Maris flinched, and he felt something twist in his gut, guilt, or regret, or something more dangerous still. Kael stalked the narrow floor of her bedchamber, the thick rugs muffling the pounding of his boots. Maris stood frozen near the hearth, half-breathless, hair tumbling wild down her shoulders, a lamb cornered by a wolf.
I should frighten her, he thought bitterly. It would keep her safe.
And yet the idea of putting true terror in those pale green eyes nearly undid him.
You are a fool, his mind spat.She is human. She will rot before you even decide what to do with her. Still, he could not let go of her. Even now, the scent of her skin clung to him, some witchcraft he had no power to sever.
He dragged one hand through his hair, furious, and then slammed his palm into the cold stone of the wall so hard cracks splintered like spiderwebs.
Mine.
He wanted to wrap her in iron, drown every other scent that might cling to her, rip away any memory of mortal men who had ever dared make her laugh.
But gods there was another side to it, just as savage — the urge to shield her from every cruelty, to steady her trembling hands, to lay down his own dark crown at her feet if it would earn him a single unguarded smile.
He hated himself for that even more.
A monster should never crave softness. Yet you do.
He turned back toward her, jaw locked, voice a steel blade.
“You will not dance with another.”
Maris shrank a half step, eyes wide.
It made him want to tear the world apart.
His rage sang through him like a fever, demanding blood, demanding her.
He barely stopped himself from crossing the room and sinking his fangs into that perfect, pale neck , to brand her from the inside out.
Instead he turned away, forcing distance. Begging himself to get out before he broke her.
He did.
Kael needed an outlet for his racing thoughts, so he made his way towards the bastard who had laid a hand on what was his.
-Maris-
Kael left without another word, the door slamming shut in a gust of unnatural wind.
The silence in the room rang like a church bell after he was gone.
Maris drew a shaking breath, pressing her hands to her face, trying to stop the trembling.
The King had been a force of nature, raw and terrible worse than any story whispered in the human villages. Yet beneath that, there had been something almost desperate in his eyes.
She didn’t understand it.
How could he want her, a mortal with no power, no worth, stolen from a life of mending torn seams and chasing after scraps of bread?
A horrible shift twisted through her. Because for a moment, in the heat of his fury, she had felt alive. No one had ever looked at her like that. No one had ever burned for her so completely they might destroy an entire kingdom to keep her. She hated it. She craved it.
Maris let her knees buckle, sinking to the edge of the bed.
Through the window, Achyron’s night seemed to stretch on forever, moonlight swallowing the endless woods and cold mountains beyond.
No servants came that night to undress her. No gentle hands or whispered reassurances, only the memory of Kael’s rage lingering like an iron brand in the air.
