Chapter 50
VIVIENNE
As I face the Goblin King, my hands tremble at my sides, but I curl my fingers into my skirts so he cannot see it. Lifting my chin, I square my shoulders and straighten my spine.
The Goblin King is worse than I imagined. Not because he is monstrous to behold—because he is not—but because there is something unsettling in his golden eyes as they study me intently.
“Why have you brought me here?” I demand.
He cocks his head. “Did you not receive the summons? I sent no fewer than six to Valethryn. When you did not come, I was forced to act.”
“What I meant,” I begin, struggling to keep my voice even despite my fear, “is that there’s no reason for you to take me from my husband and bring me here against my will. I am married now.”
The words come out fast and defensive before heat rushes into my cheeks when I realize perhaps that isn’t enough. Maybe he needs me to spell it out for the magic of the bargain to be satisfied even though he claimed it wouldn’t matter.
Still, I decide to try anyway. I force the next part out, even as my face burns. “And the marriage has been… sealed.”
Silence falls between us as the Goblin King stares at me as if I’ve just said something completely inappropriate. Which, to be fair, I suppose I have. Especially since we are relative strangers.
I refuse to shrink beneath that look. “The marriage has already been consummated,” I state again, more firmly this time.
“I see.” He arches a condescending brow. “That was… more information than I required.”
I press my lips together. I will not be embarrassed.
“It doesn’t matter. The bargain still stands.”
“It should matter,” I counter. “Why are you so insistent on marrying me? Why do you want me anyway?”
“I don’t,” he grits through his fangs.
I blink. “What?”
“I do not want you,” he says, voice firm. “But that does not mean I will tolerate being defied.” He leans in, eyes narrowing. “Why did you ignore my summons?”
Despite my fear, I meet his gaze evenly. “Because, as I already told you, I’m married. I fulfilled the terms of the bargain.”
“Foolish human, the terms are not so easily settled,” he grinds out. “This was my father’s bargain; I inherited it. And I will see it through.”
I refuse to back down. “The agreement says I must be wed before my twenty-third birthday.” I place my hands on my hips. “Well, I am, so the contract should be void.”
His mouth tightens. “If only.”
That is not what I expected. He doesn’t look at me with hunger, triumph, or even interest. If anything, he looks extremely irritated… as though I’m an annoying insect he would very much like to be rid of.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he says with a low growl, “that I inherited the terms along with the throne. And those terms have not been fully met.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “No matter what, I will not be your wife.” He opens his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. “And furthermore, I assure you that you would not want me as one.”
That earns me a long measuring look before he grumbles, “Then, it seems we are both in agreement on this.”
Before I can respond, he flicks his wrist. The air shimmers and a sheet of parchment appears between us, hovering for a moment before settling neatly onto the edge of a nearby desk.
“There,” he says, stabbing at it with one claw-tipped finger. “Sign this and we are both free of this mess.”
I look from the parchment to him. “You expect me to sign this simply because you say so?”
“Yes.”
“You dragged me across kingdoms to force my hand,” I say evenly. “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t rush to obey. Besides, since when are Goblins trustworthy?”
“As King of the Goblins,” he says, his golden eyes practically burning into mine. “I resent your sweeping generalization.”
Despite everything, I nearly laugh knowing I’ve gotten under his skin.
He’s angry, that much is obvious, but it’s a restrained frustration.
Something tells me if I expect to get anywhere with this, I’m going to have to meet his sharp edges with my own.
“Do you?” I ask sweetly. “How tragic for you that I don’t care. ”
Something hard and dangerous reflects briefly behind his golden, cat-like eyes before it disappears beneath a calm facade. “Do not test the limits of my restraint, human.”
Fear spikes through me, but I push it back down. If Branneth wants to keep me trapped here, I’m going to do everything I can to make him regret it.
I step closer to the parchment, but I do not touch it in case there may be some sort of dark magic resting on the page, ready to curse me the moment I pick it up. Instead, I lean in, scanning the lines without actually reading them. “How do I know that if I sign this it will actually set me free?”
“Read it and you’ll see that it nullifies the bargain.”
I study him carefully, committing every shift in his expression to memory. Men reveal more in what they try to hide than what they say outright. “Or,” I counter, “it might bind me to you permanently the moment I sign it.”
His jaw tightens.
“For all I know,” I add, tilting my head, “this could have some sort of invisible magic wording that my human eyes cannot see that says: sign here to become the wife of a rather ill-mannered and brooding Goblin, and Queen of All That Is Miserable.”
To my surprise his lips twitch. “That”—he arches a brow—“is not even a proper legal phrasing. And I am not ill-mannered.”
“Yes, you are,” I counter. “Who in their right mind thinks it’s alright to abduct someone against their will?” Before he can answer, I add, “So, you’ll forgive me if I would not put it past you to use some sort of magic trickery to entrap me.”
Gritting his fangs, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do I look like a male who wants a harpy for a wife?”
Completely offended, I scoff. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” he snarls. “If I wanted a queen, I would have chosen one. Not inherited one like a curse.”
I arch a brow. “Then you will not object to having the contract verified.”
“I already told you what it does.”
“And I told you I do not trust you.”
His eye twitches as he grinds his fangs, before he exhales heavily. “You are remarkably difficult,” he grumbles.
“And you are remarkably unconvincing.”
His jaw tightens. “Do not mistake my restraint for interest. I want neither you nor this.” Running a hand roughly through his short, dark hair, King Branneth growls in frustration and strides toward the door, exiting out into the hallway.
I stare after him in shock. Did he just leave?
For a heartbeat, I remain where I am. Then I gather my skirts and follow. “Where are you going?” I call, hurrying after him through the dim, vine-choked corridor.
“To the throne room,” he snaps without slowing.
“Why?”
“So you can see where you will be spending the rest of your life at my side if you refuse to sign as I’ve asked.”
I falter for half a step. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your twenty-third birthday approaches,” he grits out. A flick of his wrist sends green magic lashing across the hall. A pair of massive doors slam open with a thunderous crack as he stalks inside. “If the contract is not signed before the appointed hour, the terms become permanent.”
“But I’m married,” I protest, following after him. “Should that not already void it?”
“My father,” he says through clenched fangs, “snuck in a clause requiring formal dissolution that your own father didn’t notice when he signed the bargain.”
I halt in my tracks. “Of course he did.”
Branneth spins back to face me, leveling me with a dark glare.
Instead of cowering, I hold his gaze. “And you had the nerve to be offended when I said Goblins are not trustworthy,” I add pointedly.
He makes a low, irritated sound and continues forward. “I am not my father,” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks toward the far end of the room.
My mouth drifts open. This is the throne room.
It’s vast and cavernous. Carved from dark gray stone that seems to swallow the light rather than reflect it. Thorned vines crawl over everything: columns, walls, even the high, arching ceiling.
Throne rooms are usually covered in lavish and elegant décor. After all, they’re one of the first places a visiting dignitary sees when they come to negotiate trade and treaties. If this is meant to be inviting, I would hate to see what he considers hostile.
At the far end of the room sits the throne. And beside it is a matching chair, but it’s covered in thorny vines. “Where am I meant to sit?”
He does not look back. “There.” He gestures to it.
“But it’s covered in thorns.” I pause as my gaze travels over it again, and add, “Sharp ones.”
“Yes,” he replies dryly. “I know.”
I stare at it. “That is not a proper chair.”
“No, it is a throne. And if you don’t sign the contract before the time limit, it will be yours, my Queen,” he says sarcastically.
I turn to face him. “I am not sitting on that.”
He arches a brow. “Then I suggest you give me your signature.”
“I refuse to sign anything,” I snap, “until I have someone verify that it does what you claim.”
“Fine,” he says, waving a dismissive hand in my direction. “I’ll summon one of my advisors.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You really expect me to trust someone in your court?”
He closes his eyes briefly and scrubs a hand down his face in frustration. “Then what do you suggest?”
“I want my husband to review it.”
His eyes snap open. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he says tightly, “your husband would sooner reduce me to ash than listen to a single word of explanation.”
That sounds about right. “My husband will come for me.” I give him a smug look. “And when he does, I won’t be the one in danger.”
Furious rage flashes through me, and I go still as I realize it isn’t mine.
It has to be Auren. He said he could sometimes sense my emotions through the bond, but this is the first time I’ve felt his.
“Yes.” Branneth sighs heavily, drawing my attention back to him. “I’ve no doubt he’ll come… eventually.”
“Eventually?” I echo.