The rest of the hall vanishes like smoke.

It’s just me and him.

Like it has been for weeks. Somehow, it feels much longer than that.

“I meant to tell you earlier,” he murmurs, his deep, gravelly voice pitched even lower. “Skies help me, you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re lying.” I’ve seen the gorgeous Arbinji noblewomen flitting gracefully around the ballroom with bare shoulders and backs, faces ethereal and glowing. I don’t compare to them.

Zev’s voice drops impossibly lower, his warm breath caressing my ear. “I would never. There’s nothing I hate more than a liar.” His hand travels up the length of my spine, fingers tracing tantalizing lines on the back of my neck. My chest is pressed against his as he moves us in time with the music.

A pleasant shiver ripples through me, my mouth suddenly dry. “Did you pick our outfits?” I blurt out, playing with the collar of his tunic. The turquoise embroidery glints beneath the chandelier light. “I thought I’d be wearing the color of frozen mud.”

He hums, flashing me a playful grin. “I might have had some input. Do you like them?” He brushes an errant curl from my face, his thumb lingering on my cheek. Tides, there’s so much softness in his eyes, I don’t know what to do with it. He’s dragging me into uncharted depths along with him, a persistent, dangerous undercurrent that’ll swallow me whole if I’m not careful.

“I like the blue.” My voice is stiff, unconvincing. I wrench my gaze away, but not quickly enough to miss the confusion shadowing his eyes.

“Mayah, what’s—” he starts, but the song ends, and the thundering applause swallows any other words he might have said.

Zev cuts me a concerned glance as we move toward the long banquet table where King Varad lounges, surrounded by nobles draped in finery and thinly veiled disdain. My heart slams against my ribs, each beat a warning drum, but Zev’s hand—broad and unyielding at the small of my back—steadies me against the weight of their eyes.

Nearly every inch of the long table is weighed down with food—platters of roasted meat glistening with sauce, mounds of roasted vegetables I can’t name, baskets overflowing with bread. It’s an obscene display, more food than I’ve ever seen in one place.

In Tundrayn, we had feasts, but they were measured. Never in excess. Nothing wasted.

The sight churns my stomach.

Zev’s brow remains creased with concern as he guides me forward to stand before the king.

Varad rises with grace. His eyes—sharp and calculating—soften when they settle on Zev. There’s actual warmth there, perhaps even pride, hidden between layers of iron-hard authority. Bitterness churns in my gut—Father has never once gazed at me with such affection.

But Zev doesn’t return the sentiment. He dips his head in a formal nod, jaw tight, avoiding the king’s gaze entirely.

We’re scarcely there a moment before my husband leads us to a small round table reserved for the two of us.

“What’s wrong?” Zev asks as soon as we’re seated, the words finally spilling over.

I jerk my head toward the banquet tables laden with food. “What happens to the leftovers?”

Understanding dawns on my husband’s face. His lips press into a thin line. “They’re thrown away.”

Disgust crawls up my throat. “In Tundrayn, nonwielding children often go to bed hungry,” I whisper past the tightness in my throat. “It’s been worse lately. The Tides give less and less. Fishermen return with empty nets.”

A servant sets down the first course before us—wilted greens garnished with chopped nuts. I stare at the plate, appetite nonexistent.

Zev gently tilts my chin toward him. “The first shipment of food I brought—it will have helped. And the second leaves any day now. Don’t starve yourself to make a point, Mayah. We have abundance here. I’ll make sure it reaches Tundrayn, too.”

Something warm fizzles in my chest, driving back the bitter chill gnawing through me. I nod slowly and take a cautious bite—the flavor is odd, but not unpleasant. Zev watches, satisfied.

Course after course arrives. I try everything until my belly is near bursting, even as guilt coats my tongue.

Nobles greet us while we eat and offer well wishes. My fake smile might become permanently affixed to my face. The nobles are mostly interested in Zev, though some do ask about my life back home.

A tall nobleman, dressed in a finely cut white tunic, leans over our table, ignoring me completely. “Your union has already made waves, sire. It’s all the people can talk about—a new era of peace.”

Zev smiles tightly. “We’re absolutely thrilled to be the kingdom’s favorite conversation topic.”

The noble has barely walked away, when the aggressive clacking of footsteps sounds out—it must be another sycophant approaching to fawn over us.

Zev stiffens beside me.

Not a noble. It’s Faramir.

He’s wearing a wide grin—and a bright turquoise tunic that matches my gown perfectly. His blond hair hangs in long, beaded braids in a distinctly Tundrayni style.

Zev’s knuckles flare white around his glass.

“Brother! Mayah! Many, many congratulations to you both,” Faramir declares loudly with a dramatic sweep of his hands.

A beat. Then, a growled—“Thank you.”

Faramir’s green eyes flick to my face, trailing down my neck, before settling on my breasts. The bastard licks his lips. Disgust curdles in my gut, his stare crawling over me.

Zev snarls, low and venomous, before the rumble of thunder drowns it out. The air crackles, and he rises from his chair, fists clenched, but I place a quick hand on his forearm, casting him a meaningful glance. Don’t let him rile you. Zev hesitates but lowers himself back into the chair, shoulders tight with anger.

A broad grin stretches Faramir’s mouth as he watches our exchange.

“Like my outfit, brother? I wanted to honor Mayah.” He lingers over my name, keeping it on his tongue for as long as he can. A shudder of revulsion skitters through me. Tides, he’s determined to get a rise out of his brother.

Zev exhales sharply through his nose. “Only you could make such a beautiful color look disgusting.”

“Only you would sleep with your brother’s betrothed.”

The thunder booms louder. I flinch—Zev’s hand finds my thigh beneath the table, squeezing gently.

“Stop bringing that up. Mayah is my wife.”

Faramir smirks, as if nothing pleases him more than his brother’s rage. “Your display of power at the ceremony,” he drawls, crossing his arms. “It was disappointing, brother. I expected lightning bright enough to sear the skies all the way to Tundrayn. Thought you’d want to impress my sister-in-law.” His unnerving gaze settles on me again. “Why the pitiful display? On your wedding day, no less.”

“Is there anything else, Faramir?” Zev grits out.

Faramir is silent, his mocking grin frozen on his face. “No, I suppose not. We have all the time in the world to get to know each other.” Without another word, he pivots and strides away, his guards trailing him.

Zev rakes a violent hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at me sideways. “He’s an ass.”

“Has it always been this way between you two?” Sura is the closest thing I had to a sibling, and we were inseparable. Until the war separated us.

“Pretty much. Faramir has hated me since we were children.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “He sees me as a threat to the crown—I’m the stronger wielder. He doesn’t believe that I don’t want the throne.”

“What do you want?” I murmur. “Besides leaving the realm.”

He scans my face. His hand tightens on my thigh. “Right now? I want to ditch this party and show you something.”

“We can’t leave our own reception,” I laugh, lacing my fingers with his.

“We can, and we will.” His smile is conspiratorial, and I find myself returning it. It’s easy to smile with him. “Come on.”