Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
S he steps forward, her body coiled with tension, as if she’s about to lunge at us. I think she wants to scream at Talan but manages to stop herself, clinging to some semblance of dignity.
With his arm looped in mine, Talan leads me closer to the king. I glance back at Nivene and Griflet. The poor cleric looks like he might panic and run right out the gates again.
As we near the king, Auberon narrows his pale eyes at me, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t realize yet that I’m more than just an irritation and an embarrassment.
I glance at Talan. An amused smile dances over his lips. “Your Majesty! And Lady Arwenna. How lovely to see the two of you this morning. Did you set all this up for my new bride? How thoughtful of you.”
A bored expression settles on Auberon’s face, and his gaze slides over the courtyard. “We begin in two hours. Do not be late.”
My throat is tight. Just spit it out, Talan.
Arwenna steps forward until she is level with Auberon. She stares at me, her nostrils flaring in disdain. “Will someone escort this fetid sewage from the city? Her stench will ruin our wedding celebrations.”
I can tell she’s trying to control her voice, but it comes out loud, echoing around the courtyard. A crowd starts to gather.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m afraid I’m here to stay.”
Her features soften with mock sympathy. “Oh, you poor dear. Did you think you’d be welcome at court after I marry the crown prince? I’m afraid there’ll be no room for rancid whores in Perillos after today. I intend to institute a penalty for low-born wenches who attempt to consort with those above their station by lifting their skirts. I think, puterelle , you must be brutally reminded of what you are. A public penance is in order, I think, for your transgressions.”
Talan’s eyebrows raise. “There is some confusion, Lady Arwenna. How embarrassing for you. I am, in fact, already married.”
The color drains from Arwenna’s face, and she breaks protocol to stride in front of the king. “Do not joke about this.”
King Auberon steps closer. “You fucking what ?”
The king’s voice is glacially cold, and the threatening chill of his power ripples through me. My breath catches. Fear crackles up my spine. Internally, I start to summon my magic. I don’t want to reveal my power to the king, but I also don’t want to die.
“He’s not serious.” Arwenna tries to keep her voice light, but the rigid strain beneath it betrays her. I see the anger in the tight press of her lips. “This is a jest. Very funny, Talan.”
A faint half smile from Talan. “I am deadly serious. I did what anyone should have the right to do—I married the woman I love. What’s the point of being a prince if I can’t do what I want?”
Auberon shakes his head. “It is not legal. I have not approved it.”
Talan shrugs slowly. “Griflet, Keeper of the Hawthorn Groves, is the cleric who married us. Nia’s sister, Nivene, was our witness. I have brought them here to attest to the marriage.”
Auberon’s face is a mask of fury. “I will annul this farce. A fucking peasant? There were no noble witnesses. You will marry Arwenna today as I decided.” His voice booms, carrying across the courtyard.
Talan steps between Auberon and me. He’s taller than his father and broader, too. As shadows coil around him, his magic stains the air with darkness. Is he threatening to use his magic on his father now, probing the king’s mind? Brushing against his thoughts with nightmares? Auberon’s portal magic is a powerful tool for creating new worlds or invading old ones, but it’s not much good in a one-to-one fight.
“The Keeper of the Hawthorn Groves will confirm this marriage is legal.” Talan’s smooth voice belies the iron underneath. “He didn’t participate willingly, of course. He required some…persuasion.” He flashes a charming smile. “You should have heard the way he screamed. A thing of beauty. Of course, I used my powers to compel him to do what I wanted. Why would the gods bother gifting me these powers if they didn’t want me to use them?”
A lethal threat laces his voice. The way he’s speaking to his father and looming over him brings to mind an image of a younger stag locking antlers with an old one, tearing him down.
Tension spikes the air around us, sharp as thorns, and I feel as if Talan’s magic calls to the skies. The clouds answer him, and cold rain strikes my skin like tiny drops of ice. A low hum of power roils through the storm clouds as lightning races down from the sky and strikes the wedding tent. Flames erupt from the fabric, and the scent of scorched silk fills the air.
Talan turns to the crowd and slides his arm around my waist. “I present to you Princess Nia de Morgan.” His deep voice blends with the resonant sound of thunder.
A few members of the crowd curtsy, but you can feel the unease in the air. Right now, they don’t know whom to fear more, Talan or his father.
Auberon’s lip curls, exposing his canines. “Do you really think this will be the end, my useless wastrel of a son?”
Talan gives him a dark smile. “Father, this is just the beginning.”
Auberon growls, then crosses past Talan, leaving Arwenna standing with her ladies.
“Soldiers of my guard,” Talan calls out, “please escort Griflet to his new home. He will tell you where.”
Arwenna trembles, the rain slicking her pale hair to her face. “And what am I supposed to do?”
Talan cuts her a sharp look. “Curtsy, Countess. You are supposed to curtsy to a princess.”
She pales, frozen, a statue made not of marble or bronze, but of pure outrage.
He exhales, then arches an eyebrow. “Must I really repeat myself, Lady Arwenna?” His voice is quieter now, mocking. “You know the rules better than most. Or have you somehow forgotten even the most basic etiquette?”
Gritting her teeth, Arwenna keeps her eyes locked on me. Her lip curls slightly, baring her canines. Though vibrating with tension, she slowly bends her knees in a stiff, perfunctory curtsy. Her face flushes with fury.
How long will it be before they start digging through Lauron, uncovering each and every piece of my carefully constructed lie?