I watched as one Imperator pushed Lyriana away, giving her barely a second to breathe, before the next one was there. She was caught between north and south. Naria dug her fingernails into my palm, and I brought my gaze back to hers. The Voladarim had ended, and another dance had already begun. I twirled Naria, attempting to move closer to the center of the dance floor—to where Lyriana stood. I needed to get near her. Needed to talk to her. Confirm that Imperator Hart’s gryphon-shit story about her engagement, or wedding, or whatever the fuck he was talking about was a lie. I couldn’t believe it. Refused to. Even if we’d never be together, I knew she wouldn’t want that. Would never willingly agree to such a thing. The more I considered it, the sicker I felt.
The fact that she had fainted in the Throne Room wasn’t helping convince me either—especially with the pregnancy rumors swirling. I desperately wanted word from her own mouth about her condition. I needed to know that she was okay. I had to pray that no matter what else was going on, the forsworn bastard—or rather the previously forsworn bastard—wouldn’t have allowed it. Knowing him, I didn’t think he would. But then again, I never thought he’d havehis title returned, or that I’d be engaged to Naria. I supposed anything was possible now.
I watched Lyr from the corner of my eye, her cheeks reddened, her hands moving weakly at her sides in a vain attempt to adjust that ridiculous excuse for a dress.
Naria’s aura flared with a prickly annoyance and she grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into her eyes. I did, breathing heavily, aware of another aura approaching.
Imperator Kormac sauntered up to us, grinning viciously. He took Naria’s hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.
“Your Highness,” Naria said sweetly, releasing her hold on me to curtsey low, her breasts practically spilling out of her dress.
The Imperator’s eyes raked down her body, and for a moment, Naira’s aura flared again—this time with a nervous, shivery sensation. A second later she seemed calm. The way she was when she was with her mother. Pretending to be unaffected, unafraid. I had the sudden urge to step between them. To protect her.
“Your Grace,” the Imperator drawled. “I know I’ve already told you, but you won’t mind my saying how deliciously beautiful you look tonight.”
Naria smiled, and bit her lip. “Thank you, Your Highness.” Her eyes flicked to mine, accusatory, as if I hadn’t offered her enough praise. Unless she was trying to communicate something else. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t always read her. She was always so closed off.
“Hmmmm,” the Imperator said, shaking his head slowly, his eyes still boring into Naria’s body. “I hate to break up the dancing. But,” his tilted his chin toward me, “might I have a word with your betrothed?”
I tensed.
Naria smiled. “Of course, Your Highness. You may have as many words as you like.”
“How generous.” He chuckled. “I thank you.” He gripped her hand lifting her arm over her head. The position looked painful, but Naria’s expression remained unaffected as he spun her in a circle. “Beautiful as ever. Just like your mother.” He released her, shoving her back just a little as he did so.
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded and left us alone, grabbing a floating glass of wine as she walked away, heading for Lady Pavi and the members of Ka Elys.
My heart pounded, alone now with the wolf. “Your Highness,” I said, and bowed, realizing I hadn’t done so yet in this current interaction.
He leaned back, his weight on his heels as he surveyed me. The music swelled, the song changing to a new tune that required additional musicians to accompany the players. Someone yelled out “Rapatayim!”
“Cheers!” came another yell.
Imperator Kormac’s eyebrows narrowed. “We’re still in agreement, aren’t we? That we have a new opportunity for you to bring someone to me. Two someones,” he said, and turned his wolfish eyes to Lyr as she spoke intimately to Imperator Hart.
Her mouth twitched into one of her fake smiles.
“They’re here,” I said, almost defiantly. “I haven’t forgotten. But are you sure you still want her? She’s …” I shrugged. “She might be pregnant.”
“Pregnancy doesn’t have to be permanent. And as far I’m concerned, if I didn’t see him fuck her with my own eyes, I have a hard time believing that it happened. If she’s been fucked, it hasn’t been by him.”
By Hart. Myself to Moriel. My blood was boiling. I hated thinking about that, hated talking about her like this. Like she was a thing to be traded, like any of these assholes deserved any say in how she lived her life or who she married. Or slept with.
Even if it would never be me.
“In exchange for Galen’s safety,” I said, my pulse pounding. “I know what you did. And I thank you.” Before Imperator Hart’s arrival, I’d been in the arena, watching the final practice with those chosen to fight tomorrow. And to my relief, Galen was nowhere to be seen. I’d wanted to go to his apartment to talk to him. To tell him I was sorry he hadn’t made the trials.
But I’d been required to appear in the Throne Room. Since I’d captured that vorakh in the Palace, I’d been given special treatment—permission to carry my own stave, and daily invitations to be present in Court alongside Ka Kormac.
“The plan remains,” Imperator Kormac agreed. “I made the necessary arrangements. Though, all of this does depend on you. I need you to do your part. I cannot simply take her from Kane’s bed, not without causing a huge political headache with the North.”
My throat tightened, and I nodded. I just had to keep agreeing. Agree and do nothing. Galen would be safe. He was already disqualified from the games, hadn’t been cast in any role. The games were in hours, they’d start in the morning. I’d make a failed attempt at Lyr. And then she would leave with Imperator Hart. I’d just admit my failure and prostrate myself at his feet. I’d deal with those consequences. As long as it meant Galen lived. As long as it meant I didn’t lose one more friend to Imperator Kormac’s manipulations.
He stepped closer, and suddenly his hand was on my shoulder, just like it had been that day in the arena. “I would, however, like confirmation that that oversized ogre hasn’t taken her to his bed. That there’s no beast spawn in her belly. It would be in his character as well as Devon’s.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think so. It’s just a desperate attempt from Devon to keep one of my subjects.”
“If you already know the truth, Your Highness, why do you need me to confirm it?”
“Because,” he drawled, his other hand on my belly, “the truth becomes far more believable when she’s the one confiding it in an old friend. One just like you. Who else? After all, you also failed to wed and bed her.”
