Chapter Twenty-Nine
My turquoise gown swishes around my ankles as I shift my weight.
After the ceremony, the handmaids swept me away and dressed me for the reception.
To my surprise, they draped me in Tundrayni colors.
I’d braced myself for black or brown or green—the classic hues of Arbinji colors—but instead, the gown gleams like a shard of home.
The door before me opens, and a servant peeks into the secluded side hallway where I stand for a second time. When he sees I’m still alone, he disappears again, the dark wood door shutting behind him with a disappointed click.
The lighting is dim in this small corridor, and I study the smooth, seamless walls with a frown as I wait for Zev—my husband.
We’re meant to make our grand entrance together, yet I haven’t seen him since the ceremony.
A large painting of a lake, encased in an intricate gold frame, hangs on the wall, angry swipes of moss green and dark blue cutting through muddy blacks and browns.
The shade of blue is the same color as Daak’s eyes—depthless like an angry, cold tide.
Daak.
Guilt washes over me in a fierce wave of self-loathing.
I can’t remember the last time I thought of him.
Quiet shame seeps through me, slow at first, then rushing fast, like groundwater breaking free.
Daak loved—loves—me, and I never gave him a reason not to.
I promised him nothing—and still, I’ve given Zev what I had previously granted only to him: my heart’s attention.
Rationally, there’s no reason for guilt. Daak and I both knew my path led here—to marry another man.
I just never expected to like my husband.
That is the betrayal.
I can admit it to myself now, here alone. I do like Zev.
He’s kind and warm. And a good man.
It’s the last thing I would’ve expected from the Dark Commander, but it’s true, nonetheless.
Rapid footsteps echo down the hall, pulling me from the undertow of thoughts, and I turn toward the sound. Zev rushes toward me. He’s changed into a dark tunic with swirling turquoise embroidery at the collars and sleeves, reminiscent of gentle waves.
“You’re late.” I give him a teasing smile, even as my heart beats faster in my chest at the sight of him.
“Sorry,” he says with a grin, though there’s a faint crease between his brows.
“I had some security matters to attend.” He casts an appreciative glance over me, lingering on my mother’s necklace.
“Though nothing as important as my wife.” He says my wife slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue.
I flush. He looks ready to say something else, when the door swings open, and the servant’s head pops out once more. Seeing both of us together, a look of stark relief crosses his youthful face. Just as quickly, the door closes.
A muffled announcement echoes through the door.
Zev offers me his arm as he leads me into a massive hall.
A large chandelier hangs overhead, white and purple flowers wrapped around its crystal branches.
Tables frame a large marble dance floor, and in the corner, a host of musicians play an upbeat melody.
My breath hitches. By the Tides—the ballroom dance.
Zev’s hand settles at the small of my back, anchoring me as we descend the wide staircase.
Below, the vast room stills—every gaze fastened on us.
Arbinji nobles may dress differently than Tundraynis, but the cunning in their eyes is the same—always calculating, always angling for a way to gain favor.
They surround us like squawking gulls, offering congratulations and false platitudes, simpering smiles concealing cold hearts and colder intentions.
I hate them all.
“The ceremony was lovely,” one noblewoman exclaims, brown eyes heavily lined with kohl, as if someone smeared soot over her wrinkly eyelids. “King Varad has quite the challenge ahead with the Equinox Festival—this will be hard to top.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Zayrna! There will be no more planning for our king,” her companion replies, a red-cheeked woman with perfectly coiffed dark hair. “He has a daughter now. Princess Mayah will be the one planning all our celebrations.”
The first woman casts me a skeptical glance, one thin eyebrow arched high. She’s shorter than me, yet somehow manages to peer down her nose like I’m something she stepped on. “Do you throw balls in Tundrayn?”
I plaster a bright, practiced smile on my lips—the one usually reserved for Father. “You mean snowballs? We throw those every day! My aim is impeccable.” The women look thoroughly scandalized, but Zev only chuckles, low and deep.
Suddenly, he stiffens, his gaze fixed somewhere over my head. “Excuse us,” he says abruptly, a crease between his brows. “It’s time for our dance.” With a reassuring smile, he leads me toward the center of the gleaming dance floor as the music transitions into a soft, intimate melody.
But my anxious heart ignores the gentle strains and beats to its own lightning-fast rhythm.
Zev studies me, his gray eyes soft, like silvery moonlight cutting through haze.
“Just like we practiced, wife.”
Before I can respond, his large hands bracket my waist and lift me until my feet rest atop his. A surprised gasp escapes me, and I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck.
We sway with the music. Zev holds me close, the entire length of his body pressed against mine, his large hands stretched across my lower back. His gray eyes smolder as he watches me.
The rest of the hall vanishes like smoke.
It’s just me and him.
Like it has been for weeks. Somehow, it feels much longer than that.
“I meant to tell you earlier,” he murmurs, his deep, gravelly voice pitched even lower. “Skies help me, you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lying.” I’ve seen the gorgeous Arbinji noblewomen flitting gracefully around the ballroom with bare shoulders and backs, faces ethereal and glowing. I don’t compare to them.
Zev’s voice drops impossibly lower, his warm breath caressing my ear.
“I would never. There’s nothing I hate more than a liar.
” His hand travels up the length of my spine, fingers tracing tantalizing lines on the back of my neck.
My chest is pressed against his as he moves us in time with the music.
A pleasant shiver ripples through me, my mouth suddenly dry. “Did you pick our outfits?” I blurt out, playing with the collar of his tunic. The turquoise embroidery glints beneath the chandelier light. “I thought I’d be wearing the color of frozen mud.”
He hums, flashing me a playful grin. “I might have had some input. Do you like them?” He brushes an errant curl from my face, his thumb lingering on my cheek.
Tides, there’s so much softness in his eyes, I don’t know what to do with it.
He’s dragging me into uncharted depths along with him, a persistent, dangerous undercurrent that’ll swallow me whole if I’m not careful.
“I like the blue.” My voice is stiff, unconvincing. I wrench my gaze away, but not quickly enough to miss the confusion shadowing his eyes.
“Mayah, what’s—” he starts, but the song ends, and the thundering applause swallows any other words he might have said.
Zev cuts me a concerned glance as we move toward the long banquet table where King Varad lounges, surrounded by nobles draped in finery and thinly veiled disdain.
My heart slams against my ribs, each beat a warning drum, but Zev’s hand—broad and unyielding at the small of my back—steadies me against the weight of their eyes.
Nearly every inch of the long table is weighed down with food—platters of roasted meat glistening with sauce, mounds of roasted vegetables I can’t name, baskets overflowing with bread. It’s an obscene display, more food than I’ve ever seen in one place.
In Tundrayn, we had feasts, but they were measured. Never in excess. Nothing wasted.
The sight churns my stomach.
Zev’s brow remains creased with concern as he guides me forward to stand before the king.
Varad rises with grace. His eyes—sharp and calculating—soften when they settle on Zev. There’s actual warmth there, perhaps even pride, hidden between layers of iron-hard authority. Bitterness churns in my gut—Father has never once gazed at me with such affection.
But Zev doesn’t return the sentiment. He dips his head in a formal nod, jaw tight, avoiding the king’s gaze entirely.
We’re scarcely there a moment before my husband leads us to a small round table reserved for the two of us.
“What’s wrong?” Zev asks as soon as we’re seated, the words finally spilling over.
I jerk my head toward the banquet tables laden with food. “What happens to the leftovers?”
Understanding dawns on my husband’s face. His lips press into a thin line. “They’re thrown away.”
Disgust crawls up my throat. “In Tundrayn, nonwielding children often go to bed hungry,” I whisper past the tightness in my throat. “It’s been worse lately. The Tides give less and less. Fishermen return with empty nets.”
A servant sets down the first course before us—wilted greens garnished with chopped nuts. I stare at the plate, appetite nonexistent.
Zev gently tilts my chin toward him. “The first shipment of food I brought—it will have helped. And the second leaves any day now. Don’t starve yourself to make a point, Mayah. We have abundance here. I’ll make sure it reaches Tundrayn, too.”
Something warm fizzles in my chest, driving back the bitter chill gnawing through me. I nod slowly and take a cautious bite—the flavor is odd, but not unpleasant. Zev watches, satisfied.
Course after course arrives. I try everything until my belly is near bursting, even as guilt coats my tongue.
Nobles greet us while we eat and offer well wishes. My fake smile might become permanently affixed to my face. The nobles are mostly interested in Zev, though some do ask about my life back home.
A tall nobleman, dressed in a finely cut white tunic, leans over our table, ignoring me completely. “Your union has already made waves, sire. It’s all the people can talk about—a new era of peace.”
Zev smiles tightly. “We’re absolutely thrilled to be the kingdom’s favorite conversation topic.”
The noble has barely walked away, when the aggressive clacking of footsteps sounds out—it must be another sycophant approaching to fawn over us.
Zev stiffens beside me.
Not a noble. It’s Faramir.
He’s wearing a wide grin—and a bright turquoise tunic that matches my gown perfectly. His blond hair hangs in long, beaded braids in a distinctly Tundrayni style.
Zev’s knuckles flare white around his glass.
“Brother! Mayah! Many, many congratulations to you both,” Faramir declares loudly with a dramatic sweep of his hands.
A beat. Then, a growled—“Thank you.”
Faramir’s green eyes flick to my face, trailing down my neck, before settling on my breasts. The bastard licks his lips. Disgust curdles in my gut, his stare crawling over me.
Zev snarls, low and venomous, before the rumble of thunder drowns it out.
The air crackles, and he rises from his chair, fists clenched, but I place a quick hand on his forearm, casting him a meaningful glance.
Don’t let him rile you. Zev hesitates but lowers himself back into the chair, shoulders tight with anger.
A broad grin stretches Faramir’s mouth as he watches our exchange.
“Like my outfit, brother? I wanted to honor Mayah.” He lingers over my name, keeping it on his tongue for as long as he can. A shudder of revulsion skitters through me. Tides, he’s determined to get a rise out of his brother.
Zev exhales sharply through his nose. “Only you could make such a beautiful color look disgusting.”
“Only you would sleep with your brother’s betrothed.”
The thunder booms louder. I flinch—Zev’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, squeezing gently.
“Stop bringing that up. Mayah is my wife.”
Faramir smirks, as if nothing pleases him more than his brother’s rage.
“Your display of power at the ceremony,” he drawls, crossing his arms. “It was disappointing, brother. I expected lightning bright enough to sear the skies all the way to Tundrayn. Thought you’d want to impress my sister-in-law.
” His unnerving gaze settles on me again.
“Why the pitiful display? On your wedding day, no less.”
“Is there anything else, Faramir?” Zev grits out.
Faramir is silent, his mocking grin frozen on his face. “No, I suppose not. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.” Without another word, he pivots and strides away, his guards trailing him.
Zev rakes a violent hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at me sideways. “He’s an ass.”
“Has it always been this way between you two?” Sura is the closest thing I had to a sibling, and we were inseparable. Until the war separated us.
“Pretty much. Faramir has hated me since we were children.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “He sees me as a threat to the crown—I’m the stronger wielder. He doesn’t believe that I don’t want the throne.”
“What do you want?” I murmur. “Besides leaving the realm.”
He scans my face. His hand tightens on my thigh. “Right now? I want to ditch this party and show you something.”
“We can’t leave our own reception,” I laugh, lacing my fingers with his.
“We can, and we will.” His smile is conspiratorial, and I find myself returning it. It’s easy to smile with him. “Come on.”
His hand is warm in mine as we cross the hall. But when we reach the center of the dance floor, a guard stops us, speaking to Zev in a hushed whisper, too low for me to make out.
A deep sigh escapes Zev, and he glares at the table where his brother is seated. “I’ll be right back,” he says, jaw clenched tight, before marching to Faramir’s table.
Everything happens quickly after that.