It’s only fair he look the part.
His eyes lock on mine, and a smirk tugs at his mouth—as if he can sense the reluctant shift of my thoughts. But I won’t cower before him, this man who thrives on terrorizing my people. I narrow my eyes, meeting his gaze with defiance. The smirk ebbs, but he doesn’t look angry. He seems curious.
Father clears his throat, and I tear my eyes away.
Zevayr addresses me directly, his deep voice impossibly low, as if meant only for my ears. “Before the ceremony, I need a demonstration of your powers.” Before I can respond, he pulls a dagger from his belt and slashes his palm. Bright red blood oozes from the deep wound, dripping onto the white floor.
I purse my lips at him, half-tempted to leave him bleeding.
He arches a brow in challenge.
With a loud sigh, I call to my power and quickly heal his cut, leaving his skin flawless and smooth. When I steal a glance at him, his eyes are wide, as if awestruck. My lips tip up at the corners. It pleases me more than it should that I’ve impressed this formidable wielder.
Zevayr retrieves a small box from within his heavy, leather-lined cloak, opening it to reveal a sparkling ring with a massive dark stone—a black diamond, perhaps?
It’s flashy and ominous. I hate it.
“Princess Mayah of Tundrayn, on behalf of my brother, Crown Prince Faramir of Arbinj, I accept you as his betrothed. I vow to protect you from all harm and deliver you to him safely. Lightning strike me should I fail.”
Zevayr reaches for my hand when—
“It is customary in Tundrayn for the man to kneel before his intended when accepting her as his betrothed,” Father drawls, arms crossed over his chest, his staff dangling casually between his fingers.
It’s a bald-faced lie. There’s no such custom.
A hush falls over the audience. Every eye is pinned to the Dark Commander.
Zevayr glares at Father, his fingers curling into tight fists. A powerful rumble of thunder rattles the hall. My heartbeat ratchets up, palms growing damp.
“Would you dishonor my daughter?” Father demands when Zevayr doesn’t move.
A muscle jumps in the Dark Commander’s jaw. “I would never dishonor my brother’s intended,” he grits out. Then, he gracefully kneels before me and takes my hand in his larger one, his callouses scraping against my palm.
My mouth parts in surprise—I was certain he’d refuse. His eyes don’t leave mine. I want to look away, but I can’t.
A begrudging flicker of respect blossoms in my chest before I regain my senses.
He’s a murderer.
Zevayr slides the ring onto my finger and seals my fate.
Chapter Four
TheDarkCommanderrises,tugging me up with him, our joined hands held aloft.
“The new princess of Arbinj!” he announces.
The hall remains painfully silent.
Zevayr’s grip tightens around my hand, unyielding even as Father ascends the steps and embraces me. The touch is so unfamiliar that I remain stiff in his arms. When he draws back, his icy eyes soften—for once—as they rest on me.
The moment is fleeting, passing through my fingers like water as Father turns to Zevayr. “We’ve prepared a feast tonight, and a grand celebration tomorrow. The servants will show your party to—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Zevayr cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “We return to Arbinj within the hour. Enough time for the princess to pack her belongings.”
I gape at him. He can’t be serious.
Father’s face reddens, fingers tightening around his staff. “We have spared no effort in preparing for this occasion. You insultboth my daughter and Tundrayn,” he hisses, spittle flying from his mouth.
