Page 30 of Severe Husband Warning

14

ROTHGAR

The servant’s shoulder catches the silver platter, and I watch as the polished tray begins to tilt.

For the briefest instant, no one notices.

Then the glimmering sky-eel aspic slides across the silver surface before spilling in a shimmering cascade straight toward Calla.

The translucent delicacies strike the front of her pale gown with a wet splatter. Silver jelly clings to the embroidered fabric, streaking downward in iridescent ribbons before dripping onto the gleaming onyx stone beneath her feet.

Laughter erupts around the ballroom before the tray even clatters to the floor.

A few demon nobles have the decency to hide their amusement behind jeweled goblets. Most do not. Their laughter rolls through the hall with the easy confidence of people who have never expected consequences for entertaining themselves at someone else’s expense.

Across the room, Lord Malakor watches.

The corner of his mouth lifts in quiet satisfaction, as though this petty cruelty is merely another pleasant diversion to punctuate the evening.

The servant’s clumsiness was never the point. Malakor wanted every demon in this ballroom to remember exactly what Calla was beneath the fine silks and borrowed jewels—a human who could be mocked without consequence.

Cold anger washes over me with startling clarity.

I should have anticipated this. Malakor has never mistaken pettiness for weakness. If he cannot challenge me openly, he will strike where he believes I am least likely to retaliate.

Then I look at Calla.

The ruined gown ceases to matter, only her.

She stands perfectly still under the scrutiny of hundreds of watching eyes, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. Her shoulders draw inward by the smallest degree, an instinctive attempt to make herself smaller beneath the scrutiny. One hand rises toward the stain before hesitation arrests the movement halfway. After a moment she lowers it again, her fingers curling tightly into the folds of her skirt.

I have watched humans bow their heads before demon nobles more times than I could ever count.

Until this moment, it has never stirred anything within me. Watching Calla retreat into herself does.

The growl tears free before I recognize it as my own.

It rolls through the ballroom like distant thunder, deep enough that the musicians falter mid-performance. Their final notes dissolve beneath the low vibration reverberating through the hall, and conversation dies away as the storm coursing beneath my skin answers a fury I make no effort to restrain. Lightning humming through the walls flickers in uneven rhythm with my temper.

I reach her in a handful of strides.

Calla looks up as I reach her, uncertainty flickering across her face. I close my hand around hers without a word, struck immediately by how cold her fingers have become.

I lace them firmly through my own before stepping in front of her, shielding her from the sea of staring faces. Another whisper spreads through the ballroom, softer than the laughter that came before but infinitely more uncertain.

Good.

Let them wonder why I chose her. Let them question every assumption they have made since she entered this court.

Behind me, Calla is hidden from their view. If anyone wishes to laugh again, they will have to do so while looking directly at me.

Power unfurls beneath my skin without conscious restraint. The crystal lamps suspended overhead dim before surging brighter again, unable to settle beneath the pressure filling the room. The scent of ozone steadily overwhelms the sweetness of the feast, and several nobles instinctively retreat a cautious step.

A wise decision.

Only then do I turn my full attention to Malakor.

He still wears that smug smile, though I can see the effort it now takes to maintain it. He believes he has accomplished something tonight beyond bullying my human wife. He could not be more mistaken.