A horrified gasp ripples through the crowd.
King Rorik’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring.
Father presses a hand to his forehead.
I don’t even blink. If Rorik can’t take an insult, how in the stars does he rule a kingdom?
“Next,” I say sweetly.
A Wolf Shifter Prince steps forward. “Princess, if you would only—”
“No.” I stand abruptly. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”
Father shoots to his feet. “Vivienne!”
“I’m done.” I sweep my skirts in a sharp turn. “None of them will do.”
I march toward the exit, my heels clicking against marble. I round a column and slam into a solid wall of muscle. I gasp, stumbling backward, but before I can fall, a hand shoots out, grasping my elbow to steady me.
I look up, ready to snap at whoever dared get in my way, and freeze.
The man before me is not dressed in finery like the others. His gray-blue skin is streaked with dirt, as if he has ridden hard for days without rest. His armor is scratched and dented, his dark tunic bearing no sigil, no sign of status.
His pointed ears peek up through short-cropped hair that’s shorn close on the right but longer on the left, falling past his sharp jawline in a straight, ink-black wave.
He has a lean, muscular build with broad shoulders. He’s much taller than me. The top of my head doesn’t quite reach his chin.
He’s a Dark Elf soldier. Warmth flushes my cheeks as he stares down at me with piercing blue eyes. Even travel-worn and dust-streaked, he’s… unfairly handsome. The kind of handsome that makes a woman forget her own name, if she’s foolish enough to let it.
There’s something in his gaze. Not admiration or surprise, but… recognition. Like he has been searching for something and just found it.
I tip up my chin, determined not to appear like some vapid maiden whose head is turned by every gorgeous man she sees.
“Watch where you’re going,” I snap, yanking my arm free.
“Apologies, Princess. I—”
“Ugh,” I scowl, brushing imaginary dirt from my sleeve as I wrinkle my nose. “You reek of travel. Did you even bathe before you came here?”
One of his companions gapes, while the Dark Elf simply stares at me.
Behind me, Father catches up, breathless. “Vivienne—”
“That’s it!” I throw up my hands. “I refuse them all.” I whirl on the gathered suitors, all still watching in stunned silence. “Not a single one of you is worthy of me. Not the preening peacock, not the walking fur rug, not the fleabag mutt,” I declare, pointing at each in turn.
The Dark Elf studies me, his lips twitching.
Oh, for gods’ sake.I spin back to him. “And certainly notyou, soldier.”
The entire room falls silent, tension thick in the air. Father closes his eyes, shaking his head as he mutters something under his breath about asking the gods to give him patience.
And the Dark Elf soldier, watching me with those glowing blue eyes, does something no one else does. He smiles. His lips curl up slightly at the edges, revealing sharp canines that lend a lethal edge to his striking features.
Heat flickers low in my stomach before I force my gaze away from him.
“Vivienne.” Father’s stern voice cuts through the silence. “I need to speak with you. Now.”
Dread fills me as I follow him into the throne room.
