45
QUINN
Devronica returned with a smile too tight to be sincere.
“It is time, milady.”
A dozen guards waited on the landing, their presence not meant for honor, but to guarantee my arrival. I moved because I could do nothing else. The gown dragged behind me. Breathing became laborious under the crush of the corset. I had no doubt the shoes selected for me doubled as instruments of torture. Perhaps they were miserable in yet another measure to prevent me from running.
One should not have to go to such lengths to ensure their bride arrives at the altar.
The endless corridors deposited us in a small chamber adjoining the ballroom. Music swelled from the space past. A voice rolled over it, deep and performative: the officiant, no doubt, draping empty words in false sentiment.
I leaned near the dividing curtain, attempting to glimpse the altar. A hand clamped around my arm and yanked me backward.
“Not yet,” the guard snapped.
The monologue went on for far too long before the musicshifted to gentler strings. The guard drew the curtain aside and indicated for me to step forward. The moment I entered the ballroom, a barrage of light battered my eyes. Everything was far too bright and shining. Examining my surroundings, I noticed several Tempests around the edges of the room, holding miniature suns aloft above the throng. The aisle stretched in a deep indigo beneath my feet, a burst of matching florals adorning each pew.
I willed my feet to advance.
One step.
Another.
Another.
Every eye turned to me, greedy and gleaming.
Left foot forward.
Right foot forward.
At the altar, swaddled in light and self-importance, stood Edric. He wore dark violet robes encrusted with more gems than I believed to be in existence. His enormous golden crown barely balanced upon his head.
Another step.
And another.
Edric offered a broad smile. To the gathered, he was a fairytale king. To me, he was both my captor and cage. His gaze clamped onto me, a sense of possessiveness shone where affection might live in the eyes of one who loved the person walking toward them.
All at once, I was standing at the altar, Edric’s gloved hand taking mine.
46
MAV
The clock ticked inside my skull—an invisible pendulum, counting down toward ruin. Branrir had been right about the last shift, and I had no reason to doubt him, but that didn’t make waiting any easier. My boots scuffed the floor as I paced the length of the cell, humming low under my breath. Not a spell yet, only an impromptu melody to steady myself. One wrong note, one guard immune to charm, and we’d all be corpses by dawn—if they didn’t execute us sooner.
Thistle pulled moss from the cracks between the stones, tucking clumps into the folds of her sleeves. Branrir knelt in the dirt near the wall, tracing the hallway intersections from memory. Vesper flexed his claws.
Six bells chimed in the distance.
Footsteps sounded from the stairwell. The guards were changing.
Here we go. It’s now or never.
Inhaling deeply, I strummed the first chord, awakening my Hum magic to stretch the note. The magic was subtle at first,more suggestion than spell. The notes beckoned the guards closer. Footsteps drew nearer.
