My father knows this too, and the lines creasing the corners of his eyes betray his inner turmoil. Though he wants to lash out, he is trapped. At this moment, I hold all the power, and he knows it.
I’ll pay for this later. Dearly.
Squeezing Cinder’s hand in mine, I murmur, “Do try to look as if you are a besotted bride.”
“I think I’m doing a rather excellent job,” she whispers back, her fingers twitching agitatedly in mine. “Not actively stabbing you and all.”
Bringing her hand to my mouth, I kiss the delicate bones of her knuckles. She jerks it away.
The room draws in a collective breath.
“Don’t put your mouth on my skin,” she hisses under her breath. While her eyes are normally a cold wall giving away nothing that goes on inside, there is a look of wild panic in them now. Her scent intensifies in the air around us, its sweetness mixing with the tanginess of her fear.
What? Did she seriously think I was going to sink my fangs into her right here before everyone?
Not to say the idea of devouring her hasn’t crossed my mind, in more ways than one. . .
The room is seething with palpable tension, a volatile mix of fear and anger swirling around me. No one disrespects the royal family, especially not a human. Cinder’s eyes dart about and I know she senses everything is on the verge.
My muscles tense and my senses are on high alert as I feel the weight of all eyes on us. I can almost taste the tinge of violence lingering in the air. It threatens to explode at any moment.
So, I do what I always do in moments of crisis. I throw my head back and laugh.
“You are right, it’s best to save kisses for when we are in private,” I first address Cinder, then the room, “Who would think I’d be taken with someone so chaste to be my bride?” Sure to make eye contact with those around us, I allow my easy-going nature to permeate the atmosphere until it is so infectious no one can resist.
And just like that, the tension dissipates—shattered like fragile glass under my unflappable command.
Cinder doesn’t fight me when I take her hand again and continue to guide her to the platform where my parents wait.
As soon as we ascend the steps, I pull my mother into an embrace, and she returns the gesture with kisses on each of my cheeks. Her usual distant demeanor sharpens into focus. Her gaze lingers on Cinder longer than normal, scrutinizing as if she's peering into my bride’s very soul or sifting through distant memories.
“My mother, the Queen,” I introduce.
Cinder drops into a deep curtsy.
My mother’s eyes, usually glazed and unfocused, bore into Cinder with an intensity I've never seen her exhibit. She stepsforward, a move so out of character that it sends a ripple of unease through me.
The Queen sets a finger under Cinder’s chin, drawing her back up to a standing position. Then, as if caught in a moment, she traces the curve of Cinder’s face.
My mother is the one who taught me to respect all beings equally, so I can only imagine the importance of this engagement has penetrated the fog that is usually about her.
Then, just as quickly as the moment arrives, my mother’s sharpness dissipates and she drifts back, resuming her usual disengaged repose.
A pang shoots through my heart. My mother deserves so much more.
Then I meet my father’s stony expression. I’m well over a foot taller and use the height to my advantage.
Silent communication passes between us, and I can tell he is not impressed with my power play, but nor is he intimidated.
He is, however, pissed off and irritated.
Again, I will pay a price for this little show, but it’s worth it.
This alliance is more than just a scandal—it's a strategic move in a game of political chess. With Cinder as my Queen, I'm one step closer to checkmate.
The smile my father cracks nearly breaks his face as he turns to the room. “Let us rejoice! My son, the prince, has chosen the child of my former friend and familiar, Byung-He Park.”
To further cement the image of a love match, I turn to openly glow at my bride.
