Any one aspect of this evening on its own would be enough to make it a waking nightmare—being stuffed into finery and put on display, navigating the pitfalls of social graces, feeling naked without weapons and armor, and worst of all, meeting a bride—but all together, it feels like a night crafted to be my own personal hell.
And that’s before I realize the Dealmaker has one final trick up his sleeve.
When the ballroom falls silent, focus finally—mercifully—pulled from me, I know he must have arrived with her. With my bride. The room is too vast, and the crowd too dense for me to see more than the tips of the Dealmaker’s wolfish ears moving toward me, and as he does, a murmur follows in his wake.
My heart stops for a beat—did he fail to find someone? Has he shown up empty-handed to humiliate me, destroying my only chance to make a first impression upon the reach’s aristocracy? In the next moment, a flash of sparkle shines behind the Dealmaker, and one of my fears is assuaged.
My relief lasts only until my next breath. Val stiffens at my side, the crowd beginning to part to make way. Heart racing, I crane my neck, able to see a figure of petite stature, narrow shoulders, hair the color of sun-drenched wheat, and…no horns.
All at once, the floor drops out from under me, my stomach left behind somewhere in the ballroom.
I’m not surprised the Dealmaker was less than forthcoming with me. That’s in his nature. I was prepared for someone who hated me, someone who wanted to steal the throne for themselves, even someone who’d try to kill me, but in all my wildest paranoid predictions, I never could have conceived ofthis.
The murmurs grow from hushed whispers to unabashed gossip, and all I hear is the sort of ringing in my ears that happens after standing too close to cannons firing.
A human.What in the shattered realms am I meant to do with a human bride? She’s from another world, knowing nothing of our lands, customs, people—no more fit to be queen than I am king. If anything, this is a surefire way to accelerate the land’s rejection of me.
Anumar will regret this. I will destroy him the moment the opportunity presents itself, but for the time being, I have to maintain my composure. While everyone else in the room is shocked and scandalized, I keep a neutral face, acting as though this is all a part of my plan.
What an inconceivable plan that would be. If I’m looking to instill confidence that I’m capable of filling the throne, bringing a helpless human in this dying mess isn’t the way to do it. Letting the Dealmaker throw me off-balance won’t help matters either.
The closer I get, the more I’m able to see the scope of this disaster. He’s put her in a dress that’s sure to have everyone gossiping about the queen-to-be and her expensive tastes. While the rest of the reach is chipping ice out of their fields in hopes of finding a scrap of food forgotten underground, my bride is dripping in gems.
And despite the rage building toward the Dealmaker, even I can’t deny that she’s ravishing. Her wide, bronze-gold eyesdrinking in the scene, her hair drawn up in a style that leaves her pale neck and shoulders exposed, my gaze drawn to the fluttering pulse in her neck as a flush of pink rises from her chest all the way to the tips of her small, curved ears.
She’s not the first human I’ve seen—the Dealmaker’s mate holds that honor—but her kind are rare enough that I’m struck speechless by how small and soft she is up close. Foreign and beautiful, like the golden solaris blossoms radiating their warmth around the ballroom. Is she also as delicate as those imported blooms?
The Dealmaker clears his throat. “As agreed. May I introduce Ingrid Wakefield,” he says, retreating a step.
Slowly, as if reaching for a skittish ifrak, I extend my hand to the human. She looks to the Dealmaker, who offers a slight nod, and then after a moment of hesitation her hand slips into mine, small, soft, warm,and so impossibly fragile.
How can such a creature survive the unyielding brutality of Emerald Reach in decline?
And now that I have her, how will I protect what’s mine?
Chapter Six
Ingrid
Having only the vaguest idea of what to expect thanks to Anumar’s verbal acrobatics, I’m entirely awe-struck by the grand ballroom full of monsters. All shapes, sizes, and colors, some with wings or tails, those with an extra set of arms or hair that looks aflame—it’s a wild assortment of creatures I never dreamed possible, but it’s the man—...monster? …beast?Demon—who approaches with an unnerving calm that makes my heart race like a rabbit under the hawk’s gaze.
As the Dealmaker takes a step back, I’m left with the impression of how tall this demon is, towering above me so that I have to squint into the lights to see the top of him. His strong, muscular shoulders are reminiscent of a bull poised to charge, an image that’s not at all helped by the thick, curved horn that sprouts above his right temple. What remains of the horn on his left side is a jagged, broken stump. I suppress a shudder of fear at what kind of battle could leave a mark like that on a brute like this.Thisis Xandril, the demon I’ve been contracted to? Have I made a terrible mistake agreeing to come to this world? The sudden realization that the Dealmaker’s promise I’ll be unharmed is only worth as much as his definition of harm doesn’t sit well with my nerves.
From the waist up, the demon before me wears nothing more than a bejeweled cape. There aren’t many other bare chests around the room, but I imagine the sharp, rock-like spikes jutting out of his shoulders and trailing down his arms make finding proper garments a challenge. The rock-spikes extend along the outside of his arms, forming what appear to be natural gauntlets, each finger tipped with a long, deadly-looking claw.
My gaze hardly alights on his hands, drawn back to the broad expanse of scarred muscles. With my eyes and the center of his ribcage level, it’s hard to look anywhere else. A flush of heat spreads from my center outward, my thoughts still stuttering to catch up. When Serenity mentioned I might encounter scandalous behavior, I don’t think she meant it would come fromme.
It’s impossible to tear my attention away from him, though. His eyes burn like coals left after a roaring fire. His skin, what’s not covered in spikes or his paltry amount of clothing, is the same sort of impossible shifting color of my dress—dark, shadowy gray, with hints of dusky purple and a sheen of shimmering gold. The catch of the light reveals shifts to blue and green, depending on the angle, and the overall effect is completely mesmerizing if I look too long.
And, shamefully, I find myself wanting to take a good, long look.
Outside of my family members, I haven’t seen a man so naked. The dark fabric covering his legs combined with the cape do little for his modesty. He may not be fully nude, but he might as well be with how my body heats at the sight. How my mouth dries and limbs tremble, my chest buzzing with something that feels kin to fear, only far more thrilling.
His enormous, other-worldly hand encircles mine, and it’s impossible to ignore how quickly he could snap me in half. Power radiates off of him, both from his physical size and strength and from something deeper, unseen. The kind of power that has every pair of eyes in this room glued to him, breaths collectively held waiting for his next move.
For the briefest, stupidest moment, I wonder what it might be like to gaze into those burning-coal eyes and feel his lips against mine. Would they be as strong and rough as the rest of him? Or would I find a hidden tender part that no one else knows?
He is youremployer, Ingrid!I chastise myself, suddenly all too aware how many people are watching me fawn and freeze. With any mercy, I will never see any of them again before spring.
