As I look at the upside-down v carved between her eyes and battle to keep my knees from crumbling.
I hold the woman’s gaze all the way to the bottom of the staircase, and her brow buckles.
Cainon turns.
“Orlaith. I was just coming to get you,” he rasps, his hot, hungry stare raking across my skin. “But I got caught speaking with the High Septum …”
I paint a soft smile on my face, looking into his ravenous eyes. “I’m sorry I beat you to it.”
His throat works.
The High Septum reaches out and takes his hand, tugging him toward her. Frowning, he breaks my gaze and leans her way.
She whispers something in his ear.
Flicking me a sideways glance, Cainon gives me his back. The High Septum looks at me again, eyes narrowed, her hand slipping from his arm before she limps across the foyer and disappears through a side door—snapping the tension I hadn’t realized was crushing my lungs and making it hard to breathe.
Cainon clears his throat, turns, and extends his hand toward me. “Such exquisite beauty should hang off my arm.Always.”
Play the part.
Reinforcing my domes, I dish him a shy smile and thread my hand around his arm, every cell on edge as he tucks me too close to his side and leads me in the direction of the main exit.
I steal a glance at the side door. “Is the High Septum the Shulák’s … leader?”
“Yes,” he says with a laugh. “She’ll be overseeing your trial and officiating our coupling tomorrow.”
That’s unfortunate—I’m pretty sure she hates me already. Or at least doesn’ttrustme.
Probably justified, since the feeling’s mutual on both accounts.
“You look astonishing,” he continues. “Positivelyedible.”
I flick him another forged smile despite my bristling skin. “Thank you.”
He spins, charging me back behind the large, golden door, snatching my breath. He cages me against the wall with such dominating force, my fingers twitch for the blade I’d usually have strapped to my waist or thigh. Thankful I don’t as I find a little vine of rage coiled between my vertebrae. Untangle it.
Stuff it under a dome.
“I like that you removed the bandage,” he purrs. “That you’re wearing my bite proudly beneath this pretty, pretty hair.”
His words crawl across my skin like the prickly caterpillars that nibble on my rose bushes. The ones that would leave a rash on my hands when I’d pluck them off.
“I’m so glad you approve,” I lie with a sultry slur that tastes like spoiled fruit, slamming another layer atop my creaking domes as I think of a warm kiss upon my head and a deep, bone-rattling voice seeping through the layers of my skin.
A voice I’d give mylifeto hear again …
Don’t cry.
Cainon sweeps my hair off the side of my neck, his fingers brushing the bite mark, and my skin flushes with goosebumps for all the wrong reasons. But they add to the ruse. Make it look like I’menjoyinghis rapt attention.
Like my body’s responding to the low rumble boiling in his chest as he pushes so close there’s hardly room for me to breathe.
“It’s still so raw.” He swallows, the sound rattling the chains of the painful memory of him latched onto my flesh, drawing greedy gulps.
Itchy pops flare across my shoulder.
“It still smells like your bloodtastes.” He drags his nose up the side of my neck, releasing a pained groan. “And if I don’t stop doing this, I’m going to rip into this pretty neck and ruin your lovely gown.”
