The attack is planned for the day after the wedding.
Chatter sweeps into my solitude. I glance out the window and jolt—darkness has already fallen. I still need to finish getting ready, and being late won’t improve the King’s mood.
I gather the unread books, tuck them under my arm, and leave the library. I avoid the grand staircase and the risk of arriving guests, taking the staff stairs that lead directly to my suite. Inside, I throw the books onto the coffee table and pause, smiling at the sofa.
The memory envelops me. Alaya sprawled across the cushions, my head between her thighs, the taste of her, her soft gasps against my face after she came. My cock twitches, and I shake my head, moving into the bedroom.
What is she doing to me?
She’s not even here, and I’m getting hard for her.
Alaya.
That name once took away my choices, represented a life already mapped out—ruling a dying kingdom. I railed against it like it was my demons manifested, something to be thwarted and destroyed.
Now, the sweetest name on my tongue.
We haven’t talked or been alone since that night. Since I made her come apart under my mouth. I still don’t know how she feels about us, about what we’re becoming. It was easier when she was merely an obligation, another duty to the Court. A marriage without emotions, a quick fuck every now and then for an heir.
Now? A future with her by my side, my Princess, my Queen?
I wash quickly and dress in my best robes, choosing the golden boots I know Alaya finds too much. On the dresser sits a small dark wooden box. I open it, smile, and slip it into my inner pocket. I grab my golden thorn crown from the chair back and settle it on my head.
I hate this damn thing.
Custom dictates Alaya and I enter the Grand Ballroom separately, coming together for our first dance before the Thorn Court. I rush from the room, not wanting to risk her waiting there for me alone. This time I take the grand staircase, pausing on the landing to look down into the entrance hall.
Members of the Thorn Court, Nobility, and Gift Leaders with their families are still arriving. Relief washes through me—I’m not too late.
Black-and-golden roses have grown everywhere. They are also in tall vases, entwined with ribbons, strung across walls, hanging from window ledges.
I push through the crowd streaming through the huge golden doors into the Grand Ballroom. It seems like the King has invited every Earthbound alive to this spectacle.
There he is—King Malaxor—at the far end, standing alone before the massive windows, in front of three small thrones made of golden thorn vines and black roses. His gaze is piercing, his eyes so dark tonight they’re like shards of onyx. He nods but doesn’t move towards me.
I stride across the black-and-golden marble floor as the golden doors close behind me. Nobility congratulate me, shake my hand. It takes longer than expected to cross the room. The King looks irritated by the time I reach him.
“I expected you here to greet your guests on arrival,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Several nearby guests turn, eyes fearful. He’s not even pretending humility before the Thorn Court anymore.
I want to tell him that at least I came to this fucking charade, but with his current mood, it would be worse than courting the devil.
I open my mouth to reply—
And my breath is ripped from my lungs.
Across the Ballroom, framed by the now open glinting golden doors, she stands.
A vision of otherworldly beauty.
Her dress seems spun from midnight and writhing shadows, ethereal, the floor-length skirt flowing like inky mist. The bodice sparkles with glittering obsidian—strapless—with golden vines winding up from the waist to cup her breasts.
I expect her to move towards us, but she’s rooted to the spot, her face frozen in fear.
The gathered guests part down the middle, all turning towards her, and their inane chatter dies. The room falls deathly silent. But where I stare in awe, they don’t—won’t—veil their disdain. Their glances coil like a pit of vipers.
When her head dips, something sharp and vicious tears through my chest—a blade twisting between my ribs.
Rage detonates inside me, white-hot and blinding.
