The blindfold fell away, and Violet stared slack-jawed at Marissa chained to the wall in the palace dungeon.
If you’d told Violet to guess what her gift would be, Marissa held prisoner would not have been in the top one million.
“You don’t like it?” Roman asked, wrapping his arms around Violet from behind.
“I—what is this?”
“You get to decide her fate,” the king replied, serving her a prisoner on a platter. “You can do whatever you’d like.”
Violet turned quizzically to her husband. “What do you think I’ll choose?” Because she truly didn’t know what his threshold was. Imprisonment for another week? Working in the stables shoveling shit?
Roman shrugged. “Whatever you’d like, wife.”
That got Marissa’s attention. The chains rattled as she sat forward and tried to speak around the gag in her mouth.
Violet approached the cell bars and studied the other woman. “You didn’t hear?” She pulled back her hair to expose the already healed bite on her neck. “Roman and I got married this morning.”
Marissa spewed a litany of curses. Turning hate-filled eyes on Violet, she snarled something else.
“Remove her gag,” Roman told a guard Violet hadn’t seen.
“Don’t,” Violet countered. “Whatever she has to say isn’t worth hearing.” A bolt of lust shot down the mate bond, and she looked at Roman. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Turns me on.”
Violet huffed out a laugh and rubbed at her breast bone. “Feeling when you’re horny might be a problem if you can’t control yourself.”
Marissa made a strangled sound, her face going from pissed to something else.
“Guess you haven’t heard that we’re also bonded mates.”
Marissa sat back, stunned, and Violet smirked. Violet had never been cruel a day in her life, but seeing Marissa miserable and imprisoned gave her a sick satisfaction. Unfortunately, she still had a conscience. Sighing, she twisted to glance at Roman over her shoulder. “I think sitting in the dungeon taught her a lesson. Let her go.”
Roman gave the guard a signal, and the man disappeared in the opposite direction. “I need to do something first,” the king replied. The guard returned with some kind of iron rod in his hand and slipped into the open cell next to Marissa’s.
The guard made all sorts of racket, and Violet couldn’t resist poking her head into the enclosed area. The guard held the end of the iron in the beginnings of a fire. “What is that?” she asked Roman over her shoulder.
“Step back into the hall,” her husband instructed. “I don’t want you to get burned.”
A sick feeling curdled in Violet’s stomach. “Roman, you cannot burn Marissa. I won’t allow it. She’s a bitch, but I can’t let you do this.”
All the blood drained from Marissa’s face. “I’m not burning Marissa,” Roman grumbled. “Just wait.”
The guard exited the cell holding the iron rod. The end had a flat scrolling piece of iron attached, and it glowed bright red. A branding iron.
Oh fuck. “Roman. Whatever you’re about to do, don’t.”
Roman kissed her on top of the head and looked at Marissa. “Just so there’s no confusion for you or any other women in the future.”
Roman nodded to the guard and bared his neck. Violet watched in slow motion as the guard took the iron and rolled it across the side of Roman’s neck. Roman made a sound like a wounded animal but stood still. The scent of burning skin filled Violet’s nostrils, and even though it felt like a lifetime, the whole thing ended in seconds.
She covered her mouth to keep from screaming as she stared at her name branded into the side of Roman’s neck. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He took a calming breath, straightened his head, and met her bewildered gaze. “She said your name wasn’t on me. Now it is.”
“You could have gotten a tattoo like a normal person,” Violet shrieked.
“Tattoos can fade,” he said simply, as if discussing the weather and not his melted skin.
