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Fingers threaded through hers, drawing her out of her thoughts. She met Rymedur’s expectant gaze, and without words, he subtly nodded to her other hand that still clutched the fabric of her skirts in a bone-white grip.

What was she supposed to do? She hadn’t been listening. Her mind muddled between past and present. What was expected of her?

A shuffle of fabric behind her had her spine straightening and her shoulders tensing. The sound of boots inched closer, causing her hand to shake. Suddenly, her heart stopped beating. A sting of electricity zapped through her veins as her power emerged.

Warmth enveloped her hand, prying her fingers open, and she released the navy fabric of her skirts. Her blurred gaze followed her hand as it was slowly lifted. Rymedur’s thumb moved in calming circles against her wrist to soothe her, but it was his scent that calmed her. One deep inhale had her heart returning to its strong, rhythmical beat and had her magic settling until it almost purred within her chest. A mixture of fir needle, cedar leaf and a hint of eucalyptus.

The Luminar moved to place the matrimonial ribbons around their entwined hands, the silken snow-white fabric stark against Rymedur’s sun-kissed skin. Wrapped around their hands, it sealed their marriage, and the grand wedding, witnessed by thousands in the throne room, came to an end as they both made their promises and vows under the watchful eyes of King Aerileas, Areanel’s father, and the newly appointed King Killian of Selcirith.

Finally, the pomp and circumstance was over—but there was one more thing Areanel needed to do before she could leave the tomb of the throne room.

This would be the fun part.

She had promised Rymedur a gift, after all, and this would be one to remember.

Determination pushed Areanel to prove she was the best, to prove her parents wrong. And she had. Areanel prided herself on how far she had come. She had fought her way through the barracks at a young age—from foot soldier to second lieutenant and so on. She’d quickly made her way up the ladder until she’d found solace in her position as the high commanding officer—the role she’d held until she was met with another challenge—General Titus.

As one of her father’s most trusted advisors, the General had been by the king’s side since before she was born. A loyal friend—that was what many saw him as—but Areanel had seen beyond his mask.

A monster lurked beneath his skin. He may have been loyal to her father, but loyalty would not outweigh his sins.

And, as the king’s left hand, it was Areanel’s duty to ensure he paid for those sins.

‘I have a gift to present our allies,’ she announced, turning from Rymedur to address the others gathered in the throne room. They stood on either side of the makeshift aisle running through the hall’s centre, waiting to see what she had prepared—some in rapt fascination, others in anxious hesitation.

Areanel could practically hear their troubled thoughts, but her determined gaze remained on her father and the General who stood by his side. The way her father’s jaw feathered told her he saw this for what it was—a challenge.

He was angry. Good.

He may have shattered her hope when he sentenced her to The Pit, but she was not entirely broken. She knew exactly why her father had chosen this arrangement, why he had chosen Rymedur for her. She could see the appeal; he was beautiful in the classical kind of way, but Rymedur was half elf, half human. He had been lucky enough to take after his mother, and his lifespan matched that of any pure-blooded elf. But the limit Rymedur had over his unique power—a rarity, of course, but still diluted by his parentage—had at first left her baffled by her father’s choice. So unlike her own godlike power, he was an opposite. A complete juxtaposition.

When she had traced his features with her fingers earlier and saw his rounded ears, she was certain of her father’s reason. It wasn’t about Rymedur’s power, but a show of what power Areanel’s father had over her. He wanted to control her.

This was his punishment for her actions. His choice of husband would be better than what the Fates had in store for her—a humiliation and a slight to her mate. Because, even though he’d been born a full-blooded elf—born to a man of a noble house—he had been born a bastard. His existence was seen as a result of his father’s sins, and for that, he would be forever seen as beneath them—beneath her.

Areanel’s father may have turned a blind eye to their love affair when she was younger, but now, after her alleged betrayal, the king would no longer allow that to happen.

They could never be together because her loyalties had swayed; she had disobeyed him for the first and last time—and the king was not merciful.

This marriage was intended to shackle her. The king had removed her physical chains, released her from The Pit and forced this marriage to Rymedur on her instead. Neither would ever be free.

But two could play at that game. Areanel’s father had been the one who taught her how to turn any situation to her advantage, after all.

‘Selyë.’ The pet name grated against her. His tone held none of the honeyed warmth Rymedur’s had, and the nickname crawled along her skin like a thousand spiders. A reminder that she would always be his daughter.

The king’s tone was stern, cruel—a promise of pain tenfold for any humiliation she planned—but Areanel refused to back down.

There was nothing sudden about what happened next. Areanel had been planning General Titus’s downfall for a long time, and she was not only doing this for herself. Yes, she would gain much from what she was about to do—but that was just a bonus.

‘I would very much like to see this wedding gift,’ Rymedur said from beside her, one hand still clutching hers. His voice was clear as it carried across the filled hall, and a quiet murmur followed as the guests leaned forward, intrigued.

Rymedur’s piercing gaze held a challenge as it landed on his uncle, who stood on the opposite side at the base of her father’s throne. King Killian said nothing, deferring his attention to Aerileas. The newly-appointed king awaited her father’s approval, following his lead. Did he not have a mind of his own?

Areanel noted the scowl on Rymedur’s face. His lips were pulled back in disgust as his uncle turned to the King of Andrea. ‘Coward,’ he scoffed beneath his breath.

It was clear to Areanel that there was no love between Rymedur and his uncle, and perhaps that was part of why her father had chosen him for her.

King Aerileas inhaled a measured breath, but the way his grip tightened around his staff did not go unnoticed, even as a relaxed, easy smile stretched across his face.