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A tug in my trousers captures my attention, and I shove the thoughts from my head. We still have a royal ball to get through, and I’d rather not stand in front of everyone with a swollen bulge behind my zipper. There’s already enough for people to laugh at without the added distraction.
As we round a corner, the human—Irissa—hastily pulls her hand from my forearm and increases the distance between us with a half-step. I shouldn’t care—it’s not like I want to prolong our contact—but the action sparks irritation in me. She obviously doesn’t want to play into the charade of a happy couple, and I can’t fault her. That makes two of us.
She also looks incredibly clueless and nervous as her eyes dart around the hall, like she’s waiting for something to jump out at us. I don’t care how she feels, especially considering her rude disposition, but I decide to settle her nerves anyway.
“We’re headed to the ballroom.”
“For?”
“The royal ball. What else?” I huff.
Did no one bother to explain to her how things work? What to expect after the ceremony? They just shoved her down the aisle and expected her to figure it out at some point?
Worse, they’ve left me to fill in all the blanks.
I grumble internally. She’s spoken less than three words to me, and I’m already tired of our interactions. This is worse than I imagined, and a feeling in my gut tells me it’s bound to go downhill quickly at this rate.
We land outside a set of closed doors that lead to the ballroom. It’s customary for royal couples to enter the hall when they’re announced, and I can already hear movement coming from inside as it fills with guests. As if standing in front of hundreds of inquisitive eyes wasn’t enough, now I’ll have to interact with them and likely hear their backhanded remarks about my union.
I wonder if mother will kill me if I only show my face for the first dance before disappearing for the rest of the night.
She probably would.
“Will there be food?”
I glance over to find the princess still avoiding looking at me, her gaze traveling everywhere in the space except in my direction. Had they not fed her either? I make a mental note to address the staff later. Regardless of if my bride is the bane of my existence or not, there are protocols that must be upheld. Etiquette we must observe.
“Yes,” I say finally. “Of course, there will be food.”
My eyes linger on her as she shifts back and forth, clearly impatient. It humors me how eager she is, and I’m contemplating dragging out the wait even longer until she stumbles and has to catch her balance. My reflexes spring into action, and I grab her by the upper arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I—” she says, shaking her head like she’s trying to forget a painful memory. “Honestly, I’m a bit light-headed.”
I withhold a disgruntled sigh. Her fatigue is an obvious reminder of how fragile she is. The human species is rather weak and intolerant when it comes to food and water deprivation.
Scouring the hall, my eyes land on a short bench several feet away, and I drag her gently in that direction.
“Sit,” I say, gesturing to the seat.
“I’ll be fine,” she argues and attempts to pull her arm from my grip, which only makes me squeeze my fingers tighter. “I’m just—”
“I said sit.”
The look in her eyes challenges me, and I pull my shoulders back. Beautifulandstubborn as hell. I might actually enjoy breaking her, making her bend to my will. Perhaps this match isn’t the worst thing in the world.
I release her, curious how she’ll respond to the freedom, and she sits quietly, her head immediately falling back against the wall behind her.
“Do not move,” I say before turning my back on her.
I’m not too concerned about her running, but my mother will kill me if we aren’t ready when the introduction starts. I can hardly believe I’m risking it now as I head past the doors to the ballroom and hang a right, my sights set one of the many side doors to the hall.
Easing open the door to peer inside, I allow my eyes to scan the room. Round tables draped with navy and gold tablecloths are spread around the edge of the room, filling quickly. Matching material drapes from the ceiling, playing off the accents around the room. It’s all too lavish for my taste, but I’m sure my mother is proud of the work she’s done.
A few feet to my left, the banquet table is set up, topped with every delicacy imaginable. No expense was spared preparing for this wedding. Plates of fruit, bread, meat, and desserts are crammed on the table, and in the center, an enormous smoked boar lays on a platter.
A servant in a black suit walks by the cracked doorway, and I whistle to get his attention. He stops abruptly, swiveling his head to identify where the noise came from, and I crack the door a little wider.
