Prologue
The king always knew his slow descent into madness would one day consume him.
Destroy him.
He just did not know it would be so soon.
"You’re going to be late."
The voices nipped at the king’s ears as he made his way down the corridor.
"The mad king is always, always running late."
“Enough,” Desmond whispered aloud, swatting at the air as if the voices had manifested like flies buzzing around his head. He burst through the throne room doors,late, just as the voices predicted and his heart skipped a beat.
For there, upon the dais, stood a group of councilmen and the most beautifulwoman he’d ever seen.
“Finally,” a councilman grumbled.
“Forgive me, I lost track of time.” Desmond walked up a few steps to meet them.
“All is well.” King Godrick of Novaria stepped forth. “King Desmond Orathka, I present to you, my eldest daughter, Kamari Zeliath. Princess of Novaria. May your marriage bring peace to our kingdoms at long last.”
Desmond hardly heard a word the king said, too distracted by the buzzing in his ear and the erratic beating in his chest. “A pleasure.” Desmond extended his hand, his heart leaping to his throat when Kamari’s skin met his.
“Your Majesty.” She curtsied and Desmond fought the urge to yank her to her feet, to remind her that she will be queen, and will bow to no one, including him.
In the weeks that followed, their days were filled with premarital traditions. Teas, and dances, and games. Normally, Desmond would be put off by the idea of being around so many people for so long, but he quickly found bold Kamari made him.
He was enamored by her. Struck not only by her beauty but by her curiosity. Her genuine kindness. He couldn’t get enough of her. He studied her like one of the maps in his library. The tinyfreckle she had near her lip. The dark spirals of hair that sat cropped above her shoulders. Her eyes, the color of scorched earth, called his attention at a glance. The way she tilted her head back when she laughed andstars, her laugh. It was the only sound that drove the voices to silence.
So he made it his priority to make her laugh every day.
He drew her pictures. Wrote her letters and slipped them under her plate at dinner. He plaited her hair and they swapped stories of their homes. Their childhoods and families and duties they were born into.
Desmond couldn’t recall exactly when they fell in love, only that over the year that followed, they did. Despite their marriage being forced upon them, despite the stain of war their fathers had brought to their kingdoms, it was all forgotten when her hand was in his.
“You are nothing like I expected.” Kamari drew a line across his bottom lip with her thumb.
“No?” Desmond’s stomach sank. Could she see him for who he really was?
Mad.
Decaying.
Slowly losing control.
“And how am I like?” he dared to ask as Kamari studied him under the soft light of their bedroom.
Desmond worried, under such scrutiny, if she would be able to see the secrets that lined his eyes or the darkness that was inked into his heart. He hadn’t told her of the voices. He wasn’t sure he ever would. He couldn’t imagine the way she’d look at him if she knew. It would be quite torturous, he decided, if she looked at him anyother way than she was looking at him now. Eyes heavy, lips parted, a smile creeping over them.
“You’re kind.” She inched closer until the tips of their noses brushed. “Romantic.” She kissed him long and slow on the mouth. “And you make me happy.” She drew back enough to look him in the eyes. “And how lucky we are to be happy, Desmond?”
Happy.
Happy was such a foreign word to Desmond, he hardly understood the concept. He spent so much of his life just trying to survive.
Survive his father.
