Page 6

6

I swept Aric an exaggerated curtsy, my nerves thrumming with tension. “We finally meet,” I said in Gilden. “Husband.”

Aric’s eyes narrowed. He bowed in return, just deep enough to be polite, and held his hand out stiffly. I stared at it for a beat before realizing he meant me to take it.

So this was how he wanted to play the game. Pretending he hadn’t slighted me twice over.

“It is customary for the betrothed couple to share the first dance.” He answered me in the same language. His voice was softer than I’d expected, mellifluous, like the notes of a viola. I’d imagined a harsh commander to go with his coldness and insults.

Still, not even a pretense at a welcome speech. No inquiry as to how I’d found my rooms or the journey, nor acknowledgment that he’d failed to greet me. Clearly, I was engaged to a man of scarce words and scarcer manners.

I smiled at him, wide enough to show my teeth, and placed my hand in his. A shock of static jumped between us when we touched, and we both flinched. But neither of us pulled back. Aric closed his fingers around mine as reluctantly as if my hand were a used handkerchief. He led me to the center of the floor.

Music began, a slow three-count air. Aric placed his free hand on my waist, his palm barely skimming my bodice as if he couldn’t bear to touch me. In reply, I draped my left arm along his shoulder with more force than necessary. His arm was rigid beneath mine, as unwelcoming as the castle itself. We were poorly suited. Our tension would make the dance awkward. This boded ill for the bedchamber.

“Do you know the waltz?” Aric asked.

I smiled at him again, my jaw beginning to hurt from clenching my teeth. “Of course. We do not lack for manners in Damaria.” I put just the slightest emphasis on my country’s name.

Aric, snubbing me yet again, didn’t reply. Instead, his jaw tight, he swung me into the first steps of the dance. One-two-three. One-two-three. I was reminded of fencing practice. If only I could hit Aric with a foil—it would have been more agreeable than this charade of courtesy.

At least Aric proved to be a competent dancer, if not a gracious one. He performed the steps as flawlessly and rigidly as an Adept-made clock. His muscles were hard beneath my arm, his hand stiff on my waist. He said nothing, dancing in stubborn silence.

Well, two could play that game.

I studied him while I waited for him to speak. Aric’s portrait had not done him justice. The artist’s paints had captured his handsomeness, but softened him into something as ordinary as a field of golden grain. He was not beautiful like that. His beauty was like a dagger: sharp, narrow, best admired from a distance. The dark grey of his coat echoed the circles under his eyes. Now that I was closer, their color was more like steel than sky.

Those eyes were fixed on my face. I realized he was studying me, too, and warmth rushed to my cheeks at the thought that he might mistakenly believe I was doing something so inane as admiring him.

“Tell me,” Aric said abruptly, “do you always wear a dagger in your sleeve?”

I nearly missed a step of the waltz. The loose lines of my dress hid the weapon from sight, but he must feel its outline where my forearm rested on his shoulder—I’d practically ground it into him in my irritation.

My mind raced, trying to think of an excuse. Hidden weapons were a poor start to a relationship.

But then, so was slighting your future wife before the entire court.

I smiled, poison sweet. If he would not apologize, neither would I. “Not at all. I find that some dresses pair much better with a rapier. But that would interfere with dancing, don’t you think?”

Surprise flashed across his face, brief as lightning. For a moment he looked unbalanced, his facade cracking. Satisfaction settled in my chest, purring like a cat.

“I see. I’ve heard of your prowess with weapons.” Aric’s voice was as carefully blank as scraped vellum, his surprise locked away again—and with it that small glimpse of his humanity. “I hope you’re not planning to use that dagger in the bedchamber.”

I gazed up at him innocently. “I thought the bedchamber was exactly the place for—how do you say it? Swords? ”

Twin spots of color flamed in Aric’s cheeks. The word I’d used, a less than courtly term, had other meanings besides the weaponry sense. My Gilden wasn’t perfect, but like any young person learning a foreign language, I’d acquired as many lascivious phrases as possible early on.

I smiled, pretending to miss his embarrassment. “I couldn’t help but notice that you failed to meet me at the wharf when I arrived. I do hope this doesn’t indicate a lack of attention to your other… duties?” I shifted my posture, ensuring the swoop of my neckline was well within his field of view. Trade agreements were not the only assets I brought to this arrangement.

His eyes dipped to my chest, then skittered away as his flush deepened and spread. So he did like women—the treaty hadn’t specified otherwise, but his hostility had made me start to wonder.

“I was occupied with other matters,” Aric said, his voice now emerging slightly hoarse. “A newly crowned king has much to attend.”

My triumph yawed back towards irritation. I’d given him the perfect opening—was he really so determined not to apologize? I resisted the urge to stomp on his foot. Barely. “As the humble courtier you sent to greet me pointed out, you’re not crowned yet.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No. Nor did I expect to be for many years. My mother’s passing was… untimely.”

Oh. My anger ebbed towards empathy. The former queen had died barely a month ago; the somber grey of Aric’s jacket was a reminder. Perhaps I ought to extend the man more leniency. As rude as he’d been so far, people were never at their best while grieving.

Assuming he actually was grieving, and hadn’t murdered the queen himself to take the throne as the rumors suggested. After all, he’d wasted no time threatening war with his neighbors. My anger returned, bolstered by indignation.

“When is the coronation?” I asked, an earnest question this time. Events had been in motion during the weeks I prepared and traveled, and news was scarce on a galleon. Obviously the wedding had to wait for my arrival, but I hadn’t been sure until we docked that he hadn’t already assumed the throne.

Aric’s eyes narrowed, a sky darkening before a storm. Physically, he was not intimidating, narrow-shouldered and not much taller than me. But his expression made me want to draw back. Only the tense circle of his arm around my waist prevented me from missing a step in the waltz. Suddenly I was grateful for Catalina’s overzealous precautions—this man had murder in his eyes.

“You seem eager to assume the crown of Gildenheim.” His voice hummed low, with the resonance of a garotte.

I forced myself to keep my eyes locked on his. He was the one who had demanded a spouse to sit beside him; he could hardly fault me for taking up the task.

Abandoning my play at flirtation, I poured ice into my voice, matching the chill in his.

“Assuming the crown is part of the duties I’m here to fulfill. Unless you’ve changed your mind about our marriage.”

His hand tightened around mine, verging on painful. I stared at him and held steady, refusing to flinch.

“I haven’t,” Aric said coldly. “Our wedding will take place tomorrow evening, and the coronation on the spring equinox—a week from now. You can tell your Council I keep my promises, wife. ”

Tomorrow? Shock slowed my steps, nearly making me stumble. I’d thought I would have at least a little more time to orient myself before we were bound in marriage.

Aric had stopped moving. It took me a moment to realize the music had ended. We stepped away from each other at the same moment.

Aric bowed to me, the movement a cut. “I’ll leave you to dance with whomever you feel like ingratiating yourself with for the remainder of the night. Welcome to Gildenheim, Duchess Liliana.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, the other dancers parting before him. I stared after him, anger simmering in my stomach.

Beneath my anger, though, lurked a cold as deep as a northern winter night. I hadn’t even been in Gildenheim a full day. I’d spoken with Aric for only a single dance. Yet I was already certain of one terrible fact.

My future husband hated me.