His jaw tightens.
“For all I know,” I add, tilting my head, “this could have some sort of invisible magic wording that my human eyes cannot see that says:sign here to become the wife of a rather ill-mannered and brooding Goblin, and Queen of All That Is Miserable.”
To my surprise his lips twitch. “That”—he arches a brow—“is not even a proper legal phrasing. And Iam notill-mannered.”
“Yes, you are,” I counter. “Who in their right mind thinks it’s alright to abduct someone against their will?” Before he can answer, I add, “So, you’ll forgive me if I would not put it past you to use some sort of magic trickery to entrap me.”
Gritting his fangs, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do I look like a male who wants a harpy for a wife?”
Completely offended, I scoff. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he snarls. “If I wanted a queen, I would have chosen one. Not inherited one like a curse.”
I arch a brow. “Then you will not object to having the contract verified.”
“I already told you what it does.”
“And I toldyouI do not trust you.”
His eye twitches as he grinds his fangs, before he exhales heavily. “You are remarkably difficult,” he grumbles.
“And you are remarkably unconvincing.”
His jaw tightens. “Do not mistake my restraint for interest. I want neither you nor this.” Running a hand roughly through his short, dark hair, King Branneth growls in frustration and strides toward the door, exiting out into the hallway.
I stare after him in shock.Did he just leave?
For a heartbeat, I remain where I am. Then I gather my skirts and follow. “Where are you going?” I call, hurrying after him through the dim, vine-choked corridor.
“To the throne room,” he snaps without slowing.
“Why?”
“So you can see where you will be spending the rest of your life at my side if you refuse to sign as I’ve asked.”
I falter for half a step. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your twenty-third birthday approaches,” he grits out. A flick of his wrist sends green magic lashing across the hall. A pair of massive doors slam open with a thunderous crack as he stalks inside. “If the contract is not signed before the appointed hour, the terms become permanent.”
“But I’m married,” I protest, following after him. “Should that not already void it?”
“My father,” he says through clenched fangs, “snuck in a clause requiring formal dissolution that your own father didn’t notice when he signed the bargain.”
I halt in my tracks. “Of course he did.”
Branneth spins back to face me, leveling me with a dark glare.
Instead of cowering, I hold his gaze. “And you had the nerve to be offended when I said Goblins are not trustworthy,” I add pointedly.
He makes a low, irritated sound and continues forward. “I amnotmy father,” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks toward the far end of the room.
My mouth drifts open. This is the throne room.
It’s vast and cavernous. Carved from dark gray stone that seems to swallow the light rather than reflect it. Thorned vines crawl over everything: columns, walls, even the high, arching ceiling.
Throne rooms are usually covered in lavish and elegant décor. After all, they’re one of the first places a visiting dignitary sees when they come to negotiate trade and treaties.If this is meant to be inviting, I would hate to see what he considers hostile.
At the far end of the room sits the throne. And beside it is a matching chair, but it’s covered in thorny vines. “Where am I meant to sit?”
