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“What the hellare you thinking, Aydon?” I confront my brother when I get him alone after the Feyal-maids have escorted our brides-to-be away.
“Your territory, not mine, Ally,” he mocks me and sniggers before adjusting his tunic and collar.
“She’s too young, and you know it.” I stab my glove at him, understanding how dangerous it is to be in this smaller alcove alone with him. One wrong move, and I could lose an arm bone or more.
Aydon grins. “You believed you were the only one who could have a beautiful, young woman volunteer to be your bride? Oh, right, I suppose your little Isla offered herself tomeas I was sitting on the throne. Don’t forget, little brother, I bear the responsibility of all of Talahn-Feyal since you can’t manage to fuck a bride for more than one damned night!”
I clench my phalanges, but by now, I’ve learned to check my temper when it comes to my blasted brother. More than anything, I wish we could return to my early days as Corpse King when his warfare would consist of shallow pranks with the nobles. A broken bone heals far quicker than our broken brotherhood. And despite how I accepted Kryach’s Curse, I still can’t blame the bloody bore. Not when the royal family bears their own curse of sharing immortality with me.
Aydon sighs and drops his hands to his sides. “Since Franzyna and Isla are friends, I vow I will treat her well as a bride, Allysteir. If you wish, I will inform Isla of my noble intentions. Nor will I consummate the marriage until she is of age. You could offer me a tip of two in the art of patience when it comes to wooing a woman?apart from pleasuring a fine pair of tits,” he chuckles with the snide remark. When I glower and return to my wine flask, Aydon pauses and surveys me, brows lifting in perception. “Why, Ally, good gods! If your corpse could blush!”
I snort and stalk away, but Aydon isn’t about to let this go. “You’re considering it, aren’t you, brother?” He stops me before I depart from the alcove, and I have no choice but to endure. With one snap of his fingers, Aydon could shatter my hand, and it would take all night to piece together. “Mmm, what did her blood and flesh taste like, Ally? How did Kryach find her?”
“None of your damned business,” I snarl.
“Fuck! I knew her breasts were a bounty fit for the Isles, but for the God of Death to envy?”
“Careful, Aydon,” I warn, injecting Kryach’s spirit into my voice and flesh for the second time tonight. It requires less effort with Isla’s blood and flesh swarming my being. From the blood-fire wreathing my corpse face and my voice pitching to a low depth, Aydon steps back, eyes widening from shock. “If you dare disrespect my bride again, I will bring the wrath of Aryahn Kryach so viciously upon your coxcomb head, the Isle gods united would not be able to save you.”
I pat my brother’s shoulder and return to the secondary hall to rejoin the other royals, leaving Aydon alone in the alcove with Kryach’s shadow haunting him.
* * *
I’m already drunk when Isla arrives for the supper, but my damned cock responds at the sight of her. Damn it all to Kryach’s hell, I love her body in her chosen gown. Caught between the world above and my Underworld, the shimmering, earthy gray silhouette of silk and tulle with cascading front panel embroidered in corpus roses flows past her feet in a tempting train. Accompanied by side slits, it showcases her luxurious, creamy thighs. Oh, gods save me!?the pleated fabric halters her bust but parts in a wide berth to display the inner valleys of her abundant breasts. The fabric is nigh-translucent, offering the barest hint of her rouged buds like the sweetest of pomegranate seeds.
All rise before my bride followed by Mathyr.
Kryach salivates in my mind, but I gulp wine to dull my lust and slump into the head throne, doing the bare minimum to acknowledge my bride.
Aydon greets her with a pretentious bow, his mouth rubbing too long on her knuckles. I avoid how his eyes ogle her beautiful breasts before he escorts her to her position. Equal in honor next to me as is the Feyal-Ithydeir way. All brides are granted their due. As far as I’m concerned, they will always be superior; for while Kryach curses me to house him and gifts me with immortality, he has shattered my brides’ hearts and devoured their souls.
Mathyr remains the only survivor. Her and Aydon’s father’s seventeen years are still a mystery.
Isla lowers herself into the throne chair next to mine?one of bones and gold. My cadaverous fingers itch for her ardent palm. With her hair in radiant waves to shower her shoulders, no doubt from the Feyal-maids, she is a banquet for the eyes as the bated-breath of all other royals attests.
Despite my aloofness to my bride, I turn a deathly eye upon the other sovereigns, male and female alike, given my bride’s magnanimous heart, and project Kryach’s blood fire in a fervent warning:she is mine!Impossible to ignore their trespassing stares. But they bow their heads to her while I am an afterthought. They descend to their designated positions.
As if acknowledging my possessiveness, Isla touches my gloved hand. I flinch from her invasion but settle and allow her fingers to tarry. They dare to brush along my arm as if seeking my corpse through my robes and glove. Far too daring. Past brides kept their distance, granted me peace from striving too much. It takes all my resolve not to growl, not to damn near roar from her brazenness!
Kryach invests himself in my chest, his shadow coveting her, threatening to break my body’s boundaries as he did during the Bite Offering. Our wedding night, I fear most. One way exists to prevent the Death God from reaping her soul. She must fear and hate me.
“Please, Lady Adayra, would you care to tell us of your family?” Aydon breaks the silence for the benefit of the sovereigns as the Court servants place the first course of bone-broth stew before us. By now, Aydon has informed Isla that messengers have been dispatched to send word to her family as well as her friend’s. A minor matter to ease her concerns.
At first, Isla dips her spoon into the broth, no doubt enthusiastic at sampling the Citadel’s menu until she lifts her eyes to my brother, flicks them to his Feyal-intended, to Franzy, and responds, “My family hails from Cock-Cross, Your Highness. As does Franzyna’s,” she includes her friend, who is obviouslyhalf-Feyal, but I admire Isla’s loyalty. “We spent our childhood years together as she must have shared with you.”
Aydon nods and reaches for his goblet while Isla spoons the broth. He barely acknowledges his bride-to-be, who shifts in her seat, eyes wandering to Isla. “I hope it will be a comfort to have a kindred friend in the Citadel during your nuptial period, however brief.”
I wrinkle my nose.
Isla pauses from her spoonful and trains her eyes on Aydon, but it’s another sovereign, the Eylfe King who wonders, “When can we expect the wedding, Lord Aydon?”
Aydon raises his goblet to me, winking because I relinquished all matters to him. For the first time, it’s a loathsome regret, but I do not protest when my brother responds, “By the next full moon. It will be enough time to transport Lady Adayra’s family to the Citadel.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I monitor Isla’s reaction. While I expect the color to drain from her face at the mention of such a brief engagement, the roses blush more instead. Kryach licks his lips, huffing, remembering her floral blood scent.
No,I growl internally.I will not give you her soul!
He chuckles and informs me,All souls come to me, Allysteir. As yours will someday.
