusted to agree with his king on anything.

Eero opened his mouth, but a light knock at the door cut him short. Queen Darya opened the door without waiting for an answer. Eero’s face softened slightly as he extended a hand to his wife. She left the door ajar as she crossed the room for him.

“Are you ready?” she asked. She didn’t bother to look at Harland, but he didn’t mind. His queen had more important things to do on the day of her daughter’s wedding.

“Harland,” Eero said without looking away from his wife, “please stay with Ophir to ensure she doesn’t cause any trouble. Do what you must to get her down the aisle.”

Harland offered a shallow, wordless bow before excusing himself from the room.

He shut the door behind him, feeling the pin between his shoulders with every passing step.

Anxiety rose to match his discontent. Eero was wrong to fear Ophir today.

She was too powerful to need to return and fake her way through formalities.

She didn’t need to cause trouble or fight her way out.

She could have simply stayed away, surrounded by nightmarish creatures.

Instead, she’d chosen to return with Ceneth to Gwydir.

She’d agreed to the wedding plans. She’d played nice, remained quiet, and allowed everyone in Raascot to pretend that she hadn’t shattered a wing of the castle to bits with the membranous wings of a dragon.

When she’d returned from the Raasay Forest, she hadn’t been herself.

Tyr—the only one of her friends that he trusted, however begrudgingly—was no longer in her company.

Even Dwyn, as poisonous and obnoxious as he believed her to be, had emerged from the woods subdued and sullen.

When he’d asked what had happened, she’d merely looked at him with sad, sun-gold eyes and told him to go back to Aubade.

While he’d petitioned Eero to let him stay in Raascot and had been preparing to request that Ceneth allow him to remain as Ophir’s personal guard in Gwydir, it seemed his efforts were useless if she no longer wanted him around.

He chewed on the memory of rejection as he wound through the castle.

Minutes later, he reached the ground floor.

He paused outside of a room that had been repurposed for Ophir’s attendants.

He’d watched women carry packets of hot water, perfumes, mirrors, wardrobe changes, and pleasant snacks in and out of the room throughout the first part of the day.

He rapped on the door lightly with his knuckles and listened, but none of the bustle that had filled the makeshift bridal suite hummed any longer.

An older woman called out in question, and Harland cracked the door without bothering to respond.

His lips parted in surprise as the woman stepped away from the long, lacy veil she’d been carefully draping down Ophir’s back. The woman recognized him as the princess’s personal guard and nodded in acknowledgment before taking her leave. Her work had finished.

His breath vanished as he looked at her.

He’d never cared much for fashion and felt confident that a dress was just a dress.

Someone beautiful was equally gorgeous in a gown, in a potato sack, or utterly naked before the All Mother.

Someone unattractive was no prettier on their wedding day than any other.

Yet, it was tradition to gasp and fawn and coo over every bride in white.

It seemed like a respectful convention, if only to preserve a blushing bride’s feelings, but an unnecessary one.

Looking at Ophir now, he knew he’d been wrong.

The dress clung to her, outlining her breasts, her waist, her curves before it cascaded out like the mist of a waterfall in white and silvery shimmers.

The long, bell-shaped sleeves opened up near her slender wrists, offering a similar shimmer as the fabric tumbled as if by magic.

A bit of clever tailoring had created a sheer, fog-like stretch of fabric just below her collarbone that dipped daringly to her sternum, broken by the deep sweetheart neckline of the gown.

He’d expected her hair to be elaborately pinned in gaudy curls, but it had been left unbound, slicked back behind one ear and pinned by a single line of pearls.

“You look like the goddess herself,” he breathed.

She smiled a bit uncomfortably, which caused a resurgence of concern to shoot through him.

He did his best to assuage her nerves as he approached. The light scent of citrus danced through the air, presumably wafting off the treats and treasures decorating the space that had been dedicated to her honor.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back until it’s time to go out there.”

Ophir’s laugh was staccato and dismissive. She looked away from him and into the hall, as if wondering if the attendant would return.

He frowned, but he knew it was impolite to make the day any worse for her than it must already be. Harland attempted levity. “Seems like you need a drink on the wall. Need me to go get a bottle?”

“The wall?” she asked. She turned over her shoulder and looked through one of the small, round windows that had been embedded in the room. It offered a peek into the stands above as she scanned the walls that surrounded the coliseum and the people within them.

His frown deepened. “Is something wrong?”

She looked at him briefly but didn’t hold his gaze. Her sights returned to the small window as she said, “It’s my wedding day. It’s normal for a girl to be nervous.”

And though he couldn’t place why, he knew this was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Fear took hold as he looked at her. She was scarcely aware of his existence, lost to her view of the crowd. His heart picked up as adrenaline released into his blood.

Harland took a step closer. He kept his voice level as he asked, “Firi? Where’s Dwyn?”

She looked at him briefly and frowned. “With the others. Is the attendant coming back?”

He hadn’t even realized his hand had returned to the hilt of his sword.

The metal warmed beneath his sweaty palm as that inexplicable fear thudded through him.

He feigned a smile as he said, “I thought maybe you’d say she was on the wall, just like you and Caris used to do.

Do you wish you could have gotten a drink with her like old times? ”

Ophir nodded dismissively. “Of course.”

In three steps he was upon her. He encircled her arm in his hand and squeezed.

Ophir yelped in surprise, eyes flaring. Her pupils constricted until they were little more than pinpricks.

He bared his teeth as he tightened his hold. “Where is she?”

Her lashes fluttered. She tried to shake herself loose. “You’re hurting me!”

“I asked you a question. Where is she!”

Ophir cursed, flashing her canines as her eyes blazed with infernal heat and she growled to herself. “For fuck’s sake, people never work out. I should have stuck to birds.”

“Who the hell are you, and where is Ophir?”