Chapter Twenty-Five
My pulse thunders in my ears.
“You will wed Zevayr.”
This was not the plan.
Something warm swirls inside me at the thought of marrying Zev, but I shove it down. I am not so easily fooled. This is a ploy—a way to entrap me. To humiliate me. He knows my father would never agree to wed his heir to a second-born son, commander or not.
To alter the agreement now when I’m at his mercy—
Anger rages inside me, a relentless tidal wave of fury, at this blatant insult to Tundrayn. “Was my father made aware of this ‘change in plan’?” I ask stiffly. I can’t help the ice that frosts my voice.
Zev’s gone stock still beside me.
“Not yet,” Varad says with a cold smirk, long fingers steepled beneath his chin. “We weren’t even sure you were still alive. We’ll dispatch a message posthaste with the good news. And your decision.” He arches a thick brow. “You’ll marry my second son, yes?”
His cruel eyes bore into me, daring me to say no.
The tidesdamned murdering, manipulative bastard.
I inhale shakily, steeling myself. “I—”
“I need to speak with Mayah.”
Zev’s hand closes around my wrist like a vise. Varad’s protests fall on deaf ears as he drags me from the throne room. In the hallway, he bursts through the first door we come across.
There’s some type of meeting taking place, stuffy-looking advisers seated around a round table. Silence descends as we enter, confused eyes landing on us.
“Out,” Zev snarls. “Now.”
The words have barely left his mouth when everyone rises, chairs scraping against the stone floor, and quickly exits, heads bowed lest they invite their prince’s wrath.
As soon as the door shuts, I whirl on him.
“Did you know?” I hiss, jabbing a finger into his chest.
His hands raise in surrender. “I swear I didn’t, Mayah. When I left Arbinj, it was to bring you here to marry my brother.”
I begin pacing the room.
“If your brother marries the Volcan princess, and I wed you, Arbinj will have ties to both Volca and Tundrayn. It’ll be stronger than ever.”
“Yes,” he says quietly, gray eyes flicking back and forth as he watches me pace.
“Faramir will be king of Arbinj and Volca. And when I become queen … you’ll be king of Tundrayn. Your father means to control my kingdom while giving nothing of his own power.”
“Yes,” Zev repeats, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
My feet lead me to the large window. I stare down at the capital, gears shifting in my head. “And if I refuse to marry you…” I muse quietly. “Your father could have me thrown into the dungeons. Killed. Or worse.” My eyes cut to Zev’s. “He won’t let me return home.”
Zev comes to stand beside me. “No. He won’t.”
I take a deep, shaky breath.
“Your father wants me to refuse. Wants me to give him a reason.”
Zev nods. I can’t read his expression—he’s completely stoic.
I’m silent for a long time, staring out at a city that hates me.
I can’t return home.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I won’t disappoint my people.
I came here for peace. For Tundrayn.
There is only one path forward.
“Yes.” My voice is quiet. Determined. Zev’s brow furrows, and I add, “I’ll marry you.”
He blinks. His mouth moves like he wants to argue.
“Mayah…” he says softly. “You don’t have to do this.”
“But I do. If I refuse, there will be no alliance. Your father will make me vanish. Or he could attack Tundrayn. That is, if my father doesn’t attack first. War will ravage the realm. I have to marry you.” A thought occurs to me, sudden and unwelcome. “Unless … unless there’s someone else.”
“No.” He shakes his head firmly, mouth contorting into a grimace. “There’s no one else. It’s just—” Anguish mars his handsome face. “It should be your choice.”
I place a hand on his arm. “This is my choice,” I whisper softly, gazing up at him. “I’m choosing to survive.”
His face looks pained, as if that wasn’t quite the answer he wanted.
I step closer until our boots are touching.
“Well?” My voice is a quiet murmur. “Will you marry me, Zev?”
So many emotions cross his face, I can’t read them all. But the last one is steely resolve, tempered by tenderness.
He cradles my face, calloused hands gentle on my skin. His forehead rests against mine.
Then—“Yes.” A breathless rasp. A hard swallow, his gray eyes brimming with affection. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The intensity in his eyes is so overpowering, I nearly tear my gaze away. He traces my cheek reverently with his thumb.
“I should have done this the night we danced beneath the stars,” he murmurs, his breath fanning my lips. “Know that it will always be my greatest regret.”
And then he kisses me.