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“Kneel before Her Majesty,” commands one of the guards.
I obey, rather than start a fight.
Queen Dulcamara leans forward on her throne. Her fingers grip the carved armrests. A crown glittering with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires rests in her sable hair. Her eyes, I notice, look gray like chunks of dirty ice.
Her voice rings out like a bell. “You must be Pyrah.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I must congratulate you both on your wedding tomorrow.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Ichoke on my own spit. “Wedding? Pardon me, Your Majesty, what the fuck?”
Queen Dulcamara’s smile doesn’t touch her eyes. “Scaldric.”
He clasps his hands behind his back, his posture straight. “Apologies for the profanity, Your Majesty. We accept your congratulations with gratitude.”
My jaw drops. “You never even asked me!”
“I want you to be my mate and my wife.”
Scaldric curls his hand around the curve of my waist. His fingertips press into my skin with a possessive touch. A shiver rushes along my spine.
“Tomorrow, we will be joined together as one. You are mine, Pyrah.”
My knees tremble with weakness, but I lock my legs and force myself not to fall. I’m breathing too hard. It’s as if I’ve been running from something inescapable this whole time and it finally caught up with me.
Fate sinks its jaws around my ankle and refuses to release me.
Queen Dulcamara strokes the gilded arms of her throne. “Scaldric, take care of her. She looks ready to swoon.”
“I won’t swoon.” It’s a delicate, ladylike word, neither of which describes me.
But I can’t deny the swamp of exhaustion that’s sucking me down. My stomach aches with hunger and my mouth with thirst.
“You may go.” Queen Dulcamara dismisses us with an imperious wave.
Scaldric bows his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” He places his hand between my shoulders again. “I’m taking you to bed.”
To bed.Does he mean to sleep, or…?
He guides me out of the throne room, back to the sapphire bedchamber, and I let him. He locks the door behind us, and I still let him.
Scaldric claimed me. I surrendered.
Fuck, why did I plunge straight into courtship with him?
He shrugs off his coat of black-and-gold brocade. He begins unbuttoning his shirt. His skin looks pale in the moonlight slanting through the window.
I swallow, my mouth parched. “Water?”
“Of course.”
Shrugging off his shirt, he crosses the bedchamber. He lifts a silver pitcher over a glass. The gurgle of water breaks the silence. He brings me the glass.
“Thank you.” Saying it nearly sticks in my throat.
