His silver hair is caught up in a tail tied at intervals, the sides freshly shaved, an obsidian crown sitting on his head. His huge broadsword is strapped to his back, and the gorgeous art of runes, roses, and vines surrounding a snarling azdaha winds over the densely packed muscles of his chest and stomach. The runic script I’d seen before glistens with gold, and as he turns to pat Indira on the snout, I catch sight of breathtaking scarlet wings midflight in profile stretched over his back.
Interestingly, they remind me of the gold-veined red wings of his manticore.
Worry fills me. Will he be able to control his curse here?
He had with me, but that had been different. He’d pushed the line of extreme emotion, but he and the beast had had some internal agreement, at least when it came to pleasuring their mate. My cheeks heat at the worst time, and Darrius’s midnight eyes snap to mine.
Stars, he shouldn’t look so fucking edible.
And I shouldn’t be thinking about eating him... or about him eatingme.
Too late. His nostrils flare, and I cross my legs, definitely squirming in my chair as desire burns like wildfire through my stupid veins.
“Pátni,” he says loudly, pulling his sword free and holding it across both palms. My stomach swoops at the very possessive, very meaningful, and verypublicaddress even as I swallow a surge of dread. My ears burn, especially when the Aspacana leaders gape and a volley of whispers makes its way through the avid audience.
Elegantly, I rise, expression neutral. “Not yet.”
I expect him to be angry, but the conquering smile that cuts over his gorgeous face is anything but. No, instead it’s elated as if he relishes every ounce of my fight. I suppose the predator in him loves the chase, and I’m not making it easy for him, no matter what his prophecies or the fates say.
I know from my reading that the consequences of refusing a soul-fated bond will mean a gradual withering, or worse, increasing volatility, of my magic. But sealing the bond is still a choice.Mychoice.
If and when I decide, it will be mine.
A vortex of shadows surrounds the king as his magic makes him reappear at my feet. People scramble out of the way, though many of the court nobles are well accustomed to his unique powers. He kneels and grins wickedly at me as his delicious scent absolutely demolishes my senses. To everyone else, a competitor is kneeling before the guest of honor, his sword aloft and flat in presentation. But it’s more than that, especially when he licks his lips.
“My favorite position,” he mouths. His shadows tease over my ankles and calves, one even daring to venture to my thighs, making me gasp.
“Stop,” I warn. “And make your troth.”
“My steel and soul are yours.” His handsome face goes solemn, those fathomless eyes scouring mine and then dropping to the cuffs at my wrists. “May your starlight always burn.” I think he’s done when he rises and sheathes his sword, but he reaches for my trembling hand, bringing my knuckles to his lips. “May your simurgh always soar the skies. May truth always keep you from the lie.”
And then he’s gone in a whorl of darkness, the barest of kisses ghosting over my skin.
***
MUCH LATER, ATthe evening feast, I sit at the edge of a long table and watch the horde children playing festival games. As with the adults, the competition is intense, and I cheer when a girl of about ten years of age bests one of the bigger boys at the archery targets.
Laleh sidles up to me, and I glance at my friend, nearly balking at her appearance. She looks drawn and pale with dark circles under her eyes—a far cry from her appearance earlier. Her hair is mussed, and for a moment I catch a thick line of bruising at her throat. “What’s that?” I ask, pointing at her neck.
She looks at me, and her eyes take a second to focus as she draws her collar up. For a moment, it looks like spidery purplish veins are crawling below her lower lids, but when I blink, they’re no longer visible. She smiles, though something about it feels oddly unnatural.
“Nothing,” she says brightly. “An accident. One of my scarves got hooked on something. I’m so clumsy sometimes!” The bruise looks far too precise and thin to be caused by a scarf, but I don’t press, sensing her discomfort.
A memory yanks hard at my brain, though when I try to follow the thread, all I get is a sea of empty space, as if that particular recollection doesn’t want to be found. There are only a few of those gaps remaining, thankfully. But what could be so bad? Laleh is here and she has confirmed Amma and Papa are both safe and well. They’re all I care about.
She shifts closer and peers at me. “What doespátnimean?”
I knew the question was coming. “It means ‘wife.’” I swallow and fight off another blush. I’ve always told my best friend everything, and now shouldn’t be any different. “The king thinks I’m his soul-fated.”
“Are you?” she asks.
“I think we might be.” When those spidery dark violet markings under the thin skin of her eyes reappear, this time I know I’m not seeing things. “Laleh, your face!” I say, alarmed. “Are you feeling well? Are you having a bad reaction to something?”
She blinks rapidly. “Perhaps. My eyes were quite itchy earlier. It could be the cider.”
“We should find a healer.”
Laleh nods. “Good idea.” She clears her throat. “But first, I need to tell you something. It’s important. The oracle—”
