And through it all, there’s Stark, a dark presence lurking at the edges of the room, watching us with unwavering focus.
I don’t know what his problem is—and right now, I don’t give a damn. Even the burn of his predatory gaze can’t pierce the bubble of happiness that surrounds me and Killian.
Eventually, he says, “I think it’s time you met my father, don’t you?”
The glow of romantic delirium abruptly dims, cut by a bolt of raw anxiety.
“Don’t worry,” Killian whispers with smiling reassurance. “I’ll be right there with you. Just smile and try to be deferential.”
I nod and allow him to lead me to the dais where the King holds court with a dozen lounging nobles.
Smile and be deferential. Sure. No problem. I can do that. Even though the king is the cause of so much of my and my family’s misery. I can pretend, for Killian.
Right?
King Cyril looks up as we approach, but doesn’t rise from his ornate, throne-like chair. The wolf-pommel sword lies across his lap, as always, displayed for everyone to see. He’s wearing a different crown than usual, something ornate and even more flashy, with dozens of multi-colored gems embedded in the spires of gold.
Audelie sits on his lap again, quiet and exposed in her sheer dress. She doesn’t meet my eyes, though her head is held high. I wonder, briefly, what she thinks of this.
While Killian introduces me with princely formality, I meet the King’s pale, eerie gaze. It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him up close. I can see where Killian gets his features, though King Cyril’s face is harder and lined with age.
As I bow to him, the King’s assessing gaze turns almost invasive. Like he’s mentally stripping me down to my component parts, weighing each one’s ultimate value.
Like I’m not a person so much as a product he’s thinking of purchasing.
“Ah, yes,” he drawls when Killian’s introduction is finished. “The commoner Rawbond. I’ve heard much about you from my son, though nothing quite as impressive as your ruthless efficiency during the Purge Trial.” His gaze sharpens with memory—and a horrible gleam of pleasure.
“I’ve seldom seen a Rawbond dispatch one of her comrades so unhesitatingly,” he purrs. “You were grace and brutality personified, my dear. One could almost imagine youenjoyedordering that woman’s death. It’s always nice to see a little girl-on-girl action.”
The edge of sensuality in his tone makes my stomach lurch with disgust. He speaks of Perielle’s death like it was staged specifically for his pleasure.
Bile rises in my throat as I force myself to give the response expected of me.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I’m… honored that my performance pleased you.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.
He nods in regal acknowledgment, apparently satisfied with my gratitude. Then something subtly shifts in his demeanor. The king’s eyes flick between me and Killian, that assessing gaze taking on new weight.
“Killian, your choice is acknowledged with due approbation.” He gives me a smile of kingly satisfaction. “Be honored, Meryn Cooper.”
I blink in confusion as Killian bows beside me, then places a hand on my waist and guides me down from the dais.
When Killian turns to smile at me with triumph glowing in his eyes, I realize what just happened.
The king has formally approved of our relationship.
I know I should be happy, but the words still tug at me.Due approbation? Why did he say it like that?
“That was a little weird,” I mutter.
“It was,” Killian agrees. He leads me off to the side of the ballroom, where he fetches me a glass of sparkling emberwine. I down it in a single gulp, eager to forget the loathsome weight of the king’s gaze.
“Steady there, kitten,” Killian teases, then his gaze sharpens, the intensity making me flush. “Don’t get too drunk. I have plans for you.”
I blush, looking around to see if anyone has heard him. The nobles and Rawbonds nearby are pretending to carry on their own conversations, but I can tell they’re just disguising their sidelong looks.
“Tell me about these plans,” I murmur, stepping closer.
Killian’s mouth quirks, one hand tightening around my hip in a way that makes my thighs tighten. “I’d rather show you.”
