Chapter Seven
Xandril
The chaos and commotion that results from my bride’s drop is enough to rouse even my sorry excuse for a royal guard.
Valenar is quick to step in to smooth things over, simultaneously shielding me while I scoop Ingrid into my arms and carry her to the next room.
I’m only thinking that I need somewhere quiet and private to take her; the castle takes me to the throne room.
Still some humor left in these frozen roots, it seems.
“Bring me the damn Dealmaker!” I roar to whoever might be trailing me as I deposit the human onto the throne. The massive seat swallows her tiny form, and she looks impossibly fragile surrounded by the cage of its bare branches.
“He’s on his way,” Valenar answers, his expression grim. He joins my side, saying nothing more as we wait. What is there to say? My ‘I told you so’ would bring no satisfaction, and even he is unable to find any bright side to this debacle.
The only thing keeping my fury contained at the moment is how pale Ingrid’s skin is. The healthy flush is long gone, her breaths are shallow, and the perspiration clinging to her is cool to the touch. Has the Dealmaker brought me a sickly human? Or have I already failed to protect her?
I hear a door open, but don’t lift my head.
“What sort of game do you think you’re playing at?” Val demands, stalking toward the unbothered demon, then haunting him as he approaches my throne. When the Dealmaker reaches the base of the dias, I turn and snarl at him like the beast I truly am. He cannot come closer to her.
In the same moment, I’m noticing just how tight her ornate gown is laced.
Still focused entirely on her, I slice through the ties of her bodice, my claw trembling.
I don’t know just how much care she must be handled with, and one wrong move of my claw could make this evening much worse for all of us.
The worry and anger warring within me don’t make for a steady hand, but I take a slow breath and force my hand to move as precisely as I can.
“A human?” Valenar continues. “Is this a joke? Is this funny to you?”
With the dress loosened, Ingrid’s breaths shift, her chest expanding with more air than before. I break off a wispy branch to fan her with, not sure what I can do to fix this.
Slowly, some of the color returns to her face, and her eyes flutter open. Not quite the same depths to her bronze eyes as before, but they’re open. She’s awake, and the vise around my chest loosens a fraction.
“Thank you,” Ingrid breathes, filling her lungs more fully, awareness returning to her along with the pink color to her cheeks.
And with that, her attention turns to the Dealmaker, the trio of us all glaring daggers in his direction while he idly examines a non-existent speck on his sleeve.
I rise from where I was crouched next to the throne, mustering up the most imperious, intimidating stance I can while still smothering the rage threatening to burn me from the inside out.
“I would like an answer, Dealmaker,” I say, my voice surprisingly level.
Controlled and calm. The paltry number of guards and staff present in the room all shrink back to the recesses, and I can feel the throne’s latent power lingering so close at hand.
Emerald Reach needs every bit of uncorrupted magic it has to sustain it through this endless winter, but I’ve already tapped into it once for Ingrid with our dance.
My hands twitch at my sides, fingers tingling with energy I still don’t know how to channel.
But for this beautiful, delicate creature, I will figure it out.
“She is clearly not able to flourish in this realm. Why have you brought this fragile human—”
“I’m not fragile,” Ingrid insists, her lips pursed.
“It was the gown and—” She suddenly pales, her topaz eyes widening enough to show whites all around as she sits bolt upright.
The bodice of her dress threatens to fall away, and she holds it to her breast, her expression morphing into one of accusation as she turns to me, wrinkles forming in her forehead. “Out there… Did you say bride?”
While she spoke, my gaze had traveled to her bare back, the expanse of creamy, unmarked skin, marred only by the slow rise of goosebumps as the cold air kisses her skin.
In my arms, she’d felt no more substantial than a sheaf of grain and no less precious than a treasured artwork.
Soft. Helpless. Much too wonderful for an uncivilized brute like me. The Dealmaker has made a mistake.
“That is the contract you both signed,” Anumar says, his attention directed to Ingrid first. “You did not specify you need a demonic bride,” he adds to me, casually disinterested in the earthquake he’s wreaked upon us.
Hot fury surges through me, the ground underfoot steaming as I dig my claws into the bark of the throne tree, jaw clenched tight while my protest forms. It should have been implied, but I can’t bring myself to speak.
Ingrid is a wisp of a thing, weak—foreign, too.
But the set of her brow, the quiet anger simmering in her eyes…
She’s far too small for the throne, but it no longer swallows her the way it did when I first set her there unconscious.
Her righteous anger fills the space with her presence in a way few can manage.
I can envision no one else—demon or otherwise—occupying that space with me. I won’t give her up.
“If you’re looking to amend your contract, I’m willing to negotiate—”
“No,” I bark, earning the surprised looks of everyone else. I won’t give Valenar—or Ingrid—a chance to latch onto the offer. I leave no room to point out what a good option it is.
Of course it’s an option I should consider, but I won’t. It would reveal I’ve been taken by the Dealmaker, and the respect the nobility has for me is as fine as spider’s silk. It won’t take much to send it off with the wind.
And that’s the sole reason I won’t consider it, I tell myself, forcing my gaze to land anywhere but on the woman occupying the throne.
I must keep her close so no one sees the disaster I’ve already made of my rule.
Not because she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Nor because I’ve never felt such peace as I did in the moments I had her body clutched to mine.
Certainly not because the thought of her golden hair and flushed cheeks roaming the halls of the castle makes this frigid tomb seem more bearable.
I can’t look at her. I can’t face the disappointment I know must be etched into her beautiful face.
For a brief moment, she must have glimpsed her freedom within reach before I swatted it away, and with it, any hope of escaping me.
What kind of monster must I look like to her?
Even amongst my own kind I’m seen as deformed and grotesque.
What hope is there for a precious, radiant human to see anything more than a beast?
“Morwen, find her a new dress before taking her back to the ball,” I command.
Never too far, she stands beyond the edge of the confrontation ready with a tea tray, quick to spring to action.
Taking one step away from the throne—and my bride—is an enormous effort.
I take another, and the gulf between us holds my breath hostage.
“There will be no further dealings,” I announce to everyone present, leveling a fiery look at the Dealmaker.
“Thank your stars that I don’t destroy you where you stand for this deception.
You’ve caused immeasurable damage that I must now reverse.
Tread lightly,” I add with a low growl that leaves no question to my meaning.
Before anyone can question me—or my gaze finds its way back to my bride—I storm out of the throne room and away from the ball. My presence there has done enough harm for one night.