Page 23 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

It’s only once I’m back in my room that I let out my aggravation. Pacing about my room, I cross my arms.

“The nerve of the male!” I fume. There’s no doubt in my mind that my cheeks have grown a deep shade of red. “Does he expect me to be a pretty face, merely existing to be at his beck and call?”

I let out a huff and sit on my bed. Then I lay back with my arms outstretched.

I have no desire to dine with Viridian.

Crown Prince or not, he’s an arrogant, possessive fae male like the rest of them. We’re not even married, and he probably thinks he owns me.

My anger bubbles over at the thought.

“I am not going through with this marriage,” I promise myself.

This dinner is my opportunity to arm myself.

And that is the only reason I’ll be going.

Hours later, my ladies’ maids arrive.

“Come, come,” Tiffy says, practically picking me up and dragging me to the washroom. “We must get you cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up?” I ask, looking down at myself. “Didn’t we do that this morning?”

“Well, yes,” she says, without stopping. “But we must prepare you for dinner with the Crown Prince. You want to look your best to see your betrothed, don’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “I couldn’t care less.”

Tiffy clicks her tongue and shoots me a disapproving look. “Nonsense.”

“I mean it.”

She merely puts her hands on her hips and stares me down the way a mother would a naughty child.

“Fine,” I groan.

With a drawn-out sigh, I let her and the others scrub me until my skin is raw. Once I’m clean, they stuff me into a lacy evening gown. It’s richly colored emerald, with gold metal sewn along the hemline. I look in the mirror while the ladies’ maids style my hair, pinning most of it to my head while leaving elegant ringlets hanging down my back.

“There,” Tiffy says when they finish tapping powder puffs to my face. “You look wonderful.”

And I have to admit she’s right. The emerald color makes a striking match to the vibrant auburn of my hair and my golden-brown eyes.

“Now you must get going,” Tiffy says, ushering me out the door. “The Crown Prince is expecting you.”

I take a deep breath, filling my lungs. Nerves jitter in my stomach, and I wonder if I’ll be able to eat at all. Exhaling, I smooth my skirts.

I can do this, I tell myself. It’s just dinner.

I’ll find something I can use, take it, and leave. It’s that simple.

I have to do this, I remind myself. I’m Loren’s only hope.

Gathering my courage, I make for the great hall.

When I arrive, I find Viridian sitting at the long dining table alone. At the head of the table, he leans back in his chair, elbows resting on its arms. One of his hands drapes nonchalantly over the side, while the other cradles a silver goblet in a relaxed grip. Free of his bronze crown, his black hair hangs loose, as if he’s been running his hands through it. His gaze is stormy, brows knit together like his mind is far from here.

Guards stand at attention around the room. The two closest to me are positioned on both sides of the entrance. I take a mental note of where they are. I’ll have to be stealthy if I want to slip past them with a weapon of some kind.

Viridian takes a swig from his goblet when he sees me.

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