Quinn folded herself smaller with each passing minute. I could sense her. The tether hummed with her fear and despair, growing stronger with every selection. I thought about grabbing her hand. About sayingto the seven hells with itand hauling her outof this castle over my shoulder.
I imagined the life we could have together, away from all this nonsense. If she asked me to, I would build that life for her, for us. Brick by brick.
But she hadn’t.
I couldn’t take what she wasn’t ready to give.
My thoughts lingered on her expression when she said she didn’t love Edric. When she’d whispered,What if I do?in answer to whether she loved me. But she was still here, walking through this wedding showcase as the bride she’d agreed to become.
The cold blade of the truth stabbed my chest and stayed lodged in my breaking heart.
She made her choice.
And it wasn’t me.
34
QUINN
After an entire day of forcing a smile through wedding selections, paraded as livestock in lace, I wanted nothing more than to dissolve into shadow. No such mercy awaited me.
In my chambers, servants dressed me in the gown Edric insisted upon. Gold silk and slate-blue tulle poured over a corseted bodice. The neckline dipped low enough to make a statement. The train whispered betrayal with every step.
Mav stood immediately outside my chambers, arms crossed. His eyes locked with mine, and there was a breaking within him. Mav regarded me as if it hurt to do so, and hurt more not to. The tether confessed what he had not: longing, heartbreak, and fury in an unbearable braid. He turned on his heel and walked past me to his chambers, slamming the door.
If it were not for the litany of servants, I could have followed him into his chambers. Perhaps we could have stolen a few more moments together.
Minutes ticked.
The door opened.
Mav stepped out, and my breath caught.
A formal navy jacket lined with silver thread. A half-cloak draped from one shoulder. He was so painfully, devastatingly handsome. A smirk tugged his mouth when he caught me staring, then vanished. There could be no quip or suggestive commentary. As much as I wished to reach for his hand, I could not afford to risk it.
We walked to the dining hall side by side, yet kingdoms apart. Thistle, Branrir, and Vesper tried thrice to chip at the silence—architecture, dessert, poking fun at the never-ending likenesses of the king—then abandoned the attempt.
Voices swelled ahead, accented by the clink of glass. Mav’s gaze stayed forward as if one sideways glance might undo his hold on himself. The dining hall doors groaned open.
“Presenting Lady Quinnève Liogenoriggia, future Queen of Avandria,” the herald cried.
The room erupted with cheers. A swarm of standing nobles gawked at me. Applause jostled expensive fabric and oversized jewels.
A sudden cold swept over me.
He had done it.
Edric had made it real.
No private word. No discussion. No warning. The servants guided me down an endless aisle of strangers toward the head of the table.
“My bride,” Edric called, voice dripping with theater.
He reached for me, smile wide, arm winding to my waist. The cheers dulled with the painful awareness of his hands on me. A pang of fury sliced down the tether from Mav. I made to take my seat, but Edric kept me standing, grip firm at my arm. The scrape of a chair suppressed the growling sound emanating from Mav’s throat.
“Be seated,” Edric commanded.
The nobles complied at once.
