Page 18 of King of Ashes (Kingdom of Sinners #4)

KEIRA

I ’m doing my best to appease Phoenix, but he’s insufferable and infuriating.

After he left my room yesterday, I found it difficult to plan a wedding.

So now I feel behind today as I arrange for floral deliveries, order champagne, and make the final decision on a dress.

I once dreamed I’d wear a custom wedding dress when I walked down the aisle to marry Phoenix.

Now it’s an off the rack order that I hope will fit.

"Miss Keira, would you prefer the orchids or lilies for the centerpieces for tonight’s dinner?" Margot, one of our long-time staff members, hovers beside me with sample arrangements.

"The lilies." I don't even look up. What does it matter? This isn't a celebration but a public humiliation.

Margot hesitates. "Are you certain? The orchids were always your favorite."

"That was a different lifetime." I meet her eyes briefly. "Phoenix prefers lilies."

He doesn't. I have no idea what flowers Phoenix likes now. But something in me wants to erase every trace of the girl I was when I loved him.

As evening approaches, I open my closet and stare at the rows of dresses I’ve accumulated over the years. The last formal dinner in this house ended with my brother dead and Jenna, our gardener, taken.

I run my fingers across the fabric of a midnight blue gown, remembering how Ronan was full of himself that night and how my father had been so focused on business deals that he never noticed the danger circling us.

I realize now that it was Phoenix and his brothers.

All the troubles we’ve had over the last year were from them.

I’d overheard staff whisper that Blaise Ifrinn has infiltrated the family, killed Ronan, and kidnapped Jenna.

No, not kidnapped because she’s married to him now.

Not an arranged marriage like me. No, this is a love match if the servants have it right.

The Ifrinns have probably planned this takeover since my father killed their parents. I don’t blame them. What my father did was heinous. But I wasn’t a part of it. At least not willingly. Why doesn’t Phoenix understand that?

I select a simple black dress. It’s fitting for an elegant dinner, but also for my situation. I once dreamed of Phoenix every night, hoping he hadn’t died and would come back for me. I imagined our reunion a thousand different ways. In none of those dreams did he look at me with such hatred.

Does he ever think about how we used to be? Does he remember how my skin felt under his hands? Does he hate himself for those memories the way I sometimes hate myself for still cherishing them?

A sharp knock interrupts my thoughts. I open the door to find Eliza, one of our newer maids, holding a garment bag with both hands like it might bite her.

"Miss Keira," she says, eyes downcast. "Mr. Ifrinn sent this for tonight. He insists that you wear it."

I take the bag. "Thank you, Eliza."

She hovers. "He… he said I'm to wait and make sure it fits properly."

My stomach tightens. "That won't be necessary."

"Please, Miss." Her voice drops to a whisper. "I'll be in trouble if I don't follow his orders exactly."

I nod, understanding her position all too well. "Come in, then."

I slide the zipper down and pull back the protective covering.

I close my eyes when I get the first glimpse of the garment.

The dress, if you can call it that, is a brilliant crimson, the color of fresh blood.

The fabric shimmers under the light, thin and clingy with a neckline that plunges dangerously low and a slit that reaches mid-thigh.

"He can't be serious."

Eliza says nothing, but her expression confirms what I already know. Phoenix is deadly serious.

I slip behind my dressing screen and shed the black dress I’d planned to wear. The red sheath slides over my skin like water, clinging and molding to every curve of my body. There's no room for undergarments, clearly by design.

When I step out, Eliza's eyes widen. "It's… striking, Miss Keira."

I turn to glimpse my reflection in the full-length mirror and gasp.

The dress barely covers my backside. If I bend even slightly, everything will be on display.

The neckline is so low my breasts threaten to spill out with each breath, and the fabric clings so tightly I can see every curve and contour of my body.

I look more like a mistress, not a fiancée. The red fabric makes my pale skin glow, my gray eyes appear almost silver. I look desirable, available, and utterly owned.

My first instinct is to rip it off, to tell Phoenix he can go to hell. I've endured enough humiliation.

“Why bother? I should just go naked.” I tug uselessly at the hem. "It's indecent. Please tell Mr. Ifrinn I need something else."

Eliza wrings her hands, her eyes darting nervously to the door. "Miss Keira, I can't. He was very specific. He said if you refused, I was to remind you that your parents' comfort depends on your cooperation."

“Did he say that exactly?"

"Yes, Miss. And…" She hesitates. "He said to tell you that this is what happens when you behave like a whore—you dress like one."

I close my eyes, understanding washing over me with sickening clarity. This isn't just about control. It's about humiliation. He wants to parade me in front of his brothers and associates like some trophy, a symbol of the Keans' fall from grace.

I don’t want my parents to die, but neither do I feel it’s my responsibility to save them. They are where they are because of their choices. If the situations were reversed, they wouldn’t think twice about having Phoenix kill me. After all, they’d handed me over to him to try and save themselves.

But I have to think of Brigit. He could threaten her. For her, I’ll endure any humiliation.

"I see." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "Thank you for being honest, Eliza."

I stare at my reflection again, seeing Phoenix's strategy for what it is. Another power play. Another reminder that I am at his mercy. He thinks I'll beg and plead to wear something else. More than that, he hopes to see me break under the demeaning stares of his guests.

But I won't give him that satisfaction. If he wants to dress me like a conquest, I'll wear his scarlet dress. But I won't wear the shame he's trying to drape over me.

"You can tell Mr. Ifrinn the dress fits perfectly." I straighten my spine, lifting my chin. "And that I'll be down shortly."

I straighten my shoulders, watching my reflection harden with resolve.

I descend the staircase one deliberate step at a time, my hand gliding along the polished banister, my chin lifted. He can take everything except my dignity. Granted, in this dress, that assertion is being challenged, but I’ll fight tooth and nail to retain my self-respect.

I step into the large living area where the guests have gathered. The conversation quiets as I appear, and I feel every eye turn toward me. My skin burns under their scrutiny, but I force myself to keep moving, to keep my chin lifted despite the heat crawling up my neck.

Phoenix stands near the fireplace, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in his hand.

He freezes mid-conversation when he sees me, his eyes darkening as they travel slowly from my face down the length of my body.

The hunger in his gaze is unmistakable, and I hate the way my body responds to it, a traitorous flutter low in my belly.

He doesn’t love you , I remind myself. Maybe he never did.

"There she is," he announces, voice carrying through the room. "My bride-to-be."

He moves to me, extending his hand. I have no choice but to take it, his fingers closing around mine with possessive strength.

"You look magnificent," he murmurs, just loud enough for those nearby to hear. His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Red suits you. The color of passion." His eyes flick down to the neckline of my dress. "The color of power."

"I'm glad you approve," I reply, keeping my voice neutral despite the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Phoenix pulls me closer, his lips brushing my ear. "You were born to be a queen, Keira. My queen." His breath is hot against my skin. "Though I never imagined you'd embrace the role so eagerly."

“Eager isn’t the word I’d use.” I try to step back, but his arm snakes around my waist, keeping me pressed against him.

"You've always looked good in expensive things," he continues, fingers splaying across my lower back where the dress dips dangerously low. "Though I think you'd look even better wearing nothing but my name."

Someone nearby chuckles, and I realize we have an audience. Of course we do. This is exactly what Phoenix wanted, to display me like a conquered territory, marked and claimed.

"Smile, darling," he whispers. "Everyone's watching the future Mrs. Ifrinn."

I feel dozens of eyes on me as Phoenix guides me through the room, his hand possessively at the small of my back. The thin fabric offers no barrier between his touch and my skin. I force my face into a pleasant mask, refusing to let him see how much this humiliates me.

"Keira, you remember my brothers," Phoenix says, stopping before a small group near the fireplace.

Ten years ago, they were all around my age. Today I see grown men, hardened, and yet, not as bitter as Phoenix.

“This is Flint,” Phoenix introduces. Flint, covered with more tattoos than I remember, stands with his arm around a petite blonde woman with intelligent eyes. “And his wife Lucy. Her articles haven’t been very complimentary about you and your family.”

Lucy glances at Phoenix with disapproving eyes but then smiles when she turns to me. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” I look to Flint. “I’m so glad to see you alive and well.”

Flint nods. “Thank you, Keira.”

“You remember Blaise, Flint’s twin.”

Blaise is different from his twin with his blond hair and green eyes. He’s holding hands with a pregnant woman whose face I recognize immediately.

"Jenna?"

Jenna’s smile is hesitant. "Hello, Miss Keira."