AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It also held a chapter on how the Crow brides used to be tormented by their crown, which supposedly was a cursed item of magical power that made the brides pliant by digging into their minds and rooting in their free will until nothing of the women was left. Not a fun prospect now that I think about it, but Myron hasn’t tried to put a crown on my head, so I take it he prefers I have my own opinions. He wouldn’t need a manipulating crown to force me to do anything anyway. His magic is enough to direct my body like a human puppet.
Yet, he hasn’t as much as touched me with that power since he used it to lift me into his arms in the forest. I’m not sure what to think of that.
“They’ll be talking first and drinking later,” Royad announces as we head down the stairs. His brown hair is fanning out behind him as on a phantom wind, and I can’t help but smile at the male as he glances at me sideways with the usual warning in his eyes.
“I won’t touch the fairy wine,” I promise.
“At least not until you’re back in Myron’s room. I don’t care what happens there.” I’m not sure I like the undercurrent in his words.
Nothing has happened between Myron and me since the night we kissed. He’s been the perfect gentleman behind closed doors and the monstrous king before his people. Neither of us has brought up the kiss even when I can’t help acknowledging his rock-hard abs every time he walks the halls without a vest. It’s my favorite look on him, and I am not proud to admit that sometimes I catch myself imagining what it would feel like to touch him without fabric shielding his skin from my fingers.
“Even if he was high on fairy wine, he’d never take advantage of me like that.” I say it under my breath, but Royad catches it anyway.
“I wasn’t talking about him.”
I roll my eyes at him, pretending to be more annoyed than I actually am because, maybe, it would be nice to lose control for once. Maybe, it would be freeing to forget who I am and where I am and what my outlook for the next few months is. It’s bad enough Myron has been sleeping on the couch every single night since our wedding, even when I offered to switch. I’m shorter and I’d sleep comfortably there as well, while Myron’s legs fall off the couch every once in a while when he stretches out completely.
Whereas… I’m not certain what would happen if I drank fairy wine. Would the spark that comes to life inside of me every time I catch him looking at me be my doom?
Before I can examine the topic any further in my frayed mind, we make it to the throne room where tables are set up in two rows at the front, long side facing the main door we are entering through. Seated with their backs to us are ten Crows, and at the table running through the room in parallel, ten more sit like there’s nothing more comfortable than a hardwood bench in a drafty stone hall.
At our approaching footsteps, they turn their heads from the throne at the head of the room to study us, some with disdain in their all-black eyes, some with curious interest, and some with that hunger that makes me want to turn and run for my life before they can get their claws on me.
But there is one thing overruling my fear more than the thought of another round of chase in the forest: Not all of their faces are all bird. A few of them show hints of human features; others have shed their beaks and feathers in exchange for their human faces—and the ones who show their actual faces are all unearthly beautiful. Even if they are scary beyond comprehension.
Among the human Crows—for lack of a better word for them—I spot Ephegos near the end of the table. Beside him, a seat is empty. He waves and gestures for us to come over, and Royad follows his summons with a grim expression on his face the way I know him, but I can see the twinkle in his eyes he’s trying to hide as he walks up to his friend and slides into the seat. Which leaves me the only one standing… Well, not the only one.
Atop the dais, by the throne, King Myron the Valiant stands like a regal statue, his face cast in shadows by the tall canopy of gray and white fabrics falling around the back and sides of his throne. His boots are polished to perfection, as is the silver pendant on the leather necklace that rests on his hard chest—hisbare,hard chest. I swallow the sudden dryness in my mouth.
He doesn’t speak a word, merely holds out his hand in silent invitation, and I don’t hesitate as I walk up to him in measured strides that I have a difficult time keeping slow enough not to seem eager and fast enough not to seem reluctant. I don’t look over my shoulder to the Crows who are all watching me. My attention is bound by the intensity of Myron’s gaze as he lets it slide along my curves like a caress, and I suppress a shiver of awareness at the memory of what his body feels like pressed up against mine.
As if reading my thoughts, his mouth tips up at a corner in a smirk that makes him the cruel king he wants to be seen as but tells me more than anything else that he remembers, too. That he remembers the heat of our mingling breath, the sensation of my touch. I stumble up the final step, almost hitting my knee on the hard stone of the floor, but Myron’s talon-tipped hand catches me by the elbow, pulling me back upright so we stand with mere inches between us—and my heart is pounding like a war drum announcing an enemy onslaught.
“Careful, Ayna.” Myron leans in, whispering so close by my ear that that shiver finally breaks loose. “Or someone might think you are actually attracted to your husband.”
Swallowing the rush of flutters in my stomach, I turn my head a few inches so I’m at his ear, letting my lips graze the sensitive skin of his earlobe, and I could swear the reason he nearly crushes my hand in his grasp is because he is fighting a growl as I whisper, “We wouldn’t want anyone to be so wildly misled, would we now?”
Before he can respond, I pull back, circling around him to his throne, and perch on the armrest, leg crossed over a knee to block his path to his seat, and blink up at him innocently.
Someone snickers—Ephegos, perhaps, I don’t turn to check—and Myron’s mouth stretches into a grin that seriously has me considering what that expression would taste like if I licked it off his face. Before I can get carried away, I reel my thoughts in and gesture for him to sit next to me—on his throne or on the other armrest, whichever he prefers.
Myron does neither. Instead, he strolls around me, boots clicking like a counter-beat to the drum that is my heart, and comes to a halt behind the throne, bracing his hands on the backrest.
“As you all can see”—he glances down at the attentive Crows, and I tell myself I shouldn’t be staring at him with outright fascination, but it fits my role as the good little bride, and I can pretend it’s just for show—“my beautiful bride is joining us for today’s meeting.”
Beautiful.I don’t know why I blush, but it’s not because he called me beautiful. I can’t care about what he sees when he looks at me.
“My bride, your queen, has shown interest in the politics of our people, and these meetings are a fitting opportunity to introduce her into the customs of our people.”
“Not that she needs introduction into your cruel ways,” a female voice states from the other end of the room, and I whip my head around so fast I’m sure I sprain a muscle.
The whole room seems to hold its breath as we collectively stare at the female in the doorway. Her copper hair flowing down her shoulder like burning metal seems to be the only part of her that’s moving as she takes in the collective of us and how we’re staring at her.
“Am I coming at an inconvenient moment, King Myron?” She tilts her head, and I notice her pointed ears, the angle sharper than that of the Crows’ ears. She swaggers forward, a smug grin on her face that seems about as real as the expression of calm I pin on my lips, but then, anyone walking into this lair of monsters needs an armor of their own.
“To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess Cliophera?” Myron doesn’t move from his position behind the throne, but the way he bites out the words tells me everything I need to know about how pleased he is to see her.
In the ranks below, the Crows have gotten to their feet, claws at the ready as she marches past them like a female on a mission.
