Warrior of the Drowned Empire (Drowned Empire #6)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LYRIANA

“Thought you could get out of attending the ball tonight, did you?” Imperator Hart clicked his tongue. “It’s the eve of Asherah’s Feast Day. And I thought that you of all people might delight in such a celebration.”

My breath came short as I sat up in bed, taking in my surroundings, the golden Valalumir on the ceiling, the ostentatious furniture. Sunset cast a reddish light through the curtains of my window, filling the room with dark shadows. My apartment in the Emperor’s Palace.

I reached for my chest, my heart pounding. I was still wearing my gown, and the fire inside me was gone. The Valalumir was no longer glowing. At the edge of my blankets, spread wide, like it had been used to cover me, was Dario’s cloak.

“Your Highness, I’m sorry,” I said, not sure of how much he saw. “I …” I coughed, my throat raw. “I felt faint.”

“Did you now?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You do realize that was your one opportunity to take in the object you are meant to steal for me tomorrow? The one chance you had to look around and ensure that you save your cousin’s life?”

My fingers clenched at my side. “Believe me, I took it in,” I said. “I’m as prepared as I can be to do my part. Our deal still stands.” Our eyes met. “Are you ready?”

“Am I?” He got up from his chair, and began pacing back and forth.

“I’ll keep the shard if you’re not,” I said. “Or I’ll return it to the Emperor himself, if I don’t see Jules. And you can try to compel me, order me to hand it over. But these are ancient artifacts, full of more magic than you can conceive of. I wouldn’t trust our contract to override such a thing.”

He scoffed. “Don’t be so sure. My part is simple. I have access, I have power. You don’t.” He shook his head. “I suppose if anything, you made yourself look frail and weak. Pathetic. Not a threat to the Emperor—not a threat to even the lowest of his servants.”

“As you commanded, Your Highness, I’ve been practicing appearing meek.” I gritted. “That should please you.”

He turned abruptly, leaning over the bed, slamming both fists into the mattress on either side of me, caging me in. His breath was too close, his aura was raging. “What will please me,” he roared, “is seeing you give a convincing performance tonight! And then getting me what I asked for.”

I rolled my shoulders back, affecting the posture of a noble, even while laying down. Even while trapped by His Highness. But I kept my chin low. “I know what to do. And I will succeed tonight.”

“I’ve been lenient with you these last few weeks,” he said, pulling back. “Perhaps too lenient. So lenient in fact, you decided to run off at the manor and let Rhyan follow you.”

I braced myself, expecting a hit, or more yelling. But his aura had shifted to something calm and almost happy. Serene. My heart thundered.

Rhyan had once told me that when his father was calm, when he was kind—that was when he was at his most dangerous.

Imperator Hart stood up, and tapped his chin, his eyes raking me over.

“Well, it seems he followed you. Not the other way around.” He shrugged. “He’s proven beyond a shadow of a doubt what a liability he can be. Unfortunately, he’s made it clear that when we return home, he can never be free of his bonds.”

I clenched my jaw, trying to hide the rage and sorrow bubbling inside of me at his words, trying to keep myself from giving him anything more to hold over me.

He made a disapproving sound with his tongue. “I don’t do all of this to punish you, you realize? We’re in the viper’s nest now, surrounded by those who wish you the most harm.”

One viper’s nest for another, I thought, but kept my mouth closed. I was too tired to fight. I’d save my strength for tomorrow.

“All eyes will be watching you tonight—you and Kane,” he said. “It’s especially important that everyone remembers that he is the one you are betrothed to. Tonight, you will appear before Imperator Kormac and Viktor, as well as Lord Tristan Grey. Quite a cadre of your previous romantic entanglements in the South. Despite all my efforts and goodwill, the rumors about you and my son still swirl. Do not run out of the room tonight unescorted. Do not give my bull-headed idiot excuse-for-a-son a reason to follow you from the ball. You are at risk here—especially now. Do you think there is anything that will stop Kormac from abducting you? From forcing you into any of his wolf’s beds? He can do it. With his uncle here, and my soturi stripped of weapons, you could find yourself on your back before you blink.”

My stomach hollowed. “Will you … will you force the same thing of me?”

“I should,” he said. “I should have had him fucking you the entire time. Should have had you myself.” He started toward me. But then suddenly, he stopped. Something almost like fear flashed in his eyes.

He wasn’t afraid of me. But he was afraid.

And all at once I knew. It had been Rhyan. Rhyan had done something. Saved me from worse. Just like he always did.

He cracked his knuckles, then stilled, like he was regaining control. “I’ve announced to my counterpart that a private wedding occurred between you and Kane. It happened just last night. You simply could not wait a moment longer. You snuck out to the Temple of Dawn, had Arkmage Connal officiate, and then,” he smiled, “I heard you shared Kane’s bed last night.”

I shook my head. Even the story made me feel nauseated. But a story was better than reality. “You told this to Imperator Kormac?” I asked.

“And everyone else who was within earshot. Oh, cheer up. Would you rather that I told him you’re not yet wed? Would you rather I leave room for Viktor Kormac to make you his own? Enough of his wolves lurk in the corners, drooling with anticipation. It’d be very easy for them to make their move, to grab you, to drag you before a mage.”

“No.”

He smirked. “Perhaps your little fainting spell earlier today was a result of a pregnancy.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “I know that normally such symptoms don’t start so soon, but,” he shrugged, “Kane is quite virile. And he’s had a whole month to bed you.”

I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. It was just a story—not real. Not real.

And it never would be.

“What do you want from me?” I asked. “Tonight?”

“When Kane goes in for a kiss on your Godsdamned mouth—which he will because I have ordered him to—you will kiss him back. You will accept any and every touch of his body against yours. And you will love it. After all, he’s supposed to be your husband now.”

I could feel my blood heat. Feel the contract between us answering his command. My stomach twisted. I would have to obey. I’d have no choice. Tears burned behind my eyes.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’ve selected a dress for you to wear,” he said jovially.

“Oh?”

“You’ve been most pleasing to me in your Glemarian-style gowns.” His eyes ran down my corset, following the material to where it disappeared beneath my blankets. “But tonight, I think we ought to remind everyone where you come from, hmmm? Remind them that the previous Heir to the Arkasva of Bamaria is now mine—a subject of the North. And wed to his Arkturion.”

“Of course,” I said, pushing back the covers. I wanted to get out of bed before he got close again.

He stalked toward my closet and threw the doors open, thrusting his hand inside, and I waited for him to reveal some garish yet traditional Bamarian styled dress.

But what he pulled out was the complete opposite in every way. He was holding a slinky red dress—if that was even the word for what I saw. The front of the bodice formed a V that would cut to my belly. Hanging from the waist was what could barely be described as fabric—the gown’s skirt seemed to be made of scraps. I could already tell I’d be almost completely exposed wearing it, revealing not just the full length of my thighs, but my hips as well. It looked as if someone had tried to design a dress from my country from memory and had forgotten halfway through.

I shook my head. “Is that supposed to be a Bamarian gown?” I asked.

“Did I get the color right? Batavia red?” he mocked.

“It’s, um, close, Your Highness. Perhaps if you want to remind everyone of my Ka and your claim on me, a more exact shade would be better—”

“I think this is perfect,” he said loudly. “It’s your color, it’s Bamarian, and it’s—how did you put it? A dress that shall keep men who see you from having an imagination.” He winked. “No room for that here. Not much room for anything.” He twirled it around.

“Is there no end to your games? To your humiliation?” I asked, watching the material pick up the red rays of the sunset. After a month of this, I was so tired.

Imperator Hart set the thing alleging itself to be a dress on a chaise, his aura once more too calm, too much like something resembling happiness.

“The games end when you actually decide to play. You’ve convinced no one of a single thing. Neither has my weak-minded son. Ridiculous. I know you find Kane revolting. But Rhyan? He doesn’t even have to pretend intimacy when it comes to Amalthea.”

“Doesn’t have to pretend intimacy?” My stomach sank.

“You didn’t know?” He laughed. “He already fucked Amalthea. Two and a half years ago.”