Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What the fuck are you doing?” I growl, glaring down at Faramir.
“Enjoying my dinner, little brother.” He takes a deep swig from his wine glass, not bothering to look at me.
My hands clench into fists. “The guards. We need them for security.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “Do we? We’re surrounded by friends. Our loyal subjects.”
“Faramir—”
There’s a loud shout behind me, followed by the shatter of plates breaking against marble.
The center of the dance floor is a scene of panic, servants and guards frantically milling about, and I can’t. See. Mayah.
“MAYAH!”
I cross the hall, shoving people out of the way until I catch sight of a flash of turquoise.
On the fucking floor.
My wife lies on the marble, a servant sprawled over her in a heap of skewed limbs.
The room erupts into chaos.
I dart forward. “Mayah!”
Kneeling beside her, I roll the servant off.
“Fucking Thunder split the Skies.” Panic grips my throat.
Over her abdomen, bright red blood stains the front of her gown.
“Mayah, fuck. Say something.” Her energy signature pulses wildly. I carefully press my fingers over her belly, trying to locate her wound.
“It’s not mine,” she rasps, slowly sitting up, focused on the servant I rolled to the side. Her eyes are glazed—her head must’ve struck the floor.
A dagger juts out from the servant’s chest, his white shirt bloody. She crawls over to him, setting her palms against his neck.
A loud shout from across the hall breaks her focus.
Guards restrain a struggling, seething man, his face red with anger, blond hair disheveled. “Tundrayni bitch!” he shouts. “You killed my brother!”
The air crackles with the force of my rage, the desire to eviscerate him rushing through me like a storm begging to be unleashed.
“Take him to the dungeon,” I growl.
More palace guards dart over, surrounding us until we’re completely concealed from the hall.
“Is the princess hurt?” Gregoran asks, one of the men I’ve assigned to Mayah.
“I’m fine,” she says. Mayah gestures to the servant. “But I need to heal him. Zev, the dagger.”
I pull the dagger from the unconscious man’s chest—the man who apparently unwittingly saved my wife’s life. Mayah returns her hands to his neck.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Faramir drawls. He pushes his way through the guards, my father standing stiff beside him.
“Healing,” she says woodenly.
“Look at her”—Faramir chuckles—“bleeding herself dry for a common. Tundraynis really are soft.”
Vile bastard. I wish I could kill him where he stands. In my periphery, Mayah unbuttons the man’s shirt, inspecting the wound on his chest.
Faramir tsks. “Bad luck, baby brother. Your wife is undressing another man on your wedding night.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.
“Really, brother?” Faramir continues, undeterred. “You’re just going to let her embarrass us this way?”
“She’s saving a life. I don’t expect you to understand.” My father stands still as a statue, his face pinched with displeasure.
Fuck them.
Mayah finishes, sitting back on her heels. The man’s chest is seamless beneath the dark gleam of blood. She turns to the servants hovering nearby. “Can you take him to the Healing Chambers? He needs rest. Feed him well when he wakes.”
They carry him away, murmuring their gratitude to my wife.
Mayah surveys the hall. Every eye is riveted to her. Some of the nobility gaze at her with curiosity, others with open disdain. The air crackles around me as rage builds in my chest.
When Mayah meets my gaze, she looks nervous. Uncertain. Anger and disgust thunder through my veins—she’s saved a life and is being judged for it.
“Take my wife to our chambers,” I say to her guards, though my gaze never leaves her. “And make sure she eats.”
Ten guards form a circle around her and lead her from the hall.
I grit my teeth. The dungeon is not where I expected to spend my wedding night.