Chapter 37 Bryony
brYONY
THE FIRST TIME I let a man fool me, he cut open my throat.
Five months after my father died, the court decided we’d mourned enough. Summer meant festival time in Luceni, and nobles from across Vartena came to dance, drink our country’s wine, and meet the three princesses of marriageable age.
Percival Whitworth was from Brevig. He asked my cousin Odessa to dance first—proper protocol—but his eyes never left me. Not once.
He had this smile. One dimple, right corner. The kind that makes something low in your belly tighten. When he took my hand for a waltz, I noticed that he had a deep voice that made me blush. His hand at my waist felt different than the dance instructor’s. Warmer. Intentional.
After, he’d poured wine into a goblet and handed it to me. “Show me the festival,” he’d said.
We wandered between the stalls that servants had spent days setting up on palace grounds. Lanterns were lit everywhere, strung from trees and posts. The air had smelled like cinnamon and summer flowers.
I remember his laugh. The way his fingers brushed mine and his palm settled on my lower back. Now I understand—a princess who rarely left the palace made for easy prey. I heard stories on my father’s knee about wrathful gods, but I was not warned about what men do to the women who anger them.
So when Percival Whitworth asked me to follow him into the woods, I went without hesitation.
His lips were soft. That surprised me. I liked kissing, the weight of someone else’s mouth on mine, the warm press of a man’s body. I’d only kissed two boys years before that, behind columns during dance lessons. This felt more real.
Until his hand shoved up my skirts.
I pushed against his chest. “Stop.”
His grip tightened. His eyes changed as he pushed back harder and rougher.
“No.” The word felt strange in my mouth. Princesses weren’t supposed to say it; we were taught to nod and smile and agree. “No.”
“Shut up,” he hissed, all that charm vanishing like it had never existed. “You can’t be all that different from your slut sister.”
He pressed a blade to my neck to quiet me.
I struggled anyway. A guard on patrol heard me and intervened. Percival didn’t run or cower, just stared down at me while the guard’s sword pressed into his back, like I was the one who’d done something wrong. Like I’d disappointed him.
He slashed the dagger across my throat before the guard could get him off me. My scar is a reminder that a man will still smile when he plans to hurt you.
But some lessons you have to learn twice.
Evander’s words to his brother echo through my thoughts as I slide beneath the sheets.
Let her think she’s special. Then let her realize she’s been spreading her legs for the monster who’s going to slit her throat anyway.
I’ve always known what he is from that very first glimpse of him in the Hellevig palace woods. But hearing him talk about toying with me? It lodges like glass behind my ribs. It hurts so much I can’t breathe through it.
The door clicks open, spilling light across the floor.
“Bryony?” His voice is dark and intimate. Tender. Like he gives a damn.
Like he isn’t trying to soften me up to hurt me worse later.
I pretend to be asleep, like I’ve been here this whole time. As if I hadn’t sneaked into the gardens and eavesdropped on him with his brother. The mattress dips as he climbs in beside me, his palm skimming over my waist. My jaw clenches.
Percival Whitworth’s hands were soft until they weren’t.
“Wake up. My rut-fever’s broken,” he breathes against my ear. “There’s something I want to show you.”
I tense. Is this it? The moment he slides a blade in?
Swallowing around the sudden tightness in my throat, I roll over to face him. “What is it?” The question comes out small.
Something complicated, almost like regret, ripples across Evander’s features. There and gone in a blink—an illusion, maybe.
Then he’s grabbing my chemise from the floor and pulling it over my head. “A surprise. Do you trust me?”
Four simple words that rip through me.
I want to break her first. Get her to trust me.
The cold reality of it knifes deep. This strange, fragile thing between us is nothing more than an illusion. It’s the same game we’ve been playing since he came into my bedroom in Hellevig and pressed his dagger to my throat.
What are you doing?
Playing with my food before eating it.
I shove the hurt down, lock it up tight. “For tonight, I trust you. Just for tonight.”
And never again.
His breath hitches. Then he’s sliding his arms beneath me and scooping me up, carrying me out to the garden.
The roses are painted in opalescent shades by Aethertide, the usual pulsing red glow more like starlight now. The air is thick with the flowers’ decadent perfume.
“Close your eyes.” When I tense, he gentles me with a squeeze, ducking his head to nuzzle into my hair. “We’re just flying.”
Okay. He’s still playing with me, then.
So I let my eyes flutter shut, surrendering to the familiar swoop in my stomach as he launches us skyward.
The wind whips through my hair. I press my face into the crook of his neck and inhale, memorizing the scent of him, the way his skin feels against mine.
The pressure of his fingers as he traces idle patterns over my spine.
I want to capture this stolen moment in amber before he turns on me. I’m going to remember what a liar looks like, sounds like, smells like.
At the end, I won’t beg.
His lips graze my temple. “Look, Bryony.”
The sight steals the air from my lungs.
Color, so much color. Indigos and rouges, emeralds and golds all tangling together, the stars strewn through the expanse like diamonds on black velvet.
Aethertide gentled, but no less lovely. The celestial storm ripples and flows, its reflection shimmering on the placid surface of the Osbu until sea and sky meld together.
And in the water, as far as I can see, are ribbons of turquoise and purple. They glow against the black like entire galaxies trapped in the depths of the sea. Each wave sends another ripple through the hues, shifting shades.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
Is that what this is? A final tender moment before he kills me?
“Aethertide’s light activates bioluminescent algae in the water,” Evander tells me, spiraling us down to a narrow crescent of the shore. He alights on the sand, bare feet sinking in. “Would’ve been a shame for you to sleep through a once-in-a-century event.”
He lowers me to the ground.
“I suppose I won’t be around for the next one,” I say, stepping away. It comes out too flat, too raw.
Evander goes still, hands flexing at his sides.
I don’t wait for his reply before stripping off my chemise and tossing it aside. The night air pebbles my skin as I wade out into the shallows. Effervescent streaks of teal and lavender swirl around my calves with each step, leaving glowing contrails in my wake.
Fabric rustles behind me, followed by the soft noise of clothing hitting the sand.
“Never took you for the indecent bathing sort,” Evander calls.
So we’re not going to talk about it, then. We’re still going to play pretend. One last game for Aethertide, while he’s still Evander and not the Wolf.
One last game before I lose.
I glance over my shoulder. The aetherlight loves him, gilding the sculpted planes of his body as he strides into the surf after me. It catches in his tawny feathers as he flexes his wings. What was it he told me last night?
Monsters are always beautiful. The prettier we are, the easier it is to fool a clever girl into letting us devour her.
But I wasn’t clever, was I? I was so, so stupid.
“I figured I should live a little.” I flash him a brittle smile. “Enjoy the scenery before it’s ripped away.”
His eyes flare, lips compressing into a flat, bloodless line.
And then he’s on me. His mouth is gentle against mine, the barest pressure. As if he’s savoring the taste of me. I shiver as his kisses skim my cheekbone, my temple, my jaw. He’s breathing me in like he’s trying to pull me into his lungs and keep me there.
He’s fucking with me. I know that. The thing is, he never lied about what this was, never promised me anything. But somewhere between his healing hands on my wounds and his body over mine in the dark, I’m the idiot who let myself believe this might be real.
That he might decide to let me live, after all.
“What would you think,” he murmurs, “if I took my time tonight? Kissed every inch of your skin? Learned what you taste like under the stars?”
I hate him. I hate him so much for this.
It’s so easy to sink into him, to surrender to the seductive pull and let him take me apart. To pretend, just for a little while longer, that he isn’t meticulously planning my destruction even as he holds me like I’m something precious. Something worthy of worship.
It’s been centuries since I took my time killing a Devaliant. And this one has a mouth that’s good for more than talking.
I pull away. “How about a game first?” I ask with forced lightness.
His head tilts. “What sort of game?”
The kind where I dig my fingers into all his soft, hidden places, and pry up his secrets. Discover why he and his brother hate my family.
I deserve that much.
“Answer a handful of questions honestly. Think you can manage that?”
His expression sharpens. “Only if you agree to the same.”
“I suppose that’s only fair. We each get three chances to refuse before forfeiting victory to your opponent. The winner chooses the penalty, and the loser endures.”
“And the prize?”
I lift my gaze to his. “Complete surrender.”
She’s a nice piece of ass to enjoy while I’m bored.
Evander’s hand finds my wrist beneath the water, his thumb sweeping over my pulse in a deliberate caress. Teasing. “I accept your terms. Ask your question.”
I don’t even pause to think. “Before you were Alexios’ Wolf, who were you?”
Something dark passes through his features. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse to answer.
“A prince,” he says flatly.