As if speaking her name summoned her into existence, the female emerged from the crowd, hips swaying as she placed one slippered foot in front of the other. When she reached the base of the dais upon which the high table rested, she dipped into acurtsey so low I was sure her nose touched the ground. The low cut of her neckline revealed every curve of her breast to my brother-by-law.
He didn’t hide his lecherous gaze. Not that I cared. He could ogle her all he wanted. She wasn’t mine.
The beast in my chest awoke, pacing and restless. Doors to my left opened, and I turned, unable to stop myself.
For entering the ballroom were the Seers.
And at the rear was Sylaira.
My mate glowed like she’d fallen from the moon as she glided into place at the end of the line, Heraphia situated to her right. Sylaira had applied kohl to her lashes, making the glacial color pop. All the females had been powdered and primed, but the dark bruises beneath Heraphia’s eyes couldn’t be hidden. I clocked the subtle way the friends squeezed hands before settling like ornaments and staring over the heads of the onlookers.
The audience stilled, save for a few gasps and exclamations of their beauty. The predator in me bared its teeth.
Terror rose, sharp and fast, because she looked so violently perfect.
The ethereal white silk draped her dancer’s frame like it had been sewn just for her. A deep cut in the bodice revealed her collarbones. Billowing sleeves covered her arms, connecting to a cape that trailed down behind her. The collar appeared like wings on either side of her slender neck. And atop her brow was a circlet inlaid with a mosaic of precious blue stones.
No one else was adorned with a crown.
Iaoth had dressed my mate in divinity to make her desirable. Because Sylaira’s eye color made her the prized jewel in her clutch.
But she didn’t belong to the monarchs.
She was mine. And more than that, she was her own.
The way she shimmered beneath the magic lights placed a target between those perfectly shaped brows. There was no way the unmarried males—fuck the married ones too—wouldn’t notice her. Wouldn’t want to speak to her. Wouldn’t want to dance with her.
Iaoth wanted to turn Sylaira into a trophy. Her greatest weapon of war. Yet she had forgotten who the fuck I was.
I was forged in fire. Forged to fight. Forged to be the answer to the Demon’s brutality.
It was time she remembered that—even if she didn’t know about my mate yet.
Sylaira picked at her nails, giving away her anxiety as much as the drift of it down our bond. I wanted to go to her, to tell her everything would be okay. I had a plan now. She’d be safe.
Instead, I forced myself to face my sister again. Raising a goblet in the air, she called out to the room for quiet. Once everyone’s attention was firmly on her, a slow grin bloomed like a vile flower, petals peeling back to reveal sharp thorns. “Welcome, our faithful subjects. We gather this evening to celebrate the triumphant return of my brother, the Issaraeth, who once again has found us powerful Seers to ensure the safety of our realm.” She gestured to the group bedecked in gossamer gowns, her prized dolls she loved to dress.
“Fucking bitch. I will not bloody my hands for you.”Sylaira’s thought drifted down our mental connection unbidden and unrestrained.
I let it linger unaddressed. It was better that I knew the workings of her mind, especially when one wrong move would leave us exposed to the vicious nobles.
Stadiel rose, towering over everyone in the room from his elevated position. “Evil and dark magic must be eradicated from our continent. We are so close to achieving it. Which is why we are also celebrating the upcoming union of Herr Rävieland Dasha, daughter of Herr Elyriane. We are honored by our divine creator for the suggestion of this union.”
Somehow, I kept the grimace off my face.
Dasha proffered her hand to me. A beat too long passed before I took it. The mere touch of her skin against mine feltwrong.
The bond agreed, writhing like a leviathan in my chest, trying to extricate me from the situation. If I’d claimed Sylaira, perhaps it would have calmed down. But with how long had passed, it was mere moments away from forcing my hand.
Each step to the center of the dance floor was an eternity.
Musicians plucked their instruments, melody filling the air. Angels watched on as Dasha and I faced each other, our palms flattened and raised to shoulder height. My betrothed offered me a sultry smile as the first chords came, signaling the start to the dance.
“Only a few more weeks now,” she purred, the sway of her hips entirely absent of allure for me.
“Aye,” I replied, grateful that the next step in the dance had me facing away from her. I was hyperaware of every passing second where I was still beholden to her. Where I had to hide my bond. Had to outmaneuver my sister. Had to fulfill all my duties despite their antithetical nature.
She prattled on about something else, and I nodded or commented at the appropriate times. Maelsar found another noble female and brought her into the line beside us as more Angels decided to join the performance. Onlookers returned to their conversations, half-paying attention to the main attraction.
