A single dry laugh escapes his throat. “How adorable. You mistake him for something other than a sadistic monster who has had centuries to perfect his tortures and torments.” Daedalus turns his head to me. “Do not be fooled. There is a reason he rules the Sundered Kingdoms. Over all the other Fae houses. His is a legacy written in blood.”
A chill sweeps over me, and I’m sure I’m shaking, but I will not allow Daedalus to frighten me. That is what he wants.
“So what is your plan, then?” I ask firmly. “How do you convince them you have spent the night with me? Your wife, who is neitherenticingnorarousing?”
“I will convince them of nothing,” Daedalus replies. “They will see it with their own eyes.”
He comes to an abrupt stop and I realize we stand outside my chambers already. I’m shaking again, but this time I do not have the strength to hide it. Daedalus unhooks his arm from mine and throws open the doors before strutting inside, pulling his thick, muscled arms free of his form fitting coat and tossing it on the bed.
I stare agape. “What… what are you doing?”
“Taking my wife to bed,” he replies, as if it was a completely normal thing to say. He stands at the end of the bed with a wide stance, a sly grin on his face as he pops open the buttons of his shirt. “So close the doors and come here.”
I hesitate, spinning on my heels left and right, even considering running across the balcony and leaping over the edge. I don’t acknowledge the fact I would smash into a hundred tiny, bloody pieces upon the rocks below. All I know is it would get me away from here. I realize although his rejection and repulsion of me summons a melancholy I do not understand, the thought of him actually wanting me, desiring me, touching me, is more frightening than anything else.
But Daedalus, my prince, my husband, grows impatient.
“Now, wife,” he demands.
I step inside the room and when I turn my back on him to close the doors I feel splintered, as if I have left a part of myself outside in the cold, dark hall. The only part of me with the will to resist him.
Chapter 8
When the doors close, we are alone. The Mordorin prince and his human bride with nothing standing between us but a giant bed dressed in scarlet covers.
I watch him through the black, gossamer bed curtain, stalking back and forth like a caged animal, his fingers trailing down his shirt, popping each button so slowly it’s agonizing, until the shimmering dark fabric falls open. In the midnight sky, moonlight filters through the mists of scattered cloud, finding its way through the arches and casting a silvery glow over his muscled chest. Each ridge and valley of his physique is meticulously defined, his smooth skin a canvas for the black rune tattoos that sweep across his collarbone and plunge down his taut abdomen before vanishing below his belt.
Heat swells within me. He is beautiful to look upon. Unlike any man I have ever seen.
Because he is not a man.
I must remember that, no matter how my body responds to him. I ignore the yearning, focusing instead on the runes, forcing logic to take control before I melt into a puddle on the floor.
“Your runes differ from ours,” I say. “I noticed the ones on Arax’s back as well.”
Daedalus raises an eyebrow. “Runes. That is what you’re thinking about right now?” His hand slides to grip the back of his neck, and every muscled ridge of his body tightens.
I think about sitting with my sisters and weaving for hours until my fingers bleed. The Tender Council, old hunched men with long wiry hair sprouting from their ears. The taste of milk left out too long in the sun. Anything to distract me from Daedalus and my uninvited need to reach out and touch him.
“What else would I be thinking about?” I ask with disinterest, and even I am impressed with how believable I sound.
I notice his eyes turn down and his shoulders slouch. If I didnt know any better, he almost looks dejected. “These are runes of the First Fae.”
“Is that what makes them special?”
“Yes, it does, along with the ink that is used.”
“What is special about the ink?” I continue.
Daedalus furrows his brow. “Why do you ask so many questions?”
“It is in my nature. Always has been,” I reply distractedly. “Keeper Tover says I have an inquisitive mind.” I grasp the rune around my neck and return to the subject at hand. “We do not wear our runes on our skin.”
“As you shouldn’t,” Daedalus says sharply. “Such a thing is heresy and would see a noose around your pretty neck.”
I ignore his attempts at scaring me. “If I take off this necklace, my power to heal goes with it. Do you brand yourselves so you are powerful always?”
Daedalus smirks. He straightens and parts his open shirt to his hips. “These runes are for flight, for void walking, for regenerating, for beserking in battle. But none of them makes me powerful.”
