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While he’s been touching my hair, I’ve been drinking in the sight of his muscles moving across his chest. “I need to be dressed in my underclothes?”
Zabriel’s expression grows grim. “The High Priest is demanding that you’re handed over to the Brethren. They claim that you’re to marry the King of Maledin.”
Marry the King of Maledin. Be thrown onto another fire. The High Priest is here and he wants to drag me into some dark, lonely cell and have me beaten senseless, starved, and then burned to death.
Before I know it, I’m breathing faster and faster, and everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control.
Zabriel clutches my shoulders and says urgently, “Isavelle, look at me. The High Priest is not here. I would have slaughtered him the moment he stepped beyond the barrier into my territory. He’ll never hurt you again. I swear it.”
I breathe a little easier hearing this.
Zabriel draws my face gently up to his with his fingers beneath my chin. “The first chance I have, I will kill him, and he will suffer a death that is a thousandfold more painful than what you suffered because of him.”
I feel the same strange sensation as when Fiala and Dusan swore to lay down their lives for me. Me? Why me? I’m not special. I’m nobody, and soon Zabriel is going to realize that he’s made a mistake, and then all this adoration and comfort will be taken away from me. I shouldn’t want the suffering of another person, and I definitely shouldn’t get used to anyone treating me with so much kindness, but as I gaze into Zabriel’s red eyes, all I can feel is gratitude. I whisper, “Thank you.”
“Meanwhile, I have a plan to make that piece of wyvern shit forget about you forever.”
That at least I can get behind wholeheartedly. “What’s the plan?”
“Show the emissary that we are lovers. If I’ve claimed you, the High Priest will no longer wish to give you to whatever pretender the Brethren wish to place on the throne.”
Lovers. Claimed. Intimidating words, but Zabriel did say that we were going to pretend. “How are we going to convince him of that?”
“It will be innocent, though it won’t look innocent. Quickly, get dressed—or rather, undressed. Show off that beautiful body of yours. I’ll wait out here.” Then he adds with a mutter as he closes the door, “And I’ll try not to tear the head off any man who looks at you.”
It all sounds very flimsy, but Zabriel was raised to be a king, so I suppose he knows about things like diplomacy and strategy. Inside my room, I go to the trunk of clothes and sort through the garments. One of the chemises is low cut and gauzy. I haven’t tried it on yet because it’s impractical to wear in this cold weather, but it reminds me of what Zabriel is wearing, so I take off everything and put it on. The thin fabric skates my figure. I’m showing about a mile of cleavage, and I think my nipples might be visible. Oh, stars. Well, if it convinces the High Priest to forget about me forever, then it’s worth the embarrassment.
I open the door and stand nervously on the threshold, waiting for Zabriel’s approval. When Zabriel looks up, his red eyes widen and his lips part.
“Sha’len,” Zabriel breathes. “You look…”
He comes toward me slowly, reaching out a forefinger and brushing a lock of hair back from my shoulder.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the expression of wonder and desire on Zabriel’s face. A man has never looked at me like this before, and it’s making my heart beat faster. Does he truly think I’m desirable? He’s not making fun of me?
There’s not a trace of mocking in his red eyes. They flare with hunger as he draws closer. “You’re so—”
Footsteps sound along a corridor at the bottom of the stairs, and Zabriel whips his head around, his dark brows drawing together. Whoever it is, they’re not coming this way, but it’s enough to remind Zabriel that there are other people around. His face transforms with infuriated jealousy, and he snaps, “Get back in there and put some clothes on.”
I jump and nearly run and do as he says, but then I stand my ground. “Wait. Me looking like this was your idea. Are we going to meet the emissary or not?”
Zabriel’s body is taut with fury, and he shakes his head, staring at my breasts. “You’re too… I won’t share… I’ve changed my mind. I’ll just kill the emissary and every other Brethren that bastard sends my way. No one gets to look at you like this except me.”
Zabriel is wound up enough to do something he might regret later. It won’t do the people of Maledin any good if the king murders a messenger and escalates tensions with the Brethren. I catch his arm. “One moment. Please stay here.”
I go back into my room. When I return, I have Zabriel’s gold cloak wrapped around my shoulders, the one he wore for his coronation.
“Did the Flame King have time to wrap me in his cloak before he dragged me from our bed?”
Zabriel’s flinty expression relaxes into a smile. “Sha’len, you kept it. Has my scent been comforting you every night?”
I shrug. “I left it in a heap on the floor. It smells like cloth to me.”
“But you kept it, and it’s a perfect idea. You look beautiful.” Zabriel takes my hand and leads me down the corridor. I try not to peek at his body in that silky robe, but it flows across the muscles of his back and upper arms like water. The craving to touch this stunning man nearly overwhelms me.
The Great Hall is lit by soft yellow candlelight, giving an intimate feel to the cavernous space. When we reach his throne, Zabriel sits down, still holding on to my fingers.
I hesitate. “Where am I supposed to sit?”
