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Which explained his earlier outburst of shadows. “What will you do now?”
He folded his arms in front of his chest, jaws shifting, then he turned his head to look at me. “Take a wife, I presume.”
“I meant with Galantia.”
He gave a faint chuckle, which quickly fizzled into a drawn-out sigh. “I want to break her. You want to protect her. How utterly amusing, don’t you agree?”
That tightness in my chest slowly eased. So what; maybe I wanted to protect her. Maybe I enjoyed saving her, indulging in the feeling of being a hero—and maybe forgetting that I was anything but.
Just for a little while.
I shrugged. “I fail to find any humor in this.”
“How do we fix it?” His hand settled on my shoulder, the stiffness I sensed in his slightly trembling fingers making it clear that it cost him a great deal to sustain the touch. But he did, his urgency to put our quarrel to rest palpable. Up to this point, Malyr hadn’t denied her to me. Who was I to deny her to him?
“You won’t hurt her in any way that isn’t sensual in nature,” I said. “And for fuck’s sake, Malyr, give her time to heal before you do.”
Where I expected him to lift a brow in challenge, he only gave a curt nod. “Fine.”
“Fine.” I turned away from the pond with my primal spreading its wings at my core, sensing that we wanted to shift. “Oh, and also, you’ll never seek her out alone, without me.”
“Why?” His question came behind me.
“Because she feels safer with me.”
ChapterTwenty-Two
Galantia
Present day, Deepmarsh Castle
Murmurs and snickers followed me down the large staircase and toward the great hall, resonating from occupied stone benches, crowded archways, and wherever else the ladies of the court congregated. Clearly, word about myconditionhad spread.
I ignored it.
Gossip was the least of my worries.
Neither was that sense of dread rising in my chest as I approached the gilded double doors at the end of the corridor to the right. A massive emblem of a metal-cast raven decorated them, its wings spread wide and what had to depict intestines dangling from its claws. The sight alone slowed my steps without my consent. Perhaps my feet had more sense than my brain, urging me to reconsider.
Well, I didn’t have that luxury.
For four days, I’d sulked into Sebian’s pillow, drowning in self-pity as if I could afford such nonsense. As a noblewoman captured, abandoned, and recently deflowered, I needed to take matters into my own hands to keep myself out of the whorehouse or, alternatively, an unmarked grave. Who else would do it for me?
Not my parents.
And what nobleman, be it human or Raven, would stoop so low—potentially even bring the Raven prince’s wrath upon them—and take me to wife?
None.
Which meant that I needed to convince Malyr to marry me.
It was the only way to keep a roof over my head, cloth on my body, and food in my belly. He would torment me, of course—more so than the average husband, to be certain—but I would gain standing and protection. And who knew? If I ever carried his child, he might rein in his hatred, if only for a while.
It was the best I could hope for.
And yet my stomach plunged to my feet, bringing them to a stop mere inches from the doors. I glanced around the corridor, expecting to see some ravens perched somewhere along the window to shift, stop me, and ask my business with their prince. Alas, the man who managed to cast an entire room into darkness presumably needed no guards.
Taking a deep breath, I pinched my cheeks, fluffed the ends of my pinned-up curls, then gave a tug on my boned corset to bring out my cleavage or, more precisely, the raven scarred into its center. I’d borrowed the green silk gown from Cici after hours of careful contemplation. Malyr might take me wearing the color of my house as a provocation.
