Page 5

Everly

T he sound of applause drifted up to the balcony as the king turned me to face the crowd.

“Smile, Wife .” His tone was mocking. “Our people are watching.”

I watched him posture for the projection, acting for all the world like this was what he had wanted all along. Between his smarmy grin and infuriating tone, it broke the spell that the bond had temporarily placed on me.

I might have been a bastard by birth, but King Draven was one by choice.

Still, I kept my expression even as I bit back a quiet response of my own. “You might command this castle and everything in it, but even you have no dominion over my expressions, Your Majesty . I don’t belong to you, whatever your Visionary says.”

“We’ll see about that.” There was a dark promise in his tone, one that unfurled something low in my gut.

I hissed under my breath, cursing whatever underlying effect the vow had on my body.

But even my new marriage bond wasn’t enough to make me worried about losing control on my wedding night. Just the thought of sharing my bed with the male who had slaughtered my family in his bloodlust was enough to make my stomach churn.

I had gotten through the ceremony without revealing myself. I could get through this, too.

I would hardly be the first bride to dread her wedding night. Shards only knew how my sister made it through hers. I had never asked. Selfishly, I hadn’t wanted to know, hadn’t wanted to bear the weight of the life that was so much less than what she deserved.

The Visionary spoke to the crowd, her voice carrying in the wind to reach their ears. While she spoke, I tried to center myself. To plan. I needed next steps.

I didn’t know what I deserved, but I sure as hells knew that I wouldn’t stand here and smile at the side of a male who taunted me with the wedding night I had no choice in.

So I squared my shoulders and gave the crowd below a single nod, the closest I would come to playing their political games. Not for his sake, but for mine.

Any scene I caused would only have the people talking, and I didn’t need more attention, more questions. They didn’t need to think I was happy to be with their king, but neither could I afford to look like a traitor.

The king tracked the movement in my shoulders as he seemed to track everything, with all the predatory instincts of the wolves that surrounded us. I ignored him, spinning to walk down the stairs like I knew where I was going.

It gave me a small surge of petty satisfaction when he was forced to follow for the sake of his pride, even as he cursed when he fell in step beside me. His wolves followed close behind, the sound of their claws scraping against the marble echoed through the silence.

The king led me through the castle halls in a blur of stone and shadow, my already precarious sense of direction unraveling with every turn.

Somewhere between the second tipped archway and the seventh identical sconce, I stopped pretending to know where we were.

After an eternity, we reached what appeared to be the inside of a turret.

It was a round space with high domed ceilings made almost entirely of glass. There was a massive door on either side, identical, of course. He led me to the left, opening the door with a showy burst of mana.

I might have rolled my eyes if every modicum of levity hadn’t fled my soul the moment I caught sight of the room.

It was his bedroom. Or a bedroom, in any event, though easily six times the size of mine at the estate.

Like the room I had dressed in, it was a cavernous space stripped of warmth and color, dressed in nothing but shades of silver, white, and frostbitten gray.

The polished walls stretched high and wide, interrupted only by massive windows that let in the cascading colors of the auroras and every ounce of the cold.

There were no curtains, no drapes, nothing to soften the starkness.

Even the wan fire in the hearth was unnaturally still, as if the flames themselves had been cowed into submission by the monster at my side.

I hadn’t thought it possible to be any colder, but that was because I hadn’t stood in my wedding chamber yet.

A hand at my lower back urged me forward, but I stalled just inside the doorway, the echo of my steps feeling loud enough to summon frostbeasts. It was one thing to consider my wedding night when I thought it was hours away, when it was only hypothetical.

Another to realize I would be trapped in a room with a male I had just watched slaughter two other females.

The bed loomed in the center of the room like a sacrificial altar—all carved silverwood and thick, luxurious furs that somehow looked more ominous than inviting. A basin of steaming water waited near the hearth, already perfumed with something far too sweet and cloying.

The touch at my back grew firmer, giving me no choice but to enter the room or lose even more dignity than I already had. Than I already would, by the time this night was over.

I forced myself to breathe. I had done this before. Not with a murderer, of course, or at least, not that I knew of. But if I could get through the stableboy’s clumsy fumblings in the dark while I held up my own skirts, then surely I could close my eyes and grit my teeth through this.

Even I heard how flimsy that was, as far as bolstering went.

A frigid gust of air closed the door with all the finality of a closing tomb, stealing my last chance to lie to myself.

The king stepped around me, tilting his head to regard me like a predator might regard something half-dead, as if he was already wondering how long I would last. It lent me enough anger to lift my chin and stare him in the eyes.

King Draven. My husband. And an utter frost-twat .

He wasn’t fooled by my weak front.

“You’re trembling.” His mouth twisted into a sneer like there was something distasteful about my unwillingness to offer myself to his loftiness.

I clenched my hands into fists to cover the motion that had already given me away. “It’s cold.”

We both knew I was lying. Well, I knew, and his exasperated blink told me he did as well.

He stepped closer, the air between us thrumming with the weight of his mana and his…disappointment. “You’re afraid.”

I let out a bitter huff of air. Yes, it must be very trying for Your Majesty to choose a bride against her will only to discover that she is, indeed, unwilling.

Maybe I should have bitten my tongue, but something in me cracked like the brittle edge of a frozen lake under a careless footstep.

“What did you expect?” I demanded, not moving closer but not backing away either. “That you would merrily murder two of your potential brides and the third one would be begging for the honor of falling at your feet?”

I let my anger cover my fear like a dusting of snow on a filthy cobblestone road.

His expression didn’t shift. Didn’t flicker. Just… shut. Like the wall of ice he had erected in the throne room, only twice as impenetrable, and twice as cold. Silence fell between us, the hum of his powers intensifying until they pricked uncomfortably along every inch of my skin.

He stalked closer, his footsteps somehow purposeful and graceful in one. I refused to move. To give him the satisfaction of cowing me.

But he didn’t try. Instead, he stepped around me, pausing once he was close enough for his shoulder to brush against mine. The charge between our bodies intensified, focusing on the single point of contact. He leaned in, his breath ghosted along the shell of my ear.

“Good,” he said, voice smooth and final. “You should be afraid of me. At least you have that much sense.”

Then he was gone through a door on the far side of the room, shutting it behind him with a whisper-soft click that felt louder than any slam. And I just stood there, spine straight, fists clenched, pretending the fear pooling in my stomach wasn’t already curdling into something far more dangerous.