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He cleared his throat. “Surely you’ve heard my name spoken before this moment.”
I leaned in until we were nose to nose. “Of course, I have. But you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
In truth, I had no idea what my betrothed’s name was or what he looked like. My father had intentionally kept all details from me, knowing I could easily hunt down any prey, gather information, and potentially kill him. I could have done it anyway. The alleys of Silbath were just as loud as those of Perth, but my curiosity hadn’t piqued. Instead, I’d avoided the topic every chance I got.
“If I could stand, Princess—er, Maiden. How should I refer to you?”
I didn’t budge an inch, and his solid body beneath me hadn’t protested. “My name is Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death’s Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth. Take your fucking pick.”
Something mischievous crossed his face like a passing shadow. He smiled. “Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death’s Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth, nearly queen to the Silbath throne, future wife of King Icharius Fern, would you mind moving your right knee just a hair? Otherwise, we may never have children.”
“If you do not live to see the sunrise, there will also be no children.”
“Ah. Yes, I can see how that would pose a problem.”
Despite my better judgment, I shuffled backward, letting him up before crossing my arms over my chest, still gripping Chaos in a tight fist as I waited. Those eyes scanned my silk nightgown, starting at my feet, lingering over the lace on my breasts, and stopping only when he met my unamused glare.
“Get your fill, King?”
“Sorry,” he snapped, whipping around.
“Only a fool would turn their back on the Death Maiden, knowing she holds a blade.”
“Did you want me to face you? I am a man standing before a stunning creature in her… unmentionables. I cannot be held to proprietary standards.”
“You’re a scoundrel and nothing more if you can’t keep your eyes from my body.”
“A test, then,” he said, slowly turning. “Should I look anywhere but your face, Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death’s Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth, you may take your dagger and plunge it into my heart with no protest from me.”
The way he held my gaze unnerved me.
“Why are you here?”
He ran his fingers through a crown of thick hair, nearly the shade of mine, but those careful eyes didn’t falter. “I’m… well, you see… tomorrow isn’t about us. It’s about them and their will for the kingdoms and whatever else they have planned for our future. Does that make sense?”
“If any of this is a shock to you, Icky, you have a lot to learn about being a royal. Where the hell did they find you?”
Despite the obvious desire to hold back his smile, he grinned, and something deep in my soul flinched when he perked an eyebrow. “Icky?”
“I guarantee that’s the least tame option running through my mind. I was going to make fun of the last name, but Icky feels right, considering the present circumstances.”
He took a step forward, stealing my breath as his fingers intentionally held my bare arms. Aside from Ro, no one touched me. Ever. I could hardly think beyond the way he continued to hold my gaze fearlessly.
“Marry me, Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death’s Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth. Tomorrow for the crowds and the kingdoms, but tonight, for us. They will never know, but we can take the choice away from them. We’ll marry on our terms and not theirs.”
Every muscle in my face slackened until my jaw hung open.
He slid careful fingers up to my shoulders, never breaking contact. “In twelve hours, you will be mine anyway. You’ll wear the dress, and the people will cheer, and we’ll leave this castle behind. I’m sure that’s not a fate you wished upon yourself, but in this moment, you can choose me without them.”
“I don’t… Why would…” I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that’d settled over me, starting the moment he’d pinned me with that unwavering stare. “I am Death’s Maiden. I am the harbinger, the king slayer, the only true person to fear in this world. Why aren’t you cowering? Why would you choose this?”
“Because…” He forced me to turn until we stared into Ro’s mirror. “I’m standing before the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, and somehow, the gods have blessed me again this week. First, I’m told I’m the distant relative of a fallen king, and I’m crowned the next day. But then”—his palm moved to the small of my back, pushing me forward until we stood so close to the mirror, we filled the frame—“they told me I’m to take a wife of their choosing. You could have been anyone. Any age, any beauty. You could have been a nightmare. And yet, it was as if the heavens conspired, and fate itself intervened to grant me this privilege.”
His words resonated deep within my being, their sincerity and passion igniting a flame within my heart. I allowed myself to be drawn closer, my eyes still holding his in the reflection of the mirror. The weight of his grip on me, both commanding and tender, sent shivers down my spine, awakening a whirlwind of emotions I had never experienced before.
He leaned over until his voice was no more than a deep whisper in my ear. “The choice of our hearts should never be dictated by the whims of kingdoms or the expectations of others. We shouldn’t be forced into the confines of tradition. Let me prove to you, future wife, that I am worthy and willing without the order from my council.”
There was a gravity to his words. An ethereal silence. A plea and desperate wish. The room seemed to hold its breath, the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains casting a soft glow upon our faces as he waited.
