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Chapter Fifteen
RAZIEL
King Raziel slouched in his chair, a silver goblet of wine in his right hand dangling loosely from his fingers.
The buzz of one hundred voices filled the cavernous dining hall.
He took a sip of the rich wine and scanned the room.
He tipped his head back against the chair and stared upward.
Walnut beams crisscrossed the high-arching stone ceiling, making it look as if it were a woman’s coronet.
It was a masterpiece of architecture. One could whisper from the opposite side of the room, and Raziel could hear their conversation.
He wasn’t sure what his ancestors exactly had in mind when they’d designed the dining hall, but it had proved useful over the years.
Anyone brave enough or stupid enough to speak of personal life would be sharing with the entire assembly.
But it worked both ways. Anything Raziel and his companions spoke of would be shared with those on the opposite side of the room.
His mother said it fostered respect, and while Raz agreed, it was bloody inconvenient. Every time they hosted an event, Raziel was on pins and needles. He had to watch every single thing he said. It got even trickier when his courtiers purposely asked him inflammatory questions.
Luckily, his sour mood had kept everyone away from him so he could drink in peace.
Long sturdy wooden tables filled the room, adorned with plates of savory food, smooth wine and brew, and vases full of colorful wildflowers.
A mixture of high and common born sat together, partaking in the feast. Not many kingdoms mixed between ranks.
Even though he’d enjoyed his time in Aermia, the banquets only hosted those who were highborn with a few esteemed lowborn attending.
A thread of pride wriggled in the king’s chest. Methian culture was different.
All were welcomed, no matter their status or the blood that ran through their veins.
What mattered was loyalty, kindness, and their bonds with the fiilee .
It was beautiful to see. All were here to partake in the banquet to celebrate his new marriage.
And yet his wife was nowhere to be found.
Levay had kept Raz up to date on the state of his new murderous queen.
She was much improved. Even his mother had spoken with the queen.
She should have been here. And yet...
he glanced at the empty seat to his right.
There’d been speculation as to where she was, but most had swallowed his explanation that his new wife was under the weather.
He rubbed at the tip of his nose with his left hand.
It throbbed, sending pain across his bruised left cheekbone.
Slowly, he lifted the cold goblet and gently laid it against the tender flesh.
He’d give her one thing, the Sirenidae surely knew how to pack a punch.
If he hadn’t been so irritated with the whole situation, he might have been a little proud.
Valen and Gideon abandoned their table from the left and approached Raziel. They paused at the first step of the dais and bowed respectfully.
The two brothers were a study in opposites.
Where Valen was thick and bulky, Gideon was wiry and graceful.
Valen’s hair and skin were dark, Gideon’s fair.
No one underestimated Valen and everyone underestimated Gideon.
What they had in common was loyalty, pure hearts, brilliant minds, and long friendship with Raziel. Plus, they were brilliant riders.
Gideon’s reflective ice-blue gaze ran over Raz, noting the claw marks on his arm, the stitches on his neck, and the black eyes. The man never missed anything. His attention turned to the empty seat at his side, and he arched a brow.
“It’s too bad the queen wasn’t feeling well,” he said softly. Translation: what did you do to your wife?
Raziel said nothing, just took another sip of his wine.
While it suited him to not have the Sirenidae there, it prickled part of him that she’d never showed.
Appearances mattered, and his new wife was making him look weak. Even now, he could feel a few speculating gazes running over him. Gossip would be circulating full force by the next morning.
Just what he needed.
The council had been challenging him since his mum had passed the crown down to him. Every move he’d made had been questioned, especially since he’d returned from the Warlord’s War. His mother had chosen to involve them in the battle, but the blame for the loss of life fell upon his shoulders.
An ache flared in his chest. They’d lost many fiilee and riders. In fact, he’d almost lost Gideon, in addition to his bonded.
He took another deep sip of his wine as his friends watched him quietly.
Gideon cocked his head. “When was the last time you...”
The murmur of the crowd rose in volume.
“The queen!”
“A Sirenidae.”
“What is she wearing?”
Raziel sat up straighter, Gideon and Valen stepping aside. He blinked at his wife, who’d stepped into the banquet hall. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth at the expanse of skin she showed. His admiration was quickly followed by annoyance. She was practically naked.
“Are those your . . . curtains?” Valen grunted.
Indeed they were.
He knew for a fact that his mother had delivered an appropriate dress for the occasion, and yet his bloody wife was wearing his curtains.
She’d managed to wrap the black damask fabric into a mockery of a dress.
Her entire left leg was exposed, along with the upper part of her midriff showcasing a marking between her breasts.
The makeshift straps wrapped around her neck and tied at the back.
She turned to the right, taking Chancellor Ortunge’s hand, and her musical laugh echoed in the room, filling his ears.
His breath caught as she turned to whisper something in Ortunge’s ear, revealing her entire exposed back. The fabric clung to the base of her spine, and he stared at the dimples winking at him from her lower back.
His chancellor would have a field day about her behavior at their next council meeting. Just what he needed.
Valen whistled. “What a charming dress.” His tone said anything but.
The Sirenidae smiled as the crowd stood and bowed when she made her way farther into the room, causing a stir in her wake.
Not once did her gaze land on Raz. Instead, she fluttered her lashes at old men, laughed at lame jokes, complimented women on their dresses, and smiled brightly at all.
She was an actress. Both an asset and a danger.
His wife finally made it to the dais. Valen and Gideon both bowed to her.
Raziel held her gaze and kept his mask in place as she smirked at him, batting her long lashes, which had been tinted a deep purple.
“My lord,” she murmured.
“My lady,” he replied. “What a fetching... dress.”
Her smile widened. She cocked her hip, exposing more of her left leg. He blinked slowly as he finally noticed the marks. She had bruises on her thighs.
In the shape of his hands.
His lips pressed together as he took a closer look at her outfit. Sure, he assumed she had wanted to shock his assembly, but she had wrapped the fabric purposely to show off each and every mark she’d sustained from their fight.
It was a challenge.
A declaration.
One that said ‘ you can’t control me.’
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “It took me longer than I expected to get ready.” Her attention moved to the empty chair at his side. “Is that for me?”
Raziel set down his wine. “It is.”
“It’s lovely but it won’t do.”
He gritted his teeth, knowing that each and every person was listening to their conversation. She ascended the three steps of the dais and dropped into his lap. Raz’s hands reflexively went to her waist, shock widening his eyes.
She wiggled, slipping farther into his lap. She threw one leg at a time over the arm of his seat before draping one arm around his shoulders. Her fingers caressed the stitches along his neck, and he stiffened. She was taunting him.
For once in his life, Raziel didn’t know what to do.
Per their customs, Methians didn’t engage in public affection. Hand-holding, yes. Maybe a chaste kiss, but never something this bold.
“Ah,” she sighed in his ear, the ghost of her breath causing the hair to rise at the back of his neck. “This is better, isn’t it, my king?”
Hundreds of pairs of eyes watched them, waiting for his response.
Play her little game.
Raziel released the tension in his body and purposely lifted his left hand and placed it on her bare thigh. He squeezed gently over the bruised imprint of his hand, ignoring the titters of the crowd. She stiffened slightly before he felt her melt back into the role she was playing.
“Naughty,” she murmured into the side of his neck. “What fun we will have.”
By fun, he presumed she meant bloodshed.
Hyperaware of her pointed nails stroking his stitches almost lovingly, he turned his face until they were nose to nose. Her magenta eyes glittered with malice and a touch of the devil. She enjoyed torturing him and causing a scene.
He planned to return the favor.
Raz brushed his nose against hers. “What fun we can have right here.”
His mother gasped, but she stifled it with a cough.
If this Sirenidae thought he’d balk, she was sorely mistaken. Raziel wouldn’t let her have all the fun.
He could feel the disgust coming off his bride as he caressed her thigh in a long fluid stroke, his fingertips running over a few delicate scale patches. She did a good job of hiding it though. By all accounts, they looked like a couple ready to tear each other’s clothes off.
The only thing they wanted from each other was pain.
“You recovered well,” he said softly, squeezing her rounded hip. He glanced at her bruised temple.
“I did. I wasn’t as ill as everyone believed.” Translation: you didn’t hurt me .
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