All she could think about was his mouth locked with hers. Her hands splaying on his chest. His fingers twisting in her hair.
“For one, he wouldn’t stop at talking, Princess.” Nikator rearranged her hair so it fell over her back once more. He leaned even closer, the intoxicating scent of ocean breeze, summer, and vanilla spices filling her senses. He was like a sweet nectar she wanted to drink greedily . “I wouldn’t let him go further than that. If he so much as spoke to you, I would cut his tongue off. If he dared to kiss you? I would slice his lips off his face. And if that fuckingswordof his grew near you? I would kill him ten times over. Because, Biyu, everyone might think that he is your intended”—his voice lashed out like a whip, heated and lethal—“but you aremywife and I will not stand to have another man covet what ismine.”
She inhaled sharply. The breath stole from her lungs as he stepped away, the warmth of his body heat leaving her cold. She turned to face him, heart pounding in her chest.
Nikator stared at her levelly. He was … serious.
She had never seen such a look on his face. Purely feral. Purely possessive.
Of her.
When she didn’t say anything—at a loss for words—he motioned to the door. “We should go. When I checked on the hall, it was more than halfway filled. By now, almost everyone has likely arrived. If we tarry any longer …” He lifted his shoulders and flashed her a sharp, wild grin. “We may miss the wedding altogether. Not that I mind. I hate social events like this, anyway.”
Biyu bobbed her head and jumped to her feet. A bit too fast, because the blood rushed to her face and her vision dotted with shadows. She rounded the bench, waiting for her vision to clear, and bunched her hands over her skirts.
“How—” She cleared the unsteadiness from her voice. “How do I look?”
Something akin to surprise flitted over his face. His attention roved over the length of her frame and every fiber of her being lit on fire. His jaw clenched, a muscle feathering. And then he shrugged.
“Like a princess,” he said dryly.
“Oh.” She stared down at the silk shoes poking through her heavy skirts. She shouldn’t have expected any other response. He wasn’t one to compliment, anyway, and did she want him to say pretty nothings to her when they were enemies? When they had no reason to be flirting with one another?
But he declared that you’re his wife, a small voice argued.
He’d also sworn to break the marriage spell, too.
They didn’t speak again as they left her chambers. She laced her hands together in front of herself as they wove through the halls. Eventually, they arrived in the main hall where the wedding would transpire. Music lifted through the air, humming softly over her. The thicket of sounds—people laughing, talking, moving—brought a host of memories she wanted to ignore. She’d always hated social events. Even more so since her imprisonment.
When they entered the hall, nobody batted an eye at them. Everyone was so engrossed in their own conversations, in their own gossips, that they didn’t care if the imprisoned princess shuffled her way to the dais where the emperor and empress sat, bowed to them and mumbled her greetings, and shuffled back to her position at one of the tables for the nobility.
Nikator hung a few feet away from her. He leaned against one of the pillars behind her, his attention raking over the colorful costumes of the nobility. He didn’t appear impressed by the glittering jewels, the fancy silks, or the heady smells emanating from them.
Drakkon Muyang appeared as bored as always. Dressed in rich, dark clothes, he was a smear of powerful, inky magic against the backdrop of vividly dressed nobles. His presence was heavy in the air, intermingled with powerful magic that made it hard to breathe without remembering it hung around her densely. Beside him, his wife glowed. Daiyu truly was a beautiful beacon of light. Her dark hair was coiled behind her head artfully with half a dozen beautiful hairpins that shimmered every time she moved her head. The slight bump of her stomach was apparent even as she sat. Occasionally, she rubbed it, and on more than one occasion Biyu caught Muyang’s hand pressed on her abdomen. Almost …lovingly.
A pang shot through her chest and she snapped her head down with enough force to hurt. She stilled her pounding heart.Drakkon Muyang was a monster incapable of love. He was a grotesque, overly powerful man who had grown crueler with time. Not … not the opposite. There was no way that Biyu and Yat-sen were dethroning a man who didn’t deserve it.
She forced herself to remember the day he took the throne. The blood of her family still stained her memory. All that blood. All the screaming. The crying. She couldn’t forget.
Did Daiyu actually love that accursed monster? How would she react when … when Yat-sen inevitably killed him? Would she be relieved? Or would she scream and cry and act the same as … as when Biyu had lost her family?
The dark thought hung over her head. The scroll she had stolen burned a hole in her pocket. She had brought it with her since she knew she’d run into Yat-sen here, and yet it felt wrong. Terrifying. Like she was making a mistake. Or maybe because she realized her actions had consequences.
She needed to find her brother and pass it to him. Then she could think about the consequences. Then she could think about Daiyu’s face twisting with grief. Or Nikator’s eventual horror. Or … or how everyone in this hall would—everyone loyal to His Majesty and a part of his court—would suddenly find themselves in a terrible position. How they would have to kneel before Yat-sen and ask for forgiveness, ask to be brought under his favor.
Nausea curdled her stomach. Even when rich and decadent food was brought in front of her, she could hardly bring a morsel to her mouth. Even as Liqin entered the hall, flocked by servants and noble ladies, Biyu could hardly focus on anything. Not on how beautifully her sister was dressed, nor on the cold, indifferent mask she wore.
The ceremonies went without a hitch, and then the feast began, the dancing, the music. All the while Liqin sat rigid in her seat, her new husband appearing equally impassive about thewhole thing. Though, he offered more polite smiles than Liqin did.
“Are you enjoying the evening?”
Biyu turned sharply to find Wu Jian grinning at her. Her insides coiled together and a quick glance showed that Nikator was surrounded by the other Peccata members. Minos, Vera, and Thera.
Jian didn’t wait for her response as he slid into the seat beside her. His long hair was slicked back, and he smelled like cedar and alcohol. Pleasant and bitter—the two scents warring with one another.
“I was hoping to catch you sooner.” He leaned closer to her, his elbow brushing her breasts as he picked something off her plate. She reeled back, but he pressed his other hand on her lower back, keeping her rooted in place. “You look beautiful.”
Biyu’s nose wrinkled. She had wanted to be told just that, but it sounded off coming from him, and she realized she didn’t need to be told she was pretty if it was coming from him. She only wanted to hear it from … someone else.
