Page 24 of Veil of Night & Flames

“I am not punishing him at all. He is quite taken with life here.”

“He’s the dean of a college. His life is more than just sitting in a library and reading.”

“He is content,” Adric said, this time more firmly. “And he stays.”

“Content?” she retorted, practically spitting the word. “He’s living in a haze. And what about excitement and wonder and love and, oh, every other emotion people long to experience?”

“I wish him to stay.” That was all he could say. All he wanted to say.

She didn’t need to know how her uncle fit into the bigger picture. Not yet. The barriers were a dying Emperor’s fear made manifest, and they were never meant to be permanent. Adric intended to bring them down—slowly, deliberately. To do that, he needed Finn’s scholarship.

And keeping Finn at the castle kept Cora tethered to him. A very happy coincidence.

“He thinks he’s dreaming, Adric. He’s not comfortable. He’s delusional.”

“He is safe. And he is useful.”

The words came out harder than he intended, and he saw her flinch. Good. Let her understand that he was still the king of four realms, even if she made him feel like a schoolboy who’d been told his crush was walking home with someone else.

“Is this Kali’s idea?” Her expression hardened. “Did she tell you to keep him?”

“Kali advises me on many things. I make my own decisions.”

“Right. Your own decisions. Like the decision to save your brother’s life only if I offered myself as your bride.”

He said nothing.

“You’re keeping my uncle as a hostage.”

“I am keeping a scholar in the finest library in five realms.”

“Bullshit.” She crossed her arms. “It’s me you’re punishing,” she said, her voice low.

“No. Not a punishment. Insurance.” That, at least, was true. Though only part of the full truth.

He watched as she frowned. Then her expression cleared and softened. “I will come back to you. You don’t have to hold my uncle as insurance.”

“Perhaps not. And yet I am.”

He could see she wanted to continue the argument, but he also saw that she knew it was futile. “Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll leave tonight.”

He shook his head. “You cannot leave before the betrothal ceremony is complete.”

She frowned, reaching up to touch the vial. “Isn’t it?”

He did not answer. He let the silence work.

“Wait. Wait. Hold on. You asked for my hand in exchange for Chase’s life. I gave it. The curse broke. I kept my end.”

She wasn’t wrong. That was exactly what he had asked for and exactly what she had given. The fact that he had let himself believe the night might become something more was his own foolishness based on tradition, not on the necessity of the ceremony.

But all he said was, “The match must be proven.”

Her body went rigid. “What does that even mean?”

“That we are compatible. In bed.” He tried to keep the amusement—and the desire—out of his voice.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”