Page 13 of Ruling the Green

And there was my husband.

My breath caught, a strange stitch behind my ribcage.

He had chiseled bone structure, sharp cheekbones, a broody brow, and a stern set to his lips with pushed-back black hair and intelligent, gunmetal blue eyes. Drawing all your attention away from his attractiveness was a bright pink scar running across his neck. Almost like, I don’t know, a burn.

I saw a flash of surprise followed by something I couldn’t parse—something almost soft. But it was gone in a moment, making me wonder if I’d seen it at all.

In its place was something harsh and tight that culminated in a muscle twitching in his jaw as he reached out toward the officiant who held a small copper tiara in the shape of vines with black gemstones dotted like leaves or flowers. It was a study in contrasts: both delicate and feminine but stark and brutal.

The prince set it on my head before turning back to the officiant.

“Are we done?” he asked.

The man looked taken aback but was quick to shake his head. “The rings, My Prince.”

“Right,” the prince said, glancing back at the man standing near him.

He reached into his pocket and handed me a ring.

I wasn’t even aware of telling my body to slide the ring onto his finger, but I watched as the silver and onyx slid into place.

My ring was next—a delicate band that looked too small to support the giant curving oblong onyx holder.

There was a strange catch in my breath as I watched him slip the ring onto my finger before turning back to the officiant.

“Is that it?”

The man nodded, his face tight.

“Good.”

My wrist was grabbed in a firm, but not crushing, hold, and I was pulled from the altar and toward the castle.

To what fate?

I guess only time would tell.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jet

I’d agreed to the wedding—without any lip—under the condition that some giant spectacle wasn’t made of it. I understood he had to have certain members of his council and the heads of important families there, but I didn’t want decorations, music, long, drawn-out vows, or anything of the sort.

He’d insisted on a meal afterward.

I warned that I might not be present for that.

Neither of us was happy, but we were both getting a little bit of what we wanted, so we went ahead with it.

I strode down the aisle, the crown on my head that the metalsmith had used to craft the tiara for my future wife, future bride, future princess, perhaps one day, my queen.

She was just a mass of white.

The gown was the traditional white, but an older fashion that gave no hint of the shape beneath. And the veil hid her even further.

Not that it mattered what she looked like.

I wasn’t planning on having any sort of relationship with her.