I can’t crumple into a trembling ball in front of all these hateful nobles.
A heavy weight compresses my lungs.
The sky darkens, ominous clouds blotting out the bright sunlight. Wide-eyed, I tilt my face, watching my greatest fear churn above me.
“Hey,” Zev murmurs, his voice pitched low. “Eyes on me.”
I obey, flicking my gaze to his. He clasps my hand and splays it over his heart, its steady beat thudding against my palm. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Zev raises a hand overhead. Thunder rumbles, and I stiffen. He clenches my hand tighter. I anchor myself to him, to the steady thrum of his heart.
In his eyes, there is no judgment.
Only care.
Only affection.
Only him.
The rise and fall of his chest is measured, and I match my breaths to his.
Deep. Deliberate.
“Brace now, baby,” he whispers, but the words barely register. I’m lost in the molten steel of his eyes, gazing at me with so much tidescursed affection, that I want to shuck my armored exterior and hide away inside him.
A modest bolt of lightning flashes and strikes a large spire at the top of one of the palace towers.
There’s a beat of silence. Of waiting.
Then, thunderous applause rings out. The guests stand and clap for their prince in a way they will never clap for me. Faramir slouches in the front row, his smirk stretched wide enough to reach me at the altar.
He isn’t clapping.
The crowd is still cheering, but the sound is muffled. My pulse still beats in my ears. I blink hard. The storm is over. It’s over. It was only Zevayr. Safe. I am safe.
Between one breath and the next, the sky clears.
My shoulders drop slightly, and Zev presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles, grounding me once more. The officiant completes the ceremony with a few more words.
The audience rises to their feet.
It’s done. I am Zev’s wife.
Princess of Tundrayn and Arbinj.
Zev cups my face, slanting his lips over mine and coaxing my mouth open with a bold flick of his tongue. It’s not a chaste kiss by any means, but I can taste restraint in every brush of his lips. For a second, I’m grateful our first kiss occurred behind closed doors, where he didn’t hold himself back.
His eyes burn with want when he pulls away, and I’m certain the same heat is mirrored in my own.
I tear my gaze away, afraid of what he’ll see.
It’s dangerous for me to want.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MY TURQUOISE GOWN SWISHES around my ankles as I shift my weight. After the ceremony, the handmaids swept me away and dressed me for the reception. To my surprise, they draped me in Tundrayni colors. I’d braced myself for black or brown or green—the classic hues of Arbinji colors—but instead, the gown gleams like a shard of home.
The door before me opens, and a servant peeks into the secluded side hallway where I stand for a second time. When he sees I’m still alone, he disappears again, the dark wood door shutting behind him with a disappointed click.
The lighting is dim in this small corridor, and I study the smooth, seamless walls with a frown as I wait for Zev—my husband. We’re meant to make our grand entrance together, yet I haven’t seen him since the ceremony. A large painting of a lake, encased in an intricate gold frame, hangs on the wall, angry swipes of moss green and dark blue cutting through muddy blacks and browns.
The shade of blue is the same color as Daak’s eyes—depthless like an angry, cold tide.
Daak.
Guilt washes over me in a fierce wave of self-loathing. I can’t remember the last time I thought of him. Quiet shame seeps through me, slow at first, then rushing fast, like groundwater breaking free. Daak loved—loves—me, and I never gave him a reason not to. I promised him nothing—and still, I’ve given Zev what I had previously granted only to him: my heart’s attention.
Rationally, there’s no reason for guilt. Daak and I both knew my path led here—to marry another man.
I just never expected to like my husband.
That is the betrayal.
I can admit it to myself now, here alone. I do like Zev.
He’s kind and warm. And a good man.
It’s the last thing I would’ve expected from the Dark Commander, but it’s true, nonetheless.
Rapid footsteps echo down the hall, pulling me from the undertow of thoughts, and I turn toward the sound. Zev rushes toward me. He’s changed into a dark tunic with swirling turquoise embroidery at the collars and sleeves, reminiscent of gentle waves.
“You’re late.” I give him a teasing smile, even as my heart beats faster in my chest at the sight of him.
“Sorry,” he says with a grin, though there’s a faint crease between his brows. “I had some security matters to attend.” He casts an appreciative glance over me, lingering on my mother’s necklace. “Though nothing as important as my wife.” He says my wife slowly, as if tasting the words on his tongue.
I flush. He looks ready to say something else, when the door swings open, and the servant’s head pops out once more. Seeing both of us together, a look of stark relief crosses his youthful face. Just as quickly, the door closes.
A muffled announcement echoes through the door. Zev offers me his arm as he leads me into a massive hall. A large chandelier hangs overhead, white and purple flowers wrapped around its crystal branches. Tables frame a large marble dance floor, and in the corner, a host of musicians play an upbeat melody.
My breath hitches. By the Tides—the ballroom dance.
Zev’s hand settles at the small of my back, anchoring me as we descend the wide staircase. Below, the vast room stills—every gaze fastened on us. Arbinji nobles may dress differently than Tundraynis, but the cunning in their eyes is the same—always calculating, always angling for a way to gain favor.
They surround us like squawking gulls, offering congratulations and false platitudes, simpering smiles concealing cold hearts and colder intentions.
I hate them all.
“The ceremony was lovely,” one noblewoman exclaims, brown eyes heavily lined with kohl, as if someone smeared soot over her wrinkly eyelids. “King Varad has quite the challenge ahead with the Equinox Festival—this will be hard to top.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Zayrna! There will be no more planning for our king,” her companion replies, a red-cheeked woman with perfectly coiffed dark hair. “He has a daughter now. Princess Mayah will be the one planning all our celebrations.”
The first woman casts me a skeptical glance, one thin eyebrow arched high. She’s shorter than me, yet somehow manages to peer down her nose like I’m something she stepped on. “Do you throw balls in Tundrayn?”
I plaster a bright, practiced smile on my lips—the one usually reserved for Father. “You mean snowballs? We throw those every day! My aim is impeccable.” The women look thoroughly scandalized, but Zev only chuckles, low and deep.
Suddenly, he stiffens, his gaze fixed somewhere over my head. “Excuse us,” he says abruptly, a crease between his brows. “It’s time for our dance.” With a reassuring smile, he leads me toward the center of the gleaming dance floor as the music transitions into a soft, intimate melody.
But my anxious heart ignores the gentle strains and beats to its own lightning-fast rhythm.
Zev studies me, his gray eyes soft, like silvery moonlight cutting through haze.
“Just like we practiced, wife.”
Before I can respond, his large hands bracket my waist and lift me until my feet rest atop his. A surprised gasp escapes me, and I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck.
We sway with the music. Zev holds me close, the entire length of his body pressed against mine, his large hands stretched across my lower back. His gray eyes smolder as he watches me.
