He nods, and we drift back into silence. I hug my knees tighter and fight a shiver as I think about that night, about how helpless I felt as the hollow-eyed girl dragged me into the woods.
Asmo once told me that he wasn’t a good male, but every version I’ve seen of him has been just that—good. Since we’ve been here, all he’s done is care for me. But this conversation is a reminder that there’s still so much that I don’t know about him. How does he know so much about dark magic? How does he know of the underworld and its creatures? How did Asmo and Marik experience the same childhood, yet turn out so differently?Or did they?
That’s the question that’s been lingering in the back of my mind since the wedding. Is Asmo someone I can trust?
Chapter 3
ELLE
It’s been forty-five days.Forty-five days since I saw Willa—Cora—kill Mae.
Forty-five days since they dragged me from the throne room.
Forty-five days since they threw me in an empty room and chained me to the floor.
Four days since they broke me.
On day ten, two guards drag me to the throne room, their rough hands pinching my arms as they pull me through the door.
The throne room looks like nothing ever happened.
There’s no longer a giant gaping hole in the ceiling. The massive crater in the floor is now filled and replaced with cool marble tiles, no longer the warm hardwoods that I loved. Marik sits on one of the twin thrones where Mae should be, long legs sprawled.A black metal crown of snakes wrapped around branches rests upon his raven hair. A glistening ebony chain is wrapped around his forearm, black diamonds glinting in the light as he pops plump, green grapes into his mouth.
“Hello, dear,” he says, a grin on his face. It only grows when I sneer at him. “Chain her to the other throne,” he commands the guards.
They abide, dumping me in the other throne of branches and berries like a sack of potatoes. The moment I’m free, I stand, ready to run. But a wall of magic forces me back down.
“You will sit and you will behave,” Marik orders, his voice deep and commanding.
I glare at him from the throne. “What do you want?” Venom laces every word.
He crosses one long leg over the other. “I am offering you the chance to become High Queen.”
He cannot be serious.
I remain silent.
“Okay, let’s try again,” he says, tilting his head. “You have two options. You can cooperate and pretend to be Mae. You can sit beside me as my wife, and we can rule the kingdom together. This is the opportunity of alifetime,a chance to be the powerful queen you’ve always wanted to be.”
My jaw remains clenched. I have never wanted that.
“Or,” he says, still with that stupid grin on his chiseled face, “I force you to pretend to be Mae. And I can assure you, darling, that will not be very pleasant for you.” He plunks another grape into his mouth and watches me carefully as he chews.
“Over my dead body will I pretend to be Mae,” I snarl.
His smile grows, splitting his face. “That’s what I thought you’d say. And I’m so glad you did.”
Before I can respond, my wrists and ankles are cuffed by invisible threads of magic. My head slams back, pain flaring as it strikes the throne. A heavy, sinking sensation settles in my stomach.
Marik comes to stand before me, holding the black chain in his hands. No, not a chain—a necklace of a snake, the head biting the tip of its tail. He unclasps it and places it around my neck, the metal cold as ice. I hiss as it makes contact with my skin.
Marik stands back, surveying the necklace now resting on collarbones that have turned too sharp. He opens his mouth, and fangs extend from his upper gumline. He uses one to prick his wrist, his faceremaining apathetic, even as blood spots. He smears it on the snake’s head and mutters something under his breath. At his words, a chill spreads through me. My magic disappears, leaving an empty well inside of me.
I reach, I claw, I scramble for it, but it’s gone. As if it never existed. “What did you do?” I ask in horror.
Blood drips from his wrist, trailing down his forearm. “I gave you a choice, and this is what you chose. From here on, you’ll only speak when you’re spoken to.”
I open my mouth, ready to let loose a string of foul words, but it snaps shut. Every time I try to open it, it’s like my brain has lost control over my muscles. The restraints around my wrists and ankles disappear. With every ounce of power in my body, I will myself to stand.
