Had he always been so tall? Had his eyes always been so molten? Had he always smelled so sweet?
He didn’tlooksweet.
He stared at me without the barest hint of a smile, though his gaze shifted over my face and hair as he took me in. The breadth of his shoulders drew a taut line, and the energy that pulsed from him was so thick in the seaward wind, I could almost feel it vibrating inside my core.
Masculine. Rough. Dangerous.
The space between us crackled. My dress was suddenly too tight.
The Aalton Priest began his speech, but I didn’t hear a word.
I was slowly falling, drowning inside a storm, my fingers scrabbling for purchase among the rocks.
I was aware that I likely looked like a block of wood. Something expressionless and hard. The tendons in my neck seized, and my spine ached under my rigid muscles.
I hated him.
Somewhere inside, I invited the taste of poison, letting it slither over my palate and bathe me in false confidence. My hatred had never failed me before. It had always been easy to find—always there when I reached for it.
“Do you, Lady Maren Inoa of Leihani, take Prince Nikolaos Laurier of Calder, under the witnesses of Aalto the Sun and the people gathered here today, to be your wedded husband? To comfort him when he needs comforting, tend to him when he needs tending, and protect him when he needs your protection?”
Hate.
To pluck a poisoned cane from the roots of hate and bite into its sweet nectar. To let it stir and bubble in my belly. To sink into its embrace, toxic in my veins.
“I will,” I murmured, my jaw flexing.
“And do you, Prince Nikolaos Laurier of Calder, take Lady Maren Inoa of Leihani, under the witnesses of Aalto the Sun and the people gathered here today, to be your wedded wife? To comfort her when she needs comforting, tend to her when she needs tending, and protect her when she needs your protection?”
War waged behind Kye’s eyes as he fought with himself. The Aalton Priest glanced at him, waiting. The sea thrashed against the cliffs below. Not a soul in the audience made a sound.
“I will.”
He seethed at me, and I at him, until the priest’s voice drifted through my head, and somewhere in the distance, the wordkissmet my consciousness.
Kye leaned forward, an iron warning in his gaze as his scent and warmth coiled over my limbs, binding me tight. The air around me snapped, crackling silently in my ears.
His lips met mine, and time ceased to exist.
He didn't taste like poison. He tasted cool and brisk, like icy wind whisking across my tongue.
It was a cautious kiss. Guarded. Suspicious. His mouth crushed mine in slow, soft fury, and I heard the promises that lingered, hidden under the touch of his skin.
Death.
50
Breathe. Focus.
Don’t fall asleep.
The door behind us snicked shut, and I stood alone with Kye in his rooms. I’d caught glimpses, but I’d never been inside before. Though twice the size, it was styled much like mine.
The fireplace comfortably crackled away, its thick mahogany mantle lined with books and mounted weapons. Lit candles lined both sides of the room, the servants had obviously readied the space for us.
Across the floor, loose rose petals were scattered weightlessly, their corners lifting in the warm draft from the fire. They curved in a clear-set path to the bedroom.
Kye scowled at them.
