Page 34 of Threaded

And on his knees before her was that same stunning, dark-haired male from the palace courtyard, his eyes of ravenous tanzanite burning up at her.

CHAPTER16

“Soldier, Marked by Priam. Qhohena has requested your service to me and my court, to be my armor against the world and to guard my back against those who might wish this kingdom harm. Do you answer my call?”

Her voice was strong, clear, hypnotic. It burned him, razed through every wall he’d worked so hard to build against this exact, impossible moment. He had trained to remain firm and unwavering against temptation. Instead, he felt that shimmering voice wrap its way around his neck, usurping every ounce of his free will with a single question.

And in that moment, he knew he hated her.

Since the day he was Marked, the day his father had sent him south to Verith bearing a single promise, a solitary threat, Andrian Laurent vowed that should he ever be Selected, he would refuse. He would agree to serve this new queen in the capacity that would suit his rank and station, leading her armies or protecting her city. But he would never allow himself to swear that oath. He would never—couldnever—bind his life to hers.

That all changed the moment the woman before him opened her mouth, her words spilling into the air like a liquid drug to which he was instantly addicted.

He hated that voice.

He was watching from the outside looking in, a passenger in his own skin, his body no longer in his control. The shadows dwelling beneath his skin, magic that was unlike any other in Onita, a cursed gift from his mother’s Leuxrithian blood, were quiet for the first time since they’d stirred in his gut no more than a few years after his arrival in Verith. It seemed even they were unnerved by the light of the woman before him, retreating deep within the darkest parts of his soul—or whatever soul he had. Slowly, he sank to his knees before this siren, his mind screaming at him tostand up, turn around, walk out. Never look back.

But no matter how much he shouted in his head, no matter how much he yanked and pulled at the noose growing tighter around his neck with each heartbeat, he couldn’t break through. She’d somehow managed to lock away his free will so quickly, so thoroughly, with only a few simple, regurgitated words.

And he fuckinghatedher for it.

Andrian’s hands reached up, gripping the edges of the deep hood he wore. He slowly pulled it back, exposing his face to the still air of the temple, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim, flickering candlelight. When he finally lifted his gaze, he fed all his anger and betrayal and loathing into his stare, hoping it would dosomethingto break this spell.

But when his eyes met hers, he forgot, for the most fleeting of moments, that he hated her.

She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. That same thought had drifted through his mind when he’d first seen her in the palace courtyard, just before the Choosing, stepping out of that cabby wearing a dress of molten gold. Now, her gown was made of sinful black lace. Sheer paneling revealed sweeping expanses of tan skin that shimmered faintly in the dull candlelight of the room. Her hair was dark, nearly the same as his own onyx black, and fell around her shoulders in thick waves. Suddenly, he had the strange urge to leap up from where he knelt, to bury his fingers into those near-black tresses, to know exactly how good it would feel to wind his hands in the lengths andpull—

Fuck. Not good.

He thought he could save himself from those thoughts by moving his attention to her eyes.

Gods, he had always been such a fucking idiot.

Those eyes stole his breath from his lungs and pulled apart the last threads of his shredded free will. They were so green, the color and life of a rich forest bottled up and placed into the eyes of a creature with the power to consume him.

Andrian hated her eyes most of all.

He felt his mouth begin to move, his tongue loosening as words began to flow, the recoiling in his mind doing nothing to stop them from spilling into the room. He was a puppet on a string, a marionette dancing for a beautiful master.

“On this day, and on every day of my life, I will answer your call, My Queen.” His voice was deep, gravely, grating against his ears as it was pulled from his throat.Fuck, why can’t I stop this?“I swear my life, my sword, my shield, and my soul to you. To be your armor against the world and to guard your back against those who wish this kingdom harm.”

Her green gaze glowed brighter, and his shadows tremored in response, deep in their hiding place within the pit where his soul should be. He could hear his father’s voice in his mind, echoing through his skull as if the man were standing right beside him.

“Weak, Andrian. You are weak.”

And then she was speaking again.

“What’s your name?

Don’t answer her.

“Andrian, My Queen.”

FUCK.

At least his voice was tense and his words short. It was enough for her expression to turn slightly wary, her head cocking just slightly to the side as she assessed him. Intelligence and cold calculation shimmered in her eyes, and a quieter piece of him twisted with a sudden desire to know how her mind worked, to see what she hid behind the face of the wild, untamed enchantress.

But the louder piece of him, the more rational part of him, forced those thoughts away.

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