But he couldn’t give her the clothing until she agreed to his terms.
“I’ll give you the clothing, and you will agree to negotiate terms on becoming my wife,” he said, pulling a dagger from his belt. The same dagger she’d shoved into his thigh.
“Do we have an accord?” he asked, the blade poised over his palm.
“I hate you,” she replied. The words were flat, but the loathing swirling in her eyes echoed the sentiment. “With every piece of my soul, I hate you and what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done?” he asked, tilting his head. “We’ve only known one another for a handful of days, tiny fiend.”
“And in that time, you’ve managed to coerce me into marriage or face a public trial that will result in my death,” she replied, rotating her wrist, so her palm faced up. “Is that what you want? A wife who loathes you?”
“My kingdom doesn’t seem to care who is at my side so long as I have a wife,” he deadpanned. “If anything, I live to serve. It’s all I do these days.”
Kailia clicked her tongue before muttering a foul name under her breath.
“Do we have an accord?” he asked again.
“Not willingly,” she sneered.
“But agreed nonetheless,” he said simply, slicing his palm.
She held his stare as he drew the tip of the blade across her flesh, red immediately welling. Clasping her hand in his, he felt the Bargain Mark prickle along his skin, right above the place where she’d stabbed his thigh.
How fitting.
Yanking her hand back, she crouched, reaching for the bundle of clothing. Cethin merely moved it closer with his foot, letting her pull it through the bars.
“I suppose you went back to the same shop Wren took me to,” she muttered, pulling on the twine that was wound around the paper.
“I did,” he agreed. “But the offerings there didn’t seem like something you’d wear.”
“As if you know anything about me and what I’d wear. Turn around or move out of sight. I’m not changing in front of you.”
He gave a mocking bow of his head, but stepped to the side, just out of view.
“And how do you find the clothing, tiny fiend?”
“Dreadful,” she retorted.
He smirked to himself, and after a few minutes, she let him know she was finished.
His gaze swept over her in a black dress with deep slits up the sides. It gathered slightly at her waist, two panels covering her breasts and tying at her nape. Cut low in the front, the back scooped just as low, stopping right above her ass. The fabric had a faint pattern of stars and moons with the barest hint of silver thread.
“It seems to fit well enough,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry and the words a little hoarse.
“Better than pants,” she grumbled.
Placing his palm on the cell door, his power flared faintly before it clicked, and he slid the door to the side. “Ready?”
“To step from one prison into another?” she said. The words didn’t carry any emotion, as though she was simply stating a fact. He supposed that was one way to look at it.
Stepping to the side, she moved past him, the low light of the sconces catching on the blue crystal still hanging around her neck. Sliding in front of her, she lurched back, just like he’d wanted her to. Her back bumped into the stone wall, and he braced his forearms on either side of her, caging her in.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, her chest rising and falling a little too fast and betraying her panic.
With one hand, he reached for the necklace, twisting the crystal between his fingers. “Trying to figure out who gave my future wife jewelry.”
“Does it matter where I got it?”
