Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I’ve never felt true happiness before this moment—before I’d learned the feeling of her soft lips moving against mine. Every other moment of contentment, fleeting and few, pales in comparison to the intense joy sparking through my every nerve.
I’m ravenous after weeks of aching to do just this—devour her. My fingers grip her chin, angling her mouth so I can kiss her deeper, pulling her flush against me. Mayah moans sweetly as I lick into her mouth, parting her lips for me as she sinks into my chest.
His ring. She’s still wearing his ring.
The unwelcome thought has me pulling away, shaking fingers tugging off the hideous monstrosity that’s mocked me every time I’ve laid eyes on it.
“Take off his ring,” I growl. It clatters to the floor, forgotten. “I’ll get you another one.”
And then I kiss her again, unable to bear the distance between us for another second.
This time, I savor my betrothed, slanting my lips over hers with a slow reverence, cupping her face.
Her hands clutch my tunic, her soft moans driving me insane.
Skies, she wants me, too. The thought nearly sends me to my knees.
Mayah tastes divine, and it takes all my self-restraint to keep this only to a kiss.
I never want this moment to end.
Her kiss is the peace I didn’t know I needed, a contentment in my chest where there’d only been loss and grief and hopelessness.
Slowly, reluctantly, I draw back. Her knees buckle, and I steady her against me with a low chuckle. She’s panting, smiling at me with so much affection, it nearly undoes me. I find myself grinning back.
“Let’s go tell them,” I whisper.
Hands intertwined, we walk back into the throne room. My father’s arms are crossed with impatience, while Faramir cleans his nails with a dagger.
Mayah doesn’t wait for me to take the lead. “I have thought long and hard on your proposal,” she says, voice loud and steady. “I would be honored to marry Prince Zevayr, Second Son of Arbinj, Commander of the Arbinji armies.”
My father frowns, his eyes dropping to our joined hands. The permanent scowl he wears somehow deepens. “I would advise thinking on it harder, Princess. You are the heir to Tundrayn. Its future queen.” When Mayah doesn’t respond, he adds, “If you refuse, you’d be welcome to return home, of course.”
Sharp pinpricks skitter across my neck, down my spine. The feeling is so unexpected, I nearly scratch my neck before I manage to stop myself, tensing into a statue.
My neck hasn’t prickled in weeks. Not since I left Arbinj. Not since I’ve been alone with Mayah. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be confronted with deceit on a daily basis, perpetually tense and uncomfortable.
My father is a fucking liar. He has no intention of letting Mayah return home. My fingers tighten around her hand.
“That won’t be necessary,” Mayah says, casting me a sideways glance, flexing her fingers in my grasp. “Please inform my father. I am certain in my decision. The Rebellion grows ever stronger—they were bold enough to attack our entourage. It’s time our people were joined as one.”
Faramir finally deigns to look up, eyes sharpening with interest. His gaze, too, drops to our joined hands, and his lips curl into a cruel smile I know all too well.
My father is silent for several heartbeats.
We’ve left him with no choice, and he knows it.
“Wonderful,” he says tightly. “The wedding will occur in a fortnight—”
“Tomorrow,” I cut in. “The wedding will be tomorrow.”
“So eager for your nuptials, brother?” Faramir sneers, his attention still fixed on Mayah. I grit my teeth.
My father frowns. “That’s not enough time to plan a wedding. The nobles—”
“Tensions are high with Tundrayn. The Rebellion is growing stronger. We can’t afford delay. The sooner we stand united, the better. Keep the wedding simple,” I say, waving a hand. “You can spare the opulence for the second son.”
My father studies me, displeasure evident on his face.
“Tomorrow, then,” he agrees. “I suppose we can find someone to perform the purity test tonight.”
The fuck we will. No one is touching my wife.
“There will be no purity test,” I announce, hand still tight around Mayah’s.
“Zevayr,” my father says sternly, leaning forward in this throne. “If you suspect the princess is impure, I cannot allow—”
“I took the liberty of … inspecting Mayah’s purity. During our journey.”
A deafening silence falls over the room. I cut my gaze to Mayah—her cheeks are a furious crimson, lips pressed into a thin line. I hope she can forgive that lie.
“Took many liberties with my betrothed, did you?” Faramir purrs menacingly. His eye twitches.
“A happy coincidence that Mayah is my betrothed now,” I snap. “No harm done.”
“She is now, but—”
“Enough.” My father raises a hand, and Faramir reluctantly falls silent. “Zevayr, get your betrothed settled, then return here. At once.”
The words have scarcely left his lips when I’m ushering Mayah from the throne room.
“You,” I call to the nearest servant, a reed-thin man with a neatly pressed uniform. “Prepare the finest chambers in the east wing for my betrothed.” The man scrambles off to his task, while I pull six guards from their posts in the corridor.
“If so much as a gentle breeze dares to touch her, if even an invisible splinter pierces her skin, you will each suffer a slow and brutal death. Your screams will echo for weeks. Your families will have nothing to bury. Do. You. Understand?” I snarl, making sure every man meets my eyes in turn.
The guards nod frantically, faces white.
I turn back to my betrothed. My heart warms at the thought.
Mine.
“I’ll keep you safe, Mayah,” I promise. Her eyes are wide and uncertain. I squeeze her hand once more, and then walk back into the throne room.
My father is livid. I’m surprised he hasn’t murdered me where I stand. Muscles tense, I half-expect a bolt of lightning to incinerate me. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s obliterated someone who displeased him, right here in this very hall.
And I’ve just foiled his plan against Tundrayn.
“What is the meaning of this, Zevayr?” he hisses, veins bulging in his neck.
I cross my arms. “I brought Mayah here, as you instructed. You were the one who changed the plan and said she’ll marry me instead of him.
” I jerk my head toward Faramir where he sits sideways in his throne, legs thrown over the side, his crown dangerously askew atop his blond head.
“How is it my fault you didn’t plan for her to accept? ”
“You didn’t have to agree!” he shouts, spittle flying through the air. Just as quickly, he inhales sharply, then leans back in his throne, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I could’ve kept her here, had Tormik dancing to my every whim.”
“She can still remain here,” I grit out. “As my wife.”
“That’s not the—” My father breaks off, huffing an exasperated sigh. Faramir has yet to say a word. His sharp gaze is fixed on me. I can only imagine what wheels are turning in his unhinged mind.
My father tries to regain some semblance of control, his every word measured. “What happened between you two on the journey?”
“I’ve grown to”—I cast another wary glance at Faramir—“care for her.”
“Clearly. You’re smitten. It’s pathetic. The whore spread her legs and—”
A crack of thunder rattles the throne room, so powerful that they both flinch. Faramir’s crown clatters to the floor.
But I don’t register the sound over the blood rushing in my ears. The sky darkens, smothering the light from the room. The air crackles, electric currents in the air vibrating with my rage.
“When you speak of Mayah,” I growl, “it will be. With. Respect.”
My father’s wide eyes flick to the storm outside, then back to me. He swallows hard, then straightens in his throne, assuming the mantle of unbothered king as though he weren’t cowering moments ago.
“All right, Zevayr,” he says breezily, waving a hand. “I’ll allow you this. Keep the princess in line, and we’ll see how the cards fall with Tundrayn.”
I nod stiffly. Faramir looks gleeful, as though I’ve given him a priceless gift.
And I have. Now he knows exactly how much I care for Mayah.