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A s the sun rose, Theron buried his head in his pillow. He wanted a few more hours of rest before the journey back to Aureum. And maybe a slow, leisurely roll in the sheets with his new wife. After all, beds as comfortable as these would be hard to come by on the road home, and he suspected that once they arrived in Altanus, they would be too busy for playful morning trysts. At least for a while. He dozed, daydreaming of what he would do to his delightful wife, until the doors to the room were flung open.

Theron smiled. Aurora had returned. Maybe he would get what he wanted after all.

But her expression was not at all suited for love-making.

Eyes red-rimmed, with the evidence of dried tears on her cheeks, she strode inside with wrath infused into her every step, rage blazing in her green eyes. Gone was the gold and red dress he’d prepared for her. In its place, a gown of Viridian green and silver, emeralds sparkling from her neck, her ears, her fingers, her hair. She was outfitted for court with a royal’s tiara atop her brow—and kitted for war, with a blade at her hip. At her back, a number of Viridian royal guards poured in.

Bewilderment held him in its grip, his lust turning to ash as rage set it alight. The shock of betrayal, dark and ugly, pumped through his veins.

Aurora drew her sword and pressed the tip of it to his throat, her voice as cold as ice and as sharp as glass.

“Take me to my throne.”