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His eyes tighten when he slips the ring onto my finger, golden spikes and diamonds creating a sunburst. Of course, it fits perfectly. It’s strange to remember that this has been the plan all along, Madame’s and the queen’s.
It probably says everything I need to know about our situation that even Remy can’t keep his features neutral when faced with the overwhelming horror of tying his entire life to mine.
I try not to let it hurt. It’s not like I don’t know every part of this is a sham.
When my turn comes, though, I can’t seem to look away from that gaze.
Cinnamon.
Like cinnamon sake.
My favorite drink.
My only truth in an endless sea of lies.
Someone hands me a gold band etched with the celestial symbols of Corentin, and I slip it onto his hand, warmer than it should be in the drafty room.
My thoughts get more disjointed from there, when Remy reaches up to unclasp my mask, letting it fall to the floor.
When he leans in to brush his lips against mine.
His mouth finds mine with the ease of someone who has kissed me thousands of times before, and it feels like a symbol for our entire relationship. A tapestry of contradictions.
His gentle kiss at odds with the stiffness of his hands.
The familiar scent of lavender and sage coupled with the entirely foreign feel of his expensive coat under my fingertips.
A mouth I know better than I know my own. A name I can barely remember.
Then comes the biggest contradiction of all, when the officiant turns to the crown prince and the girl from the streets and declares us husband and wife.
And me, Corentin’s newest princess.
CHAPTERTHREE
AIKA
The adrenaline of our unexpected nuptials is wearing off even faster than my pain tonic.
I barely stay upright as a wave of false well-wishers descends upon us. Einar gives me a brotherly hug, and I take advantage of his proximity to whisper the ingredient Madame gave me earlier, knowing he will pass it on to Zaina.
Pushing up onto my toes to talk in his ear sends another spike of agony through my ruined feet. I squeeze his arms reflexively, and he looks down in alarm. Which is fair, since I’m in danger of toppling over.
Then Remy is scooping me up in his arms, telling the room to enjoy the festivities this evening since he can’t wait to be alone with his bride.
The last thing I see before we round the corner is Queen Katriane’s disapproving glare.
A unit of soldiers waits in the hall, moving only once they catch sight of us, apparently leading the way to our honeymoon suites. Lawrence takes up the rear, his role as the captain of the prince’s personal guard abundantly apparent now.
Remy carries me up a set of stairs easily, not even sounding winded when he speaks again.
As soon as we are out of sight, the soldiers stay back and only Lawrence follows. Away from prying eyes, Remy holds me away from himself like I’m a rotten sack of potatoes andhe’sthe one in a wedding dress.
But he doesn’t put me down.
I let out a long, slow breath, wishing I had the ability and pride to insist on walking on my own two feet. But I figure it’s just as uncomfortable for him to carry me this way as it is for me to be carried by him, so I let him punish us both.
The music of the ballroom fades into the distance, leaving nothing but an oppressive, stilted silence in its wake. Remy pulls me against his chest again, close enough to hear his angry, thundering heartbeats.
