Zev’s fists clench, knuckles whitening. There’s a distant rumble of thunder.
Faramir sighs dramatically, examining his nails. “So glad you’re home, brother. I’ve missed your moody little thunderstorms.”
“Faramir,” Zev growls, low and dangerous. “You’re being incredibly rude to … your betrothed.” Zev’s mouth twists like the word tastes vile in his mouth. “She’s traveled a great distance, at great risk, to come here. Findyourmanners before I rip them out of you myself.”
In one breath, the crown prince’s expression morphs from casual boredom to seething anger. His face reddens, lips bared in a snarl. His left eye twitches uncontrollably. “How dare—”
“Yes, about the betrothal…” Varad interjects, casting a hard glance at Faramir. “The plan has changed.” His tone is casual, dismissive. As if the bastard were discussing the weather.
“What do you mean?” The words tumble from my mouth, sharp and sudden, before I can stop them.
“When you and my son disappeared, I had to makeotherarrangements for Arbinj’s succession.” His voice is cold like steel, eyes glittering with malice. “Faramir will wed the Volcan princess—after we secure an alliance, of course.”
A beat passes.
“You will wed Zevayr.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mypulsethundersinmy ears.
“You will wed Zevayr.”
This was not the plan.
Something warm swirls inside me at the thought of marrying Zev, but I shove it down. I am not so easily fooled. This is a ploy—a way to entrap me. To humiliate me. He knows my father would never agree to wed his heir to a second-born son, commander or not.
To alter the agreement now when I’m at his mercy—
Anger rages inside me, a relentless tidal wave of fury, at this blatant insult to Tundrayn. “Was my father made aware of this ‘change in plan’?” I ask stiffly. I can’t help the ice that frosts my voice.
Zev’s gone stock still beside me.
“Not yet,” Varad says with a cold smirk, long fingers steepled beneath his chin. “We weren’t even sure you were still alive. We’ll dispatch a message posthaste with the good news. And your decision.” He arches a thick brow. “You’ll marry my second son, yes?”
His cruel eyes bore into me, daring me to say no.
The tidesdamned murdering, manipulative bastard.
I inhale shakily, steeling myself. “I—”
“I need to speak with Mayah.”
Zev’s hand closes around my wrist like a vise. Varad’s protests fall on deaf ears as he drags me from the throne room. In the hallway, he bursts through the first door we come across.
There’s some type of meeting taking place, stuffy-looking advisers seated around a round table. Silence descends as we enter, confused eyes landing on us.
“Out,” Zev snarls. “Now.”
The words have barely left his mouth when everyone rises, chairs scraping against the stone floor, and quickly exits, heads bowed lest they invite their prince’s wrath.
As soon as the door shuts, I whirl on him.
“Did you know?” I hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest.
His hands raise in surrender. “I swear I didn’t, Mayah. When I left Arbinj, it was to bring you here to marry my brother.”
I begin pacing the room.
