Page 38 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

“Of course, of course, our princess is the great exception.” Aldric spins me once more, hand sliding from my hip up the length of my ribs, his knuckles dragging over the side of my breast through the silk. “Pure as snow. Sealed as a wine cask. Aren’t you, love?”

I say nothing.

His grip tightens at my waist, his words gritted through his teeth. “Aren’t you, Seravyn.”

I swallow. “Yes, My Lord.”

His smile is cruel. “There’s my good girl.”

He spins me once more, and I catch Ren’s gaze—from where he’s risen from his seat. Now standing, the crown crooked on his head, his eyes blazing with malice.

I do my best to shake my head, to warn him.No, do nothing. He can’t react, he can’t show the court—the king—any display of anger over my treatment.

Ren’s eyes fix onto Aldric as the king’s hand roams my ribs. Ren remains so still, carrying an empty, patient calm, like a wolf before it lunges.

Aldric pulls me back into him. His breath is hot against my ear. “I want you to remember this dance, my bride,” he whispers. “Because, come our wedding night, you will need one memory of me treating you softly to cling to—” the backs of his knuckles graze my jawline “—to compare my touch to. As on that night, I will lay a claim to your body that you will feel for weeks to come.”

He nips my earlobe, biting just hard enough to cause slight pain, before he releases me with a flourish.

The court roars. The minstrels crash to the end of their tune. Aldric sweeps into a deep, theatrical bow. He then turns and bows to the mock king, sending him a wink. “I pray you enjoyed your performance, mock king.”

Ren is seated once again, his jaw working. He summons the effort needed to form a lazy smile, offering the king a nod of approval. “I am pleased, Your Highness.”

Aldric turns his back to the jester, having made his point, then gives his attention to the puppet stage being wheeled out across the hall. “And now,” he booms. “Folly for our Lord of Misrule. Let the play begin.”

The torches along the walls hiss out one by one, setting the dark stage for the production. The great hall plunges into smoke and dim light, lit only by the guttering candles at the high table.

The court turns its attention toward the makeshift stage, the dance of humiliation quickly forgotten.

Aldric leaves me, alone and shaken, standing amid the migrating crowd, feeling the press of Ren’s gaze searching me. I wrap my arms around my waist, hesitating a beat before I finally lift my eyes to meet his.

And the pure violence I’m met with steals my breath.

Neither of us moves, silently watching the other as the hall erupts into boisterous laughter as the play begins.

A drunken lord passes in front of the dais, swaying, stumbling over his own feet. A goblet tips from his hand and shatters on the stone steps. Glass scatters across the floor.

The lord laughs it off and staggers on toward the puppet stage.

Ren’s furious gaze is no longer on me.

He’s looking down at the glass.

Rising from the mock throne, Ren steps over the broken glass, bending swiftly, the motion masked by the dark and smoke. He palms a large, jagged shard, closing his hand around the glass to conceal it.

And I know with a sudden, sickening certainty what he intends to do.

The realization hits me with a wild stab of dread. As I watch Ren creep toward the back of the crowd, I know what’s about to happen—right in front of the entire court.

And he will die for it. Ren will be cut down by Aldric’s guards before the king can even take his last breath.

I don’t think; I move.

The court is focused on the play, giving me the time needed to cross to Ren, to intercept him before he reaches Aldric’s back.

I grab his arm, and it takes everything in me not to let him pull away. I cling to him, lacing our fingers together, finally diverting his attention enough from his plan to drag him out of the crowded hall.

Not allowing him to question me, Ilead him around the corner and into a darkened alcove. The shadows swallow us, yet I can still see the fury brimming there in him, what he means to do the second he leaves this corner if I can’t sway him.