CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brennan stood before me. Brennan’s green eyes held me in place. And Brennan wore the royal blue cloak which boasted the moonstag and flamed sigil of House Lafir.
By the Godsdamned Gods.
All this time, Brennan was the one I was to marry. Brennan was the crown prince of Eskalon.
I felt dizzy and sick as my body hollowed with panic. My mind whirled as I raced desperately through all of the knowledge I’d collected over the years, pieces of information I’d tucked away, until my mind caught up to the truth. Until I understood exactly what my eyes were seeing.
Jaron was merely a nobleman. A relative of King Tirian’s.
Exactly what I’d imagined Brennan to be when we met.
Yes, the blood of House Lafir flowed through his veins, and yes, he possessed a name that nearly every member of the royal household shared.
The very name at the head of the crown prince’s nomenclature.
But he was not the crown prince.
He had lied to me. Of course, he fucking had.
It was the most Jaron-like thing he could do.
Waltzing into the tavern all those years ago like he owned it, wearing enough jewels and gold to shout out his wealth and status to anyone willing to look his way.
He’d wanted the attention, wanted us all to see him as the prince.
Brennan though? His wealth and status had only been so obvious to me because I’d been trained to look for such things–but Brennan had done his best to hide it, to conceal who he was.
His Highness, Crown Prince Jaron Emmerson Rowan Brendathan.
Brennan.
My chest tightened.
I’m not a lord.
My friends call me Brennan.
I squeezed my eyes shut. He hadn’t offered me his full name that first night—because he couldn’t.
But what he had given to me was far more meaningful.
Not the formal name shared by half of his bloodline.
Not the name Jaron, which probably every man inside the castle could claim to one extent or another.
He’d given me his real name. The one he was known by those closest to him, the one he answered to. Brennan.
Brennan. Short for Brendathan. The crown prince.
When this is over, what happens to the prince?
He will die.
Upon the conception, there will be an end to the House Lafir as they know it. Never to rise again.
Brennan was the prince in the prophecy. Brennan. Brennan was going to die.
He said something to me then, but I couldn’t hear or understand. My ears were ringing with the Hermit’s warning.
He will die. He will die. He will die.
By my hand. My touch. My body. By the Godsdamned Azete inside me.
Just like my mother had. And that had been prophesied, too.
The queen will be betrayed by her blood. Her blood will kill her.
My stomach twisted.
“Princess Olivay,” Brennan said. There was a concerned tone to his voice, like it wasn’t the first time he’d said my name.
I blinked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Here.” He carefully wrapped the lace ties around my wrist, his fingers delicate against my skin as he sealed the ends into a bow.
He wore a thick sigil ring made of gold on his forefinger, a moonstag etched into the metal.
“You’ll need to keep these so you can grant favor for the joust.” Then he searched my eyes as he asked, “Can I take your hands again?”
No! You need to run. Get away from me! Now!
But that wasn’t possible. There was only one way forward now.
I nodded. Slowly. I had to.
I’d accepted my mission, and sworn my oath out of duty, out of a desire for forgiveness. To right the wrongs of my past. And for revenge. I knew there would be a cost. There was always a cost. And I’d been willing to bear it. Happy to let Jaron pay for it.
But this was Brennan.
There will be an end to House Lafir.
His hands were warm against mine, welcome, and familiar. Wanted. Wanted by the most secret, selfish part of me.
My throat went dry and I waited, my body still, dread filling me from within.
The Azete stirred, hungry and expecting.
And why wouldn’t it? It already knew the taste of Brennan–it knew it could feed from him, feed greedily, and without so much as a touch.
But, standing there with him, our eyes locked, his hands wrapped around mine in the most comforting, soothing ways …
I felt nothing. Not even a trickle of emotion from him. Not even from where we touched.
I don’t … love her.
That was what he’d confessed to me. That he had no feelings for his bride. But he meant to. And if I knew Brennan at all, he’d do everything in his power to keep his word. To find a way. And when he did …
He will die.
His green eyes searched mine in earnest, his brows frowning with concern, completely unaware of the battle I fought within. “Are you all right?”
I nodded again. I had no choice. “Now what?” I asked nervously.
But the answer was clear from the chants coming in from every direction of the field, and the even louder shouts emanating from each of the pavilions.
“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”
My stomach turned.
I had hardened my heart. I had agreed to come here for revenge on Jaron, and to fulfill my oath. To save my people.
But I hadn’t bargained for this. For Brennan.
When we’d been alone in the tavern, Brennan had made my skin heat and my core tighten.
He’d awoken something inside of me I thought was dead.
My heart. My desires. I’d stopped believing such a thing was possible.
To want. Not after what I’d lost. Not after I’d learned the harm my wanting could bring.
He’d made me feel that way with little more than his words, with barely more than the look in his eyes, and the lightest of his touches against my skin.
My stomach turned. Maybe he felt nothing for Olivay tonight. Maybe no emotions stirred for him the way they did when we’d been alone at the tavern.
But they would.
If we kissed, the emotions of desire and want and need would come, and the Azete would feed. That was how this worked. If there was no love or hurt or hatred or anger being pushed toward me, nor any other strong feelings, at the end of the day, when there was a man concerned, there would be lust.
There was always lust.
I heard his mind. I felt his lust. He wants you.
Geoffrey’s words ran through my mind.
Brennan was far more noble and gallant than any other man I’d ever known.
He had his own code of honor that he fought to abide by.
And he did so remarkably. But, at the end of the day, he was still a man.
And it would be no different when our lips, when our bodies came together.
When we married, or when I took all of him inside of me.
When he thrust until he found his pleasure.
Gods. I felt nauseated at the thought, even as my core heated.
Brennan leaned in toward me, pulling me closer, his hands on my waist, our faces inches apart.
The shouts from the crowd intensified, louder than anything I’d ever heard.
But they weren’t producing anything I could feed from.
This kind of emotional excitement was less about me, and more about the situation.
No one was imagining me in their arms or writhing beneath them the way they did at Geoffrey’s.
They wanted to see me in the prince’s arms. They wanted a show.
Brennan’s cheeks flushed pink, and his jaw tensed as if he could sense it, too.
There was mint on his breath again. His eyes searched mine, so earnest and green.
He didn’t want to be here either. But his gallantry was stronger than his own wants.
He didn’t just hold the title of prince.
He was a prince in the truest sense of the word.
It was clear that all of his feelings were on hold, squashed to the back of his mind.
Whatever discomfort and unwillingness brewed within him, it was no match for his innate desire to fulfill his duty.
But first, he was going to make sure Olivay was comfortable. He was going to ensure she felt safe.
His face softened as he moved even closer to me, his throat bobbing. My heart could only thunder in response, remembering how near we’d been in my bedroom. How close we’d been to kissing, and just how intensely my body had responded. Was still responding to his presence, his scent.
“Is this alright?” he asked, his breath against my lips.
They tingled in anticipation. Hungry. Wanting. Needing more, needing him, his kiss, his mouth, his touch.
“I know you said you were okay with this,” he added quickly. “A kiss before the wedding. But if you’ve changed your mind … or you’re uncomfortable now, we don’t—we don’t have to do this.” His eyes flicked nervously to the crowd, then his jaw set in defiance as he looked back to me. “Not yet.”
I pulled back, just the slightest bit. And my wrist burned. A warning.
The blood oath.
Right there was my answer. I had to kiss him.
The oath I’d sworn compelled me to do so.
But more than that, Olivay had already agreed to this, and I had to convince everyone I was her.
Especially Brennan. I’d already let him see too much as Samara.
As Olivay, I couldn’t make the same mistake.
I couldn’t go back on her word. Not now.
Not when the entire situation was this delicate, this new.
Swallowing roughly, I laughed and pressed a hand to his armor, right over his heart. Gazing up at him, I said, “I still want to. I’m just … more nervous than I thought I’d be.”
“Is it selfish to admit I’m relieved?” he admitted.
“For I am, too.” Then he took a deep breath, his armored chest slowly rising and falling beneath my hand.
“At least, we’re in this together. You and me.
” His eyes darkened as they searched mine, and he stilled.
His voice was hushed, his fingers resting against the curve of my hips, pressing in just slightly.
“Tell me when,” he whispered, “and I’ll kiss you. ”