Page 56 of The Poison Princess and the Lord of Misrule

I kiss him then—one last desperate press of my mouth to his, tasting the salt and the wreckage of everything we can’t have—and then I make myself do the hardest thing I have ever done.

I let go of him.

I smooth my crimson gown, straighten my ruby crown, school my face into the porcelain mask the night demands.

Then I slip back into the hall, back into the light and the noise and the crush of a celebration of a marriage I never wanted, and I walk toward my husband and the bed where the night will try to unmake me.

But I won’t let it.

Because my body will remember hands in the dark.

And no draught, no king, no cruelty in any realm can take that from me.

Chapter 17

Seravyn

The bedchamber is draped in black and shades of crimson, completing tonight’s wedding theme in the color of blood.

My gown, the cathedral roses, the wine that flowed through the court. And now this room, the marriage bed swathed in deep red silk, the white sheets beneath waiting like a held breath.

I stand at the foot of it in my nightdress, Isolde and my handmaidens assisting and readying me for my wedding night. Robing me, brushing out my hair. Isolde takes her time removing the pins, as though if she takes long enough, she can stop the door from opening, stop Aldric from coming.

But I feel the moment he enters, the air of the bedchamber gathering with his tension aroundhis presence.

“Leave us,” he orders the women.

Isolde meets my eyes briefly, offering one firm nod of encouragement. I return her reassurance with a tight smile, gripping the wine chalice in my hand tighter. The dulling draught has already been laced into the wine.

The door latches shut, followed by his heavy, unhurried tread across the room. I keep my back to him, my spine straight.

“My beautiful wife,” Aldric says, his voice a low husk, the words curling through the room like smoke.

I feel the heat of him at my back. His hands settle on my shoulders, his thumbs slip beneath the lace straps there. His breath stirs my hair. The scent of him, vetiver and cardamom, wrapping heady around me.

“I’ve tried to be patient,” he murmurs, his mouth at my ear. “Waiting for you to give herself over, but you made that extremely hard, Seravyn.” His hands slide down my arms, gripping.

“My Lord?—”

“Aldric.” His grip tightens. “Tonight, I’m only Aldric. Tonight, there is no court, no servants, no priest. There is only us, and a moment long overdue.”

Hand trembling, I start to bring the chalice to my lips—thinking I should offer him a sip. That maybe he’ll drain the wine, that it might serve better to dull his senses rather than mine, make him too impaired, too sloppy to?—

His hand covers the cup rim. “Not tonight. I want you to feel everything.” He removes the chalice from my hand,meticulously places it on the table, sending a sharp current of fear through me.

Then he removes my robe, letting it fall to the floor, before his hand finds my thigh. The feel of his rings through the silk too cool compared to the heat of his palm. His fingers slowly drag the material up, inch by torturous inch, as his other hand tugs the shoulder of my nightdress down.

I flinch when his fingers find skin, my body assaulted by the stimulation of both the rough caress of his touch, and the press of his lips to my neck. My mouth parts soundlessly, my eyes seal shut, trying to harness what senses I have control over as he sweeps my hair aside, his teeth scraping over the sensitive joint of my neck and shoulder, his fingers sliding up my inner thigh.

“Fuck, Seravyn,” he growls as his fingers reach the damp fabric between my thighs. He prods there, applying pressure, swirling his fingers in a rough manner to trap my breath. “You’re so gods-damn wet. I knew my Threnmere girl was filthy the moment I laid eyes on you?—”

“Aldric, please…” It leaves me in a shaky whisper, my gaze snapping to the chalice just out of reach.

“Gods, I love you begging—what hearing you beg my name does to me.” His teeth scrape harder over my skin, his tongue licking the trail of his tender bites. “I’m going to have you on your knees begging, love.”

I curl my hands into fists at my sides as his hands ravish me, moving faster, harder between my thighs like he’s lost all reason. “What happened to your patience?” I manage.

He releases a dark groan, then there’s the sound of tearing material, the cool air touching the slick heat between my thighs as he tears my underclothing at the hip.