I have my work cut out for me. Protecting Mayah from my father, brother, and my fucking people.
My boots thud on the shiny marble floor as I rush toward the grand hall. The meeting with Jeyzar went on far longer than I’d planned, but there were so many factors to account for. I barely had time to change into my reception tunic—the palace seamstress likely worked overnight sewing it, along with Mayah’s turquoise gown.
I turn the corner.
There she is—my wife.
And she’s alone. Where are her skiesdamned guards? Irritation billows inside me. Clearly, my threats of excruciating pain need to be repeated. Perhaps, demonstrated.
“You’re late,” she says, lips curved in a teasing grin.
My heart stutters.
“Sorry.” I match her smile. “I had some security matters to attend.” I cast an appreciative glance over her, lingering on her teardrop necklace. “Though nothing as important as my wife.”My wife. I savor the words on my tongue, howrightthey feel.
Mayah flushes, and Skies help me, she’s exquisite. I’m about to tell her as much, when the door to the great hall opens, and a servant leans his head out. The boy appears relieved to see me, and promptly shuts the door to announce our entrance.
Without warning, the door flings open again. I offer Mayah my arm, and we enter. The servants did a fine job, considering they had less than twenty-four hours’ notice. White and purple flowers twine around the chandelier, and the marble floor gleams like glass.
I guide Mayah down the staircase, casting her a sideways glance. She’s tense, wide eyes flicking around the hall, though her shoulders remain straight and proud beneath the appraising gazes.
As soon as we reach the main floor, the nobles descend like ravenous vultures, offering platitudes and well wishes. I grit my teeth, steeling myself against the sharp jabs in my neck, though with all the chatter, I can’t determine who exactly is lying. Maybe all of them.
“The ceremony was lovely,” one noblewoman says to Mayah. “King Varad has quite the challenge ahead with the Equinox Festival—this will be hard to top.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Zayrna! There will be no more planning for our king,” her companion exclaims, her cheeks as red as herlips. “He has adaughternow. Princess Mayah will be the one planning all our celebrations.”
The first woman eyes Mayah skeptically. “Do you throw balls in Tundrayn?” she asks, nose scrunched with barely concealed disdain. I have the intense urge to trip her. A scathing remark lingers on my tongue, but my wife beats me to it.
Mayah fixes a wide smile to her face, perfect yet so different from the soft, real ones I’ve been gifted. “You mean snowballs? We throw those every day! My aim isimpeccable.” A chuckle rumbles through my chest at their scandalized expressions. She’s magnificent.
Over Mayah’s head, I catch sight of a tall woman striding toward us, brow pinched and blond hair fluttering.
Fuck. It’s Lying Lyra. And she looks determined to ruin my marriage before it’s even begun.
“Excuse us,” I say to the women, gaze still fixed on the approaching problem. “It’s time for our dance.” I guide Mayah toward the center of the dance floor as the music shifts to a softer melody. Lying Lyra falters, face pinched with anger, then stalks away. I exhale a relieved breath.
But Mayah’s face is pale, brows drawn tight, as though I’ve asked her to face a lightning storm instead of a dance with me.
“Just like we practiced, wife.”
I bracket her waist and lift her, until her feet rest atop mine, arms wrapping around my neck. I hold her close as I sway to the music, my hands pressed over her lower back.
Court politics, vapid nobles, the incessant prickles—it all falls away.
It’s just me and her.
As it has been for weeks. As it should always be.
“I meant to tell you earlier,” I murmur. “Skies help me, you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”
She narrows her pretty eyes at me. “You’re lying.”
I lean closer, my lips brushing her ear. “I would never. There’s nothing I hate more than a liar.” I trace the length of her spine, gently stroking the back of her neck, and a shiver courses through her. Our bodies are pressed flush together, her every breath in time with mine.
“Did you pick our outfits?” she asks quickly, fingers toying with the collar of my tunic. “I thought I’d be wearing the color of frozen mud.”
“Mmm.” I flash her a grin. “I might have had some input. Do you like them?” My fingers brush a stray curl from her face, lingering on her cheek. Gazing down at her, my heart brims with a dangerous emotion, desperate to flow over and drench her in the same aching passion that’s been plaguing me.
