The idea should’ve been offensive to her – but she was drawn, inexorably, to the idea of being with him. He, who was unproven and untrustworthy. He, whose life was braided with the devil’s. She’d never thought of herself as someone with such poor instincts, but she could imagine no other explanation for the ineffable pull she felt in his presence, the soul-deep reach. It was dangerous, how her heart beat at the sight of him. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to feel such things when their marriage was destined to end in murder. And yet. When had she ever been so heavy with want?
“As soon as possible,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes –No,” she corrected, trying to center herself. “The servants will need at least a couple of days to prepare, I think.”
He studied her with something that approached bewilderment. “Prepare for what? We need only a pair of witnesses and a Diviner to bind us.”
She hesitated. “Certainly some arrangements will need to be made. I realize it might be difficult to wed publicly – as I can’t imagine how we might secure such an event – but if at all possible, I wish for my people to bear witness. And maybe we could have a small cake?I think Omid would like that. And the staff, too, surely they’d enjoy –”
“No.”
She stared at him in surprise. “No? You don’t want cake?”
“No,” he said angrily. “I don’t want cake.”
“Very well,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I, myself, have never had cake. I don’t know whether it’s any good, but as it’s traditional in Clay weddings, I assumed –”
“You’ve never had cake?” he said, sounding suddenly bleak.
“My parents didn’t know how to cook or bake,” she said quietly. “And later, of course” – she looked away – “such luxuries were not within my reach.” She took a bracing breath, forcing herself to brighten as she met his eyes again. “Anyway, perhaps instead you might consent to wear something other than this black uniform –”
“No.”
“Cyrus –”
“No.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “This was your idea – you wanted to get married –”
“Are you trying to punish me?” he said, his voice rising in anguish. “Do you really think me capable of pretending our wedding day is the happiest day of my life?”
She tried to maintain her composure then, steeling herself as she said, “Would you instead disgrace me in front of the world, making it seem as if marrying me is a chore? Will you spend our wedding day in a foul mood and funereal clothes? Would you have your household believe you detest me by denying them so much as a bite of something sweet in my honor?”
She saw the fight leave his body then, heard his unsteady exhale.
“Fine,” he said, the word so soft it was hardly a whisper. “Do what you will.”
“Thank you.”
Again, he exhaled, this time turning away from her as he dragged his hands down his face. His self-control seemed to be crumbling, for he was almost visibly shaking now; but with each passing second Alizeh, too, felt herself grow weaker before him. There was an unmistakable heat between them, an electric pull she lacked the strength to resist. She didn’t even realize she’d drawn closer to him until he suddenly backed away, his eyes devouring her as she approached, darkening with a need so palpable she felt as if he’d stripped her bare.
Finally, she saw a shade of truth in his gaze, and she could hardly breathe in the face of it.
“Cyrus –”
“No,” he said sharply. “Don’t.”
She stopped in place, just inches separating them now. “Don’t what?”
“Alizeh,” he said. His chest was heaving, his body rigid with tension. “Be merciful.”
These words lit a dangerous fire within her.
She told herself to withdraw, but just then she couldn’t seem to move. She was in his orbit now, so close she could see the sharp wisps of his copper lashes, her head humid with sense memory.She wanted to touch him, to know the heat of his skin. She knew what his body was like under those clothes, how much power and passion he kept tightly leashed inside him. It was a revelation she’d been slow to unravel about Cyrus: that he possessed such careful control, such extraordinary discipline over his own body. Cyrus’s desire for her had been as scorching as a summer heat; she’d felt desperate under the weight of it, yet he’d not lifted a finger to her body. He’d never kissed her, never simply claimed what he wanted. Not the way Kamran once had.
This was a fascinating discovery indeed – for royals, so saturated in overindulgence, seldom knewhowto deny themselves. Having worked in a number of prominent houses, Alizeh knew firsthand that the rich and titled were gluttons of the worst variety. Upon first engaging with Cyrus she’d been so distracted by his perceived monstrousness that she’d failed to notice the inconsistencies in his royal character. His modest presence was perplexing enough: his plain clothes, his conspicuous lack of jewels or adornment – even the common way he’d tended to his own dragon. More interesting was that he had no attendants, no entourage trailing him, no snodas supplicating at his heels. But perhaps most unaccountable was that the servants did not quaver around him; they didn’t fall to their knees in his presence.
