Beside him, Augustus wore glasses, and his two-toned hair hung under his crown, down to his waist in a silky sheet.
The new looks did nothing to soften either of them.
They were wolves in sheep’s clothes—in the sense that they’d gutted the sheep, put its severed parts in a box, and then gifted them to me so they could maintain their sick lineages.
Augustus’s jaw ticked as he glared, perpetually furious with me, and Kharon cracked his neck like he was getting ready for battle.
That can’t be good.
I stopped at the end of the aisle, and the music cut off.
The silence was charged.
Cruel satisfaction flashed in their eyes as they flanked me.
I was trapped.
The familiar elderly officiant stepped forward, her eyes a startling shade of violet and hair pure white.
Up close, her features were eerily familiar.
My stomach dropped to my knees.
That’s why I recognized her after the massacre. She delivered Charlie to the trailer, ten years ago.
I was free-falling, arms wide, unable to slow my sharp descent into madness.
She gestured to the men. “I’m glad that you took a chance on the killers—great choice,” she whispered to me.
I stared back, unamused.
Is this lady for real right now?
She ignored my general aura of disdain, unrolled a scroll, then squinted with surprise like she was seeing it for the first time.
Long awkward moments passed, and as we waited, I stewed.
There was no choice involved in this sham of a marriage.
While the Houses were against the union of three Chthonics, they’d pushed it forward as quickly as possible to mitigate the scandal of a precious heiress taking part in the crucible. Everyone wanted to save my feminine “honor” so I could remain “pure.”
Too bad I was filthy.
I’d been rolling in the mud for years: starving, using illegal food stamps,killing, lying, pretending, doing anything I could to survive.
There was nothing honorable left to save.
The urge to leap away was overwhelming, but I bit down on my tongue to stop the word from tumbling out.
My parents were watching with hopeful expressions, and Sparta would never let me leave, not now that they had their precious Chthonic heiress back. Not now that they thought my “sacred” betrothal was voluntary. Helen’s honor was also somehow “smeared” by her association with me.
She’s only sixteen. She doesn’t deserve to suffer for that scumbag.
Also, Kharon and Augustus would hunt me down—they’d stalk me to the ends of the earth—if I tried to run away.
So there was that.
The noose tightened around my throat.
