Chapter Twelve
Prince Kiernan
The castle has been in absolute chaos for the last few days as preparations for the Commitment Ball put everyone in a frenzy.
I’ve avoided most of it by hiding in the library, continuing my research on the Marriage Bond. Still nothing. Not even in the books Alaya found. My frustration joins the multitude of emotions swirling through me—a storm threatening to break.
But it’s not the Bond that occupies my thoughts as I sit in this quiet solitude.
It’s the King.
His stability fractures more each day. These recent threats from the Equitae have stoked his fire for their demise, his fury burning through whatever restraint and logic he had left.
Our relationship—never warm, never that unconditional love a father should give a son—has deteriorated beyond repair.
He sculpted me with hands of iron, crushed my defiance with words of cruelty and malice, encouraged mistrust and fear under cold fists.
My back is tender but bearable under my robes, having healed well with her care.
The true scars run much deeper.
My defiance in his office pushed him beyond even my reach.
Where before I could coax him back from the edge, temper his greed for power, now he’s jumped without looking for a way back up.
Yesterday, the General—his most trusted ally—made the mistake of questioning our strategy for Heartwood.
He warned caution, cited our lack of intelligence on their warrior numbers, reminded him that Heartwood is an impenetrable fortress between impassable mountains.
He won’t question the King again.
The attack is planned for the day after the wedding.
Chatter sweeps into my solitude. I glance out the window and jolt—darkness has already fallen. I still need to finish getting ready, and being late won’t improve the King’s mood.
I gather the unread books, tuck them under my arm, and leave the library. I avoid the grand staircase and the risk of arriving guests, taking the staff stairs that lead directly to my suite. Inside, I throw the books onto the coffee table and pause, smiling at the sofa.
The memory envelops me. Alaya sprawled across the cushions, my head between her thighs, the taste of her, her soft gasps against my face after she came. My cock twitches, and I shake my head, moving into the bedroom.
What is she doing to me?
She’s not even here, and I’m getting hard for her.
Alaya.
That name once took away my choices, represented a life already mapped out—ruling a dying kingdom. I railed against it like it was my demons manifested, something to be thwarted and destroyed.
Now, the sweetest name on my tongue.
We haven’t talked or been alone since that night.
Since I made her come apart under my mouth.
I still don’t know how she feels about us, about what we’re becoming.
It was easier when she was merely an obligation, another duty to the Court.
A marriage without emotions, a quick fuck every now and then for an heir.
Now? A future with her by my side, my Princess, my Queen?
I wash quickly and dress in my best robes, choosing the golden boots I know Alaya finds too much. On the dresser sits a small dark wooden box. I open it, smile, and slip it into my inner pocket. I grab my golden thorn crown from the chair back and settle it on my head.
I hate this damn thing.
Custom dictates Alaya and I enter the Grand Ballroom separately, coming together for our first dance before the Thorn Court. I rush from the room, not wanting to risk her waiting there for me alone. This time I take the grand staircase, pausing on the landing to look down into the entrance hall.
Members of the Thorn Court, Nobility, and Gift Leaders with their families are still arriving. Relief washes through me—I’m not too late.
Black-and-golden roses have grown everywhere. They are also in tall vases, entwined with ribbons, strung across walls, hanging from window ledges.
I push through the crowd streaming through the huge golden doors into the Grand Ballroom. It seems like the King has invited every Earthbound alive to this spectacle.
There he is—King Malaxor—at the far end, standing alone before the massive windows, in front of three small thrones made of golden thorn vines and black roses. His gaze is piercing, his eyes so dark tonight they’re like shards of onyx. He nods but doesn’t move towards me.
I stride across the black-and-golden marble floor as the golden doors close behind me. Nobility congratulate me, shake my hand. It takes longer than expected to cross the room. The King looks irritated by the time I reach him.
“I expected you here to greet your guests on arrival,” he hisses through clenched teeth. Several nearby guests turn, eyes fearful. He’s not even pretending humility before the Thorn Court anymore.
I want to tell him that at least I came to this fucking charade, but with his current mood, it would be worse than courting the devil.
I open my mouth to reply—
And my breath is ripped from my lungs.
Across the Ballroom, framed by the now open glinting golden doors, she stands.
A vision of otherworldly beauty.
Her dress seems spun from midnight and writhing shadows, ethereal, the floor-length skirt flowing like inky mist. The bodice sparkles with glittering obsidian—strapless—with golden vines winding up from the waist to cup her breasts.
I expect her to move towards us, but she’s rooted to the spot, her face frozen in fear.
The gathered guests part down the middle, all turning towards her, and their inane chatter dies. The room falls deathly silent. But where I stare in awe, they don’t—won’t—veil their disdain. Their glances coil like a pit of vipers.
When her head dips, something sharp and vicious tears through my chest—a blade twisting between my ribs.
Rage detonates inside me, white-hot and blinding.
Every muscle in my body coils tight. They dared humiliate her, mock her, make her feel small, these vultures who aren’t worthy to breathe the same air as her.
My fists clench so hard my nails bite into my palms. My jaw locks, teeth grinding.
I stride across the cleared floor, each step deliberate, barely containing the fury threatening to consume me entirely.
“Music!” I roar to the Fae at the grand piano.
A magical melody seeps into the silence as I reach her—the eye to my storm.
I hold out my hand. When she takes it, I feel her trembling. I pull her gently behind me, her small hand sweaty in mine, and lead her to the centre of the floor. There, I spin her towards me, her dress floating around us, enveloping me in shadows.
She stares at the floor, refusing to meet those steely gazes.
I place my finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. Those violet eyes—I’ll never get enough of them.
“Look at me. Only me, Alaya.” My voice is low, meant only for her. “Don’t look away. There’s no one else here, my love. No one else that matters but us.”
I place my hand on her waist, take her other hand in mine, and pull her close. Leaning down, I breathe in her heavenly scent of lavender.
I whisper against her ear.
She gasps, soft and breathy.
And then we dance.
Alaya
Today I turn twenty-one—a milestone that means nothing to anyone, just like my presence at this ball.
Saleen fusses around me, sighing as she tugs the fabric. Her Growth Gift tingles over my skin, changing a stitch here, adding another layer to the ever-growing skirt there.
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head, blue hair floating around her pinched expression.
I laugh, and her features relax into a grin.
“You can laugh, My Lady, but this dress has to be perfect for your Prince.”
“My Prince?” I raise a brow.
“Saleen knows all.” She waggles a finger at me in mock warning. “I see how you look at each other lately. Has he won your heart at last?”
My heart jolts at the question, as if in conflict with my own thoughts.
Kiernan and I haven’t spoken alone since that night—the night the King beat him. The night I can’t seem to shake from my body. I cringe inwardly at my boldness, then the memory of his tongue inside me sends fresh yearning sweeping through me.
But my mind refuses to yield completely.
That damn logical side still protects my heart, reminds me that although our arrangement is inevitable, he’s made no promises.
No declarations. I’m still an obligation, not a choice.
This could all be an elaborate plan—one final, all-encompassing act of cruelty.
My heart isn’t his to win as a prize. It’s mine to give.
“Is the dress ready?” I ask finally.
“Cleverly evaded.” She winks, motioning towards the mirror. “What do you think?”
The dress is magical, floating around me like dark, fathomless water.
“Another masterpiece,” I say.
I step off the podium and slip into the black heels she’s brought.
“It’s time.” Her voice twinkles with excitement. “You’re ready.”
Am I? Am I ready to walk into a room full of Fae who fear and despise me, to be the centre of their attention?
Absolutely not!
“Enjoy it, Alaya.” Saleen opens the door and gently pushes me through.
Tension rises with each step towards the Grand Ballroom. The castle halls almost look pretty—black-and-golden roses have sprouted everywhere, their petals catching the light.
I hear the murmurs before I see the doors. The golden panels pull open as I approach.
The crowd parts down the middle. Turns towards me as one.
I freeze.
All those eyes on me, brimming with contempt. The weight of their hatred presses against my chest, stealing my breath.
How did I ever think I could be worthy of him when his own people will never accept me?
I drop my head, shame burning through me as I stare at the floor. The weight of their gazes presses down on me, every pair of eyes a brand against my skin.
Then I hear it—footsteps cutting through the silence, rapid and purposeful. A voice roars across the hall, commanding and absolute.
“Music!”
My heart pounds as he reaches me. He extends his hand, and I take it without thinking, letting him lead me though I can’t bring myself to lift my head. He stops abruptly, then spins me to face him. His fingers find my chin, tilting it upward until I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
Pain lances through my heart when I see that mask of tension, rage flaring in those stunning green eyes. Then he relaxes. Smiles down at me. Another memory flashes—that same smile when I asked him to show me pleasure.
I keep my eyes on him as instructed, his words are so full of desire I clench, become slick instantly, and everything disappears.
The gathered Fae. The sweet melody floating through the air. Even the room itself.
We’re alone under the twinkling lights of stars in an inky black sky as his hand comes to my waist, settles on my hip. He takes my other hand in his and sparks fly, his Gift dancing between us where our skin meets.
He leans down, his breath hot against my ear.
“Happy birthday, Alaya.”
I gasp. He knows.
He spins us into the dance, and I don’t take my eyes from him. I can’t.
Then our kingdom explodes.