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Finally, when she couldn’t stop herself, she spit the wine back out into the goblet.
The emperor frowned. “What is wrong with you?”
She wiped her mouth with a silk cloth. “I know you won’t believe me, Father, but I am sorry. I wish there could have been another way.”
His quizzical expression shifted quickly to distress. He clutched his throat. “Daughter . . . what have you done?”
“Only what I had to.” She glanced at her brothers, who were also clawing at their throats and gasping.
The poison was supposed to act very quickly and not cause any pain.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her eyes stinging.
One by one, each of her family members dropped to the ground, twitching, their faces turning purple as they stared at her with confusion, and then hatred.
Just as Ashur had.
Finally, they were still.
Amara turned to face the four guards who’d reentered the solarium during the wedding ceremony. Their hands were ready on their weapons, eyeing each other with uncertainty.
“You will not say anything about this,” she told them. “To anyone.”
“They won’t listen to you,” the king said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Felix, Milo. Take care of this.”
ing appeared to consider this turn of events calmly. “Yes, my beloved Althea,” he said. “I have missed the company of a wife so very much. But with respect, your eminence, I would never wish to force such an arrangement upon anyone, least of all your lovely daughter.”
“Perhaps that is where you and I differ.”
“Perhaps,” the king acknowledged with a nod. “But I could only agree to this if Princess Amara does as well.”
All attention shifted to the princess.
She’d refused every other suitor her father had thrust her way, and the emperor had never forced her hand before. But that was then, when she was of so very little importance to him.
She’d be incredibly naive to think she had a choice here. And Amara was anything but naive. To make a fuss would only cause unnecessary conflict.
Today, of all days, she wanted her father to be pleased with her.
“It would be my honor to become your queen, King Gaius,” she said, ignoring the tightness in her chest.
The king raised his brow. She’d surprised him.
Dastan returned, accompanied by an old man with white hair and dressed in green robes.
“Excellent,” the emperor said. “Augur, please, let’s not waste another moment in making this official.”
The augur produced a long silk scarf that had been in Amara’s family for countless generations, and gestured for Amara to come stand before the king. Holding to Kraeshian tradition, he wound the scarf around her and the king, from ankle to shoulders, finally binding their hands together.
Amara looked up into the king’s eyes. He looked so very much like his son, Magnus. She hadn’t fully realized it until now.
As was custom, the wedding ceremony was performed in the Kraeshian language, with the augur repeating the vows in the common language so the king could understand.
The augur spoke solemnly about the duties of husband and wife. He stated that the wife would always be truthful to her husband. She would give him her power. She would give him children. She would serve him.
If she displeased him, it was within his rights to beat her.
The king’s fingers tightened against hers as the words sliced into her very being, as if cutting her throat.
