Death Bound (The Soulsworn Chronicles #1)

Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bertha paced back and forth across my room, her fingers twisting the hem of her apron as though she could wring the frustration right out of it. “Ye did exactly what I told ye not to do!” she scolded. “Men like women who purr like kittens, Your Highness, not ones that show their claws! Ye’re supposed to lure him in with softness, not challenge him like ye’re squarin’ up for a duel!”

I was definitely going to give Bertha an ulcer. I hadn’t even planned on telling her how the meeting with King Ciaran went, but Rhydian, sneaky devil that he is, had been skulking around, using his echoweaving to eavesdrop. He’d spilled everything to Bertha, and now she was tearing me apart, piece by piece.

I sighed, sinking into a chair and kicking off my shoes with a frustrated huff. “Bertha, he’s surrounded by docile women who do whatever he wants. Every single one of them in his harem is probably throwing themselves at him, hoping for a crumb of affection in return. I refuse to be one of them.”

She stopped pacing and gave me a look that was somewhere between disbelief and concern, her eyes narrowing like she was assessing a hopeless case. “Ye can’t compete with their beauty,” she said bluntly, though her tone held a sliver of pity. “Not with that wild mane.”

“I know,” I replied, biting into a piece of chicken that had been brought to my room earlier. “And I don’t want to compete with them. What I’m demanding is respect. That’s what I’m going to fight for. I’m not playing these seduction games, Bertha. It won’t work—not with him.”

Bertha let out a dramatic sigh and plopped into the chair across from me, her eyes rolling skyward as if asking the heavens for patience. “Ye could’ve at least tried,” she muttered, shaking her head like I was a lost cause. “A bit of flutterin’ eyelashes, a coy smile… maybe it wouldn’t have hurt to show a bit more leg, hmm? Men are simple creatures, Princess. Show ’em what they want, and they’ll eat right outta your hand, no matter what that hand looks like.”

I took another bite of chicken, chewed thoughtfully, and then, without a shred of grace, let out a loud burp. “Excuse me,” I said, completely unapologetic.

Bertha shot me a look of utter defeat, her lips pursing like she’d just bitten into a lemon. “Ye’re right—the seduction angle was doomed from the start. Ain’t no use puttin’ lipstick on a pig, as they say.”

From the corner of the room, Rhydian, who had been leaning against the wall with his usual look of gruff annoyance, let out a bark of laughter.

“And what exactly are you laughing at?” I asked, crossing my arms.

Rhydian rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall with that casual arrogance he always wore like armor. His tall, broad frame filled the space between us as he stepped closer. “You’re an idiot.”

I scoffed, arching an eyebrow as I leaned against the nearest table, crossing my arms tighter across my chest. “Why are you complaining? The marriage is still happening. Lady Selene wanted it to take four years, and I’ve cut that down to a week. You should be thanking me. Shouldn’t you be reporting this to your precious queen?”

Rhydian shook his head, his expression twisting into exasperation and begrudging respect. “Pissing off your future husband is still a bad idea, Elara.”

I gave him a withering look. “Oh, forgive me. Should I be batting my eyelashes and groveling for his approval like some simpering court maiden?”

He smirked at that. “Might help. You know, pretending you don’t hate him.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, pacing across the room to put some distance between us. “I don’t hate him,” I muttered, though even I wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “But I’m not going to sit there and pretend this is some fairy-tale marriage. We both know it’s not.”

Rhydian watched me carefully, his arms now crossed as well. “No,” he agreed slowly, “it’s not. But you’ve got to be smarter about it. You just told the king that the marriage is a formality. Not exactly the best way to start an alliance.”

I stopped, turning back to him, my frustration boiling over. “What do you want me to do, Rhydian? Smile sweetly and promise him a life of marital bliss? You know damn well that’s not what this is about. The Dragon King is out there, destroying everything in his path.”

Rhydian’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—something important—but he held back. Instead, he ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low growl of frustration. “You’ve got a point,” he admitted. “But Ciaran’s not the kind of man who takes well to being… dismissed.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my temper flaring again. “Oh, trust me, I noticed. He nearly bombed me to death, remember?”

Rhydian’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Yeah, I do remember. And I’m pretty sure that little reminder didn’t help your case either.”

I threw up my hands, exasperated. “Well, forgive me for not wanting to play nice with the man who nearly blew me to pieces!”

He chuckled softly, though there was no real amusement in it. “Look,” he said, his voice a little softer now, “I’m not saying you need to grovel. But you need to think strategically. You’re smart—you survived the Dragon King, and you’ve gotten this far. Don’t let your pride get in the way of securing this alliance.”

I blinked at him, surprised by the compliment hidden in his gruff tone. Rhydian didn’t give praise easily—certainly not to me. And though I didn’t want to admit it, his words stung with the truth.

“I’m not letting my pride get in the way,” I muttered, though it sounded weak even to me.

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, his eyes dark and intense. “Aren’t you?”

I stared back at him, my heart racing slightly under the weight of his gaze. Rhydian was frustrating, impossible to argue with. But…

But…

Things were changing between us.

“Rhydian,” I said, “I’m doing what I have to. I’m not going to roll over and let Ciaran think he can control me just because we’re getting married.”

“Well, well, well,” Bertha crowed. “Look at ye, all wound up tight as a spring, Princess. What’s the matter? Worried about the weddin’ night, are ye?”

I spun around, my eyes wide with shock. “What? No! That’s not?—”

Bertha raised a skeptical eyebrow and let out a raspy laugh. “Oh, don’t give me that look, lass. Ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed of. Everyone gets the jitters ’fore their first tumble. It’s only natural.” She waved her hand in the air as if swatting away my denial. “The king, well, he ain’t exactly a small man, is he? It’s bound to be a bit… overwhelmin’, eh?”

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could get a word out, Rhydian let out a deep chuckle. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed again, clearly enjoying the show.

“Is this really the time, Bertha?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest again, feeling my face burn with embarrassment.

“Oh, it’s the perfect time!” Bertha shot back, ignoring me completely. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, though it was still loud enough for Rhydian to hear. “Now, be honest with me, love. Are ye… scared? Nothin’ wrong with it if ye are. Most women are before their first time. It’s just the way of things.”

I felt my cheeks flush even hotter and shot Rhydian a glare, silently begging him to leave. But he stayed put, grinning like a cat with a saucer of cream.

“Bertha,” I groaned, exasperated, “I am not scared. That’s not what this is about.”

“Ye sure ’bout that?” Bertha asked, not backing down. “There’s no shame in it, dear. The king’s a big, powerful man?—”

Rhydian snorted, his eyes glinting with barely concealed laughter. “She’s got a point.”

I shot him another glare, my embarrassment deepening. “You’re not helping.”

“Oh, I bet Rhydian here knows exactly what I’m talkin’ about,” Bertha added with a wink in his direction. “Ain’t that right, lad?”

Rhydian’s smirk widened, and he raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “I’ve had my fair share of experiences, yes.”

“Oh, for the love of the dead, please stop,” I muttered, burying my face in my hands. This was a nightmare. Why was this happening?

But Bertha was far from done. She plowed ahead, undeterred by my mortification. “Listen, dearie, if yer frettin’ about the weddin’ night, it’s perfectly understandable. Just need to loosen up a bit! Maybe a glass of wine, set the mood, and?—”

“Bertha!” I interrupted. “I am not nervous about the wedding night! And for the record—” I glanced between Bertha and Rhydian, both watching me with far too much interest. “If and when I decide to… do that, it won’t be because of some stupid political alliance. It’s not happening.”

Bertha blinked, taken aback for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh! So ye’re not plannin’ on…”

“No,” I said firmly, crossing my arms again. “No, I’m not. The wedding is purely a formality, and I am not—repeat, not—going to be sharing the king’s bed.”

Rhydian let out a low whistle, his smirk growing as he leaned back against the doorframe. “Well, this just keeps getting more interesting.”

I shot him a withering look. “Do you mind?”

“Nope.” He grinned, clearly enjoying every second of my discomfort.

Bertha, however, wasn’t convinced. She furrowed her brow, her expression thoughtful. “But, lass, how’re ye gonna seal the alliance if ye don’t, eh?”

“By not dying in a war with the Dragon King,” I interrupted, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “This isn’t about love or romance or… that. It’s about survival. I’m marrying Ciaran for political reasons, not because I want to make him happy in bed.”

Bertha sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Ye young ones these days… always so practical. Back in my day, a good tumble ’tween husband and wife could secure more treaties than a room full o’ diplomats!”

Rhydian chuckled under his breath, and I shot him another glare. “Will you please stop encouraging this?”

“I’m not encouraging anything,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though his grin betrayed him. “But I do think this might be the most entertaining conversation I’ve heard all day.”

“Oh, fuck,” I muttered, feeling the heat rise in my face again. “I’m done with this.”

Bertha, clearly oblivious to my mortification, just smiled brightly. “Well, whenever ye’re ready to talk about it, dearie, ye know where to find me. After all, it’s important to have someone ye can ask about these things!”

Rhydian let out another laugh, and I groaned, wishing for the ground to swallow me whole. “Great. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good!” Bertha said, patting me on the shoulder as if I’d just made some grand decision. “I’ll leave ye to it, then. Just remember: a little wine, and the rest’ll fall into place!” With a final wink, she bustled out of the room, leaving me standing there with my face burning and Rhydian still watching, looking entirely too amused.

I exhaled, turning to Rhydian. “Not. One. Word.”

He raised an eyebrow, the smirk still firmly in place. “Didn’t say anything.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to regain whatever dignity I could. “You were thinking it.”

Rhydian chuckled softly, pushing off the doorframe and strolling toward me. “You handled that well, Princess,” he teased. “Very dignified.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest at the way he was looking at me. “If you’re done, I have a wedding to survive.”

“Oh, trust me,” he said, the grin finally fading. “This was the least of your problems.”

And with that, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, feeling equal parts mortified and strangely… unsettled.