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I didn’t fall. An arm wrapped around my waist, holding me upright.

“Breathe,” Aric said into my ear. “It will pass.”

His arm tightened, keeping me pinned against his side. To the audience, we looked like newlyweds sharing an intimate moment. Only I could feel the tension running through Aric’s entire body like a crossbow ready to fire. Why was he helping me? Watching me fall should satisfy him no end.

I drew in a shaky breath. The roaring in my ears subsided.

“That was blood magic.” My voice sounded faint, as though I had spoken from far away.

“Yes.” Aric’s tone was clipped. “I thought you knew beforehand.”

I took another, deeper breath. My condition was still flaring, pain wreathing my abdomen, but at least the spell’s immediate effects were fading. In its place rose anger. Once again, this man—now my husband, by magic whose effects I could only guess—had completely disregarded basic manners, lacking even the courtesy to inform me of what I was agreeing to.

Fury gave my voice an edge, overriding my restraint. “If you had deigned to meet with me in person, I would have been forewarned.”

“If you had deigned to come to breakfast, I would have ensured you were.” Aric’s arm was hard as steel around my ribs. Not crushing me, not even close, but I could tell he wanted to.

I opened my mouth, a scathing retort on my tongue.

“Sit,” Aric said, before I could unleash the full brunt of my anger on him. “It’s not over yet.”

He guided me towards the thrones. Remembering our audience, I bit down on my harsh words. Shock and the magic’s effects had caught me off guard, but I couldn’t afford to lose control now. Not with the entire Gilden court bearing witness. I forced my feet to move so that I didn’t trip us both.

“Please tell me there isn’t more bleeding,” I muttered. “I would have brought my own dagger.”

Aric made a startled sound. When I glanced at him, for the barest moment his mouth twitched towards amusement.

An instant later, however, the smile was gone, making me wonder if I’d imagined it. He looked at the pair of thrones with a shuttered expression, his arm tightening around me again—viselike, inadvertent. The ornate seats were identical to me, but evidently not to Aric. He came to a decision and let me down onto the left-hand throne, surprisingly gentle.

Before I could ask what was next, he had withdrawn, seating himself on the second throne. The pair was close enough that we could have bridged the space between them with our hands. Too close. After the way he’d not only insulted me, but tricked me into a magical binding, I wished I could shove Aric’s seat to the opposite side of the room. Or even better, straight into the sea.

At least the cut from the ceremony had numbed. I turned my hand palm up, and another shock jolted through me. The wound had entirely closed, leaving in its place a thin golden mark like a line of gilt embroidery. When I ran my thumb over it, the skin was smooth to the touch, indistinguishable from the rest of my flesh.

My eyes widened. What in the ocean’s hundred names had he done?

I glanced at Aric, apprehension and fresh fury curdling in my chest, but he was determinedly looking anywhere but at me. His fingers drummed on the armrest as he surveyed the grand hall and the people in it. People who were now flowing towards us like a current.

Ah. So that was what came next. Reluctantly, I set aside my questions and my anger. I straightened my shoulders and braced myself to meet what felt like every citizen of Gildenheim.

The ambassadors were the first to approach—representatives from each of Gildenheim’s neighbors and allies, all murmuring congratulations along with a few words referencing their countries’ commitment to a continued peace; it occurred to me as they spoke that Damaria might not be the only nation on which Gildenheim had threatened war, though my parents hadn’t spoken of any other rising tensions. Evito was one of their number, bowing precisely to first me, then Aric.

“Your Grace,” he said smoothly. “Your Majesty. I speak for the entire Council when I say Damaria greatly anticipates a brighter future for both our countries, steered by the reins of much-needed progress.”

Aric said nothing, but his fingers curled tight on the armrest of his throne. I thanked Evito without looking at Aric, all too conscious of the tension radiating from my new husband’s direction.

Next came the highest-ranking members of the Gilden court, starting with a lady with a net of jewels adorning her blond hair. Her dark gown glittered with silver thread as she swept a low curtsy. I recalled meeting her last night—she’d offered the hope that there would be more balls in the near future.

“Majesties,” she said. “Congratulations on your marriage. It is a delight to see a true courtier on the throne once more.”

This time I did glance at Aric, puzzled by the statement. Did she mean the throne had been empty since the late queen’s death? But that couldn’t be right—not to judge by the way Aric’s hands had tightened again, a muscle in his jaw ticking. There was a current to her words too deep for me to read. I wondered if this was one of the relatives the Council’s spies had reported as having private designs on the throne.

“Your opinions are noted, Countess Signa,” Aric said tightly. “As always.”

I looked back at the countess and smiled, hoping neither my confusion nor my nausea was evident. The countess curtsied again, the corner of her own smile sharp and knowing, and retreated to make way for the next supplicant.

I did my best to note each arrival’s rank, to respond appropriately to each greeting. But between my dizziness, exhaustion, and the sheer number of strangers, all too soon I could barely even manage to nod and smile. Time blurred as they came to greet us, a stream of courtiers and commoners as relentless and eroding as a river. Their words flowed over me, each washing away a little more of my strength. Pain roiled in my stomach and pulsed in my skull. The circlet began to pinch my temples. I thought I might be sick.

Virtues help me, this horrid evening refused to end. It must be after midnight, yet the river of people stretched endlessly towards the sea.

“You should eat.”

Fogged with pain, I took a moment to realize Aric was speaking to me. I stared at him, not bothering to hide my surprise. He was watching me, his blue eyes narrowed—undoubtedly in distaste. The circles beneath them had returned, or perhaps had never left.

Refreshments had appeared on a small table between the two thrones. I hadn’t even noticed their arrival. From the looks of it, Aric hadn’t touched the repast yet. Was this another trap?

I managed to smile, thin as a knife’s edge. “I’m not hungry. And I’m perfectly fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” Aric’s voice was low, pitched for my ears alone. Had I not known he hated me, it might have felt intimate. “At least drink some water.”

I studied him, suspicious. Since when was he solicitous of my needs?

“I don’t want you passing out in front of the entire court,” Aric said, annoyance limning his syllables now. He pushed his own cup towards me, water nearly sloshing over the silver sides. “Drink.”

My eyes had followed the gesture, drawn by the precise movement of his hands. Now I risked another look at his face. Aric’s expression was rife with undisguised antipathy. But if there was guile there, I could not find it.

I didn’t know what his wedding vows meant to him. But he was sworn to protect me, bound to his promise by the same magic he’d tricked me into. Perhaps he didn’t mean me harm after all. Not now, at least.

Of course not. I wasn’t thinking clearly. If he wanted an excuse to invade Damaria, poisoning his new wife in full sight of everyone of importance in Gildenheim, not to mention all the foreign dignitaries who were witnessing the occasion, would be an exceptionally bad decision.

Cautiously, keeping my gaze on him, I drank. The cup was heavier than I expected. Or perhaps my flare was worse than I’d realized.

The water made me feel better. Which made my feelings churn with confused emotions about Aric—irritation that he’d been right, gratitude that his actions had helped.

I slid the cup back towards him, but he caught my hand, stopping the chalice’s motion. His fingers were warm as they wrapped over mine.

Both of us froze. Then Aric pulled away, sharp as a cut. He hadn’t meant to touch me.

“Keep it,” he said. “You need it more than I do.”

He turned deliberately away, leaving me feeling more conflicted than ever. This evening was an ordeal, but I could survive it. But if the man I’d married couldn’t even bear to touch my hand in public, I wasn’t sure I could make it through what came when we were alone.

I would. I had to. For the sake of my people.

I curled my hand around Tatiana’s locket and prayed I wouldn’t need it.

Somehow, hours later, the interminable evening had flowed to its end. I didn’t remember returning to my chambers, yet here I was, sitting at the bureau, preparing for the greatest ordeal of the night.

Outside, the sky had turned from deep navy to a dreary grey. On any other day I would be rising at this hour, not steeling myself to go to the bed of a man who despised me. Everything felt backwards, as if I’d been trapped in an inverted version of reality like the reflection in the bowl of a spoon. The weather contributed to the feeling of distortion: dawn’s approach and the veil of falling rain blurred the arboretum into an indistinct mass of grey.

Inside, however, everything was as clear and sharp as broken crystal. The way my thin shift hugged my body. The heaviness of the silk dressing gown I wore over it, lily pink. The tug of the brush on my scalp as Julieta loosened my hair from its coif, each golden pin singing against the bureau as she laid it down. My flare had finally subsided, and with it the headache that had blurred my senses for the majority of the evening. But I almost wished for the pain back. Or, even better, I wished to be numb. It would make what came next easier.

“My lady?” Julieta adjusted the collar of my dressing gown. “I think it’s time.”

Dutifully, I rose. My legs were steady, though it would have been more honest for them to collapse beneath me again. I ran my thumb over the golden mark from the wedding ceremony as I turned towards the door of Aric’s chambers.

It looked so ordinary. Just a common wooden door, perhaps in need of a coat of polish. It shouldn’t have held so much weight.

I had known this was part of what I agreed to from the beginning. And it wasn’t as if the man I’d married was a bane to the eye—rather the opposite, despite his abominable manners. But now that the reality of the marriage bed was only a door’s thickness away, it was suddenly hard to keep my breath steady.

My fingers trembled as they brushed the lacquered wood.

I took a deep breath, my pulse fluttering in my throat. I wasn’t afraid. Of course I wasn’t afraid. I knew what the act entailed; this wouldn’t be my first time. Perhaps, if I were lucky, Aric would have some skill. If not, at least it would be over quickly, and I could retire to my own chambers and sleep with the Virtues’ blessings, knowing I had kept my country safe.

I touched my sister’s locket one more time, let out a deep breath, and turned the handle.

The door opened into a bedchamber, larger than my own. Adept-crafted lights—an import from my own country—rested in wrought iron sconces, casting the room in a soft glow that reminded me of light through shallow water.

Aric stood on the other side of the bed. He had removed his jacket and circlet; his hair hung in loose golden waves around his pale face. If I considered him as a painting instead of a man, this could almost be enjoyable. One could admire a thing of beauty without loving it, after all.

His gaze swept over me, raking like claws, and I shivered. He had no admiration for me—the open hatred in his eyes burned like acid.

This would not be enjoyable at all.

Without looking away from him, I closed the door behind me. It clicked into place with a note of finality.

“Let’s get this over with.” Aric spoke in Gilden, his words curt and short. The harsh syllables of the language made it sound like a curse.

Aric drew his shirt over his head in a gesture as fluid and cold as a spring river. The garment dropped to the floor, and his hands slid to the waist of his trousers.

It was too much. Like a chill wind, his cold dismissal blew on the ember smoldering in my chest, making my anger flare to life. This time, I didn’t tamp it down; I let it blaze. I could be graceful in the face of his insults in public, but this was our marriage bed. I was not something to be gotten over with.

“That’s enough,” I snapped, answering him in my own tongue. My fists were clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms. “I will not be insulted like this.”

Aric’s hands stilled on his waistband. His eyes met mine for the first time since I’d entered his room. To my shock, they burned white-hot with an anger to match my own.

“What more do you want?” His voice was jagged with animosity. “Do you want me on my knees, wife ? On top of the rest of your demands, do you now require my humiliation?”

“My demands ?” My voice was rising, but I made no attempt to rein it in. “What are you suggesting? You’re the one who’s made all the demands. I’ve only done as you asked. And in return, you’ve publicly insulted me, you’ve been insufferably rude, and now you’re treating bedding me like an ordeal as if this weren’t what you wanted in the first place!”

Aric’s face grew livid. “You continue to mock me. As if you don’t know full well that this could never be what I wanted.”

His cruelty sank a blade through my chest, but I would not be cut down so easily. He was in the wrong here—not me. I’d come to Gildenheim with good intentions. I’d tried to do everything right. And now he was acting as if I should have known from the start that he wouldn’t want me, when he’d never even given me a chance.

“Am I not good enough for you?” I seethed. “Well, husband, I am sorry for your disappointment, but I will not apologize for being inadequate. If there was something in particular you required in your future spouse, you should have had the foresight to name it before making your threats of war!”

Aric’s eyes widened—now he dared pretend to be surprised. His rudeness truly had no end. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play the innocent. You know exactly why I came here and at whose request.” I took a step towards him, teeth gritted. “So tell me, your Majesty, what exactly did you want? A fairer face? A fuller figure?” I wasn’t making sense—he’d hated me before he’d even seen me. But I had him on the defensive, and I’d been trained too well to concede a fight I could win.

“What? I—”

“You didn’t seem to mind my figure when we danced. Is it that I have no magic?”

“Duchess Liliana—”

“So that’s it. You wanted a pet Adept to keep on a leash as you wreaked war against—”

“Bianca!”

The urgency of his words cut me short. Aric wasn’t looking at me any longer. He was looking over my shoulder.

To the door that had flown silently open and the black-clad figure racing towards us, blade glinting in their hand like a predator’s fangs.