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After a few more touches, I clothe myself in the white runner-up gown.
Ary finally snaps and touches my skin for the first time, collars my throat with his hand?cold and arresting as fog-shrouded iron. “Enough!”
Unease churns my stomach, but my lips part in an attempt to maintain this “charade” as he’s dubbed it. Hopeful he doesn’t notice my lower lip trembling. Swallowing a knot, I purse my lips, stare down those starless chasms, and respond flawlessly, “Surely the God of Death has far better things to preoccupy his time than to demand my attention, however a little wonder I may be.”
“Finally, she speaks!” he professes and releases my throat. I nearly double over but catch myself, breath heaving while Ary circles me, shadows traipsing across my gown edges. “Perhaps the business of Death is slower today.”
I roll my eyes and stray to the bed. “Hells balls, it is.” Careless of my curse, I collapse against the bed, spreading my hands wide, stretching, and breathing in a fresh gasp.
Ary appears above me, hovering. “Or perhaps the Bride of the Corpse King is my business. After all, it is your wedding day.”
Rising to my elbows so my chest thrusts forward along with half my cleavage to catch the God’s wandering eye, I simper and confront him, “So eager, Ary? Will you devour my soul when he bites me tonight? When he fucks me?”
Ary offers a deep chortle. Not so much as a flinch when he leans in, shade arms hemming me, icy brow pressed to mine. I dig my nails into the bed covering, shift, but don’t waver.
“What makes you believe he will touch you tonight, little wonder? You believe you may prepare yourself. You are strong enough merely because you wish to be? But Death cannot be cheated, sweet Isla. Not even by one as tempting and teasing as yourself.”
“Oh!” I revel and arch my body, so Ary drifts back ever so little, a smooth grace, while I roll myself into a rocking position. I clutch my arms around my knees, bare feet easing beyond the gown ends. “So, youadmitI’m a temptress?”
While I trace a lithe finger around my lips and grow black death roses between my toes, Ary snorts, responding, “You tempt fate, little wonder. Is your life of so little value to you?”
I shrug and pluck a flower, pick at the petals. “Or my soul is simply made of woe and storms, of hellfire and angyl light.”
Scattering the bits of shredded rose, I position them on the bedspread, form them into something new, keenly aware of Ary’s close presence, of how he stalks me. Madness swirls heat into my chest, flushes my skin as I create the outline of a black skull with the petal pieces, and continue, “Perhaps, if you suck my soul into the Nether-Void, it will simply spit me back out.”
I tread on the boundaries of my birth. Of a babe discovered bordering the Nether-shadow world. Of the stories I’d created of my origin: as twisted as rose vines.
Glancing up, I smile at the God of Death and conclude, “Perhaps my soul will poison you, Aryahn Kryach. After all, Allysteir has already fallen under my spell. Desire, lust, even love...they are the greatest poisons not even Death has an antidote for.”
It is my dare, my threat. The charade has ended. At the very least, he knows can’t toy with me. I’d sooner break his favorite toy than let him fuck with my soul.
I’ll be damned if I don’t fuck with him first.
Ary sweeps his shade hand to disturb the petals before stroking my cheek, brushing his shivery fingers to my neck to settle at his shadow mark. Eyes closing, I harness my breath?heartbeat thundering when Ary puts his lips to my brow and murmurs in my ear, “Whatever else you are, little wonder, you are no mere girl from Cock Cross. But do not be fooled, sweet Isla. Perhaps you are under the Corpse King’s spell.” He turns.
I glower at his empty threat, his attempt to turn me against Allysteir. But I’ve overheard their quarrels when Allysteir believes I’m asleep. I’ve picked up on his body language in the middle of our conversations, body language he reserves for Aryahn Kryach. And his tone whenever the royals discuss the gods, praise them with false bravado and venomous smiles.
Balling my hands into fists, I slide off the bed to confront Kryach, “Well, now, I wonder what the lower gods would think if they knew the High God of Death is jealous of the royal he inhabits.”
Ary growls, spins, and arrests my throat again. “Donottest me, Isla! I’ll reap your soul if I damn well please. Allysteir will do nothing.”
“Do it, then. Now,” I dare, raising my chin, smile slow but building. We know what would happen. The Curse would break, the Void would disappear. No boundaries between us and our ancestors...or Eyleanan.
He huffs, icy breath of strong incense, of fire, of ash waft across my face. Finally, his breath slows, he cocks his head, and declares, “If you have such faith in your Corpse King, perhaps you should show him the mark upon your back,” he baits me, fingers creeping cold as winter thorns to dig into the Nether-mark. When the familiar burst of ice injects into my nerves, I lurch into Ary’s arms. Tears glisten in my eyes from the icy force, his power, his will.
“No,” I whimper, thrash my head, struggling in his vaporous prison as he trails those fingers to my mark. And taps it like a war omen. Pain lances my chest.
Still, Kryach continues. Tapping, tapping, tapping. “You believe Allysteir is a perfect, tortured vessel for my evil Godhood. You believe you will save him, little wonder. But he will believe you are as damned as he is,” he whispers shadows in my ear.
His lips descend to his skull brand in my skin, and I tremble with every invasive touch?a hint, a sample of what he will do. As the Queen warned:Kryach will ruin you as he did me...until there’s nothing left but violence, fire, and blood. Nothing but your scar of a soul.
Vines birthing corpus roses curl and twist all around me, but they shrivel once they touch Kryach’s shade form. Countless thorns tumble, harmless, at his nebulous feet.
The God kisses my tears, licks them from my cheeks, and thrills in my shudder. “Your woe is exquisite, my sweet wonder. When Allysteir learns you are marked by the same shadows he hates, and when he learns of your betrayal of giving me complete and utter access, what will stop him from fucking you and gratefully giving your soul to me?”
“No!” I cry, raise my fist, but Ary seizes it, his hand a powerful grip of a shade.
“Rest assured, little wonder, I vow to you I will take my sweettime. I will savor every precious moment, every bite of your tantalizing soul, poisonous or no. You will last longer than all other brides. So, even as you await an eternity with the Corpse King, all you will have to offer him is a beautiful but empty shell of flesh. And whatever is left of your soul will spend eternity hungering forDeath.”
