Page 98 of Threaded

Despite the rushing in her blood, Mariah forced her face into a mask of cool indifference. She took a steadying breath, pushing down the angry flush she could feel building from her chest. “Thank you for the kind words, Ryenne,” she said, her voice far icier than she’d intended. “It’s a true honor to bring some much-needed recognition to the Crossroad City here in Verith.”

She knew she shouldn’t have said it. The insult was thinly veiled, at best. But the temptation was too great, and when it came to holding her tongue, she was far from strong.

Lord Donnet’s rotund face flushed a cherry-red. Spittle formed on his lips and his chest puffed out, an obvious retort on his tongue. Suddenly, he took a deep breath, the fight leaving his body as his black eyes cooled from hot anger to cold malignance. He tossed a too-casual glance over his shoulder, noting the close proximity of the crowd to the dais, before turning back to Mariah.

“Indeed, Your Highness. It issucha great honor to have a representative from our peaceful town now next in line to sit upon the golden throne. Especially one from such …humblemeans. Perhaps I should pay your family another visit to that hovel at the edge of the woods they call a home.”

Mariah’s vision flooded with red, her entire body instantly filled with boiling rage. Her tongue loosened, preparing to defend her family and that perfect home they’d made together, and she would have unleashed herself if she hadn’t caught the strangely confident look on the lord’s face. She paled, fear washing over her like a wave.

He wouldn’t admit he’d been robbed—not here, not with all of Onitan’s rich and powerful within earshot. But if he knew—somehow, if someone had seen her slipping from his manor…

“Since you’ve left, so many …interestingstories about you have begun to spread around our town. Tell me, is it true what they say?”

Mariah’s mind stuttered, the question cooling some of her rage as it caught her completely unawares. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, My Lord,” she said through gritted teeth.

Donnet grinned back at her, his teeth stained and tarnished. “That you can handle a sword as well as you do a cock? So many young men in Andburgh have been bragging about how they once fucked a queen. How many men were you with on the Summer Solstice … Ten? Twenty? Too many to count? I understand the purpose of the holiday is to celebrate the creational power of our Goddess, but from what I heard, you’ve always been more than willing to take things to that next level. I must say, I’m a bit disappointed I was never invited to give you a try, myself—”

Her heart pounded in her ears, her magic unspooling and lancing through her veins. She was so distracted by her anger and pain and embarrassment, all of it ripping through her gut like a knife, that she almost didn’t see what had cut Donnet’s tirade short. A short, dark-bladed dagger pressed into the soft skin of the lord’s throat, the sharp point just nicking his skin, and a tiny ruby drop of blood spilled onto the crisp white of Donnet’s shirt. Mariah’s eyes traveled from the blade to the hand holding it, to the tan skin that disappeared beneath the sleeves of a dark, tailored jacket, the lapels threaded with silver and gold. She finally reached his face, staring at the tanzanite eyes fixed on Donnet, the darkness dancing in their depths singing a song of death.

“Utter one more foul word about her and I will slit your throat from ear to ear. I’m sure the red of your blood will look like a work of art pooling at her feet.”

Andrian’s quiet words echoed through the throne room as if carried on a shadowy breeze. The music came to a grinding halt, the dancers stilled, and gazes turned to the dais and the Armature who held a dagger to a lord’s throat. Mariah’s breath caught in her chest, her anger and pain from Donnet’s words fizzling out as she stared intensely at Andrian and the knife in his grip. She felt Sebastian move to her side as she took a single step forward, the eyes of everyone in the throne room blazing into her with a mix of blatant curiosity, fear, and—for some—thinly veiled contempt.

Donnet was one of their own; a lord, a member of the upper echelon of Onitan society.

She was not.

As if reading her thoughts, Andrian’s eyes snapped to her, the rich blue still filled with the shadows of his magic. She could tell that his control was slipping, that he was far closer to the edge than she’d ever seen him before.

She met his gaze, and unlike the last time she’d been near him, she was unafraid.

“Stand down, Andrian.” Her voice was soft and calm as her body fed off his rage, the barely leashed darkness in his eyes soothing the light in her veins.

Andrian hesitated for one, two, three heartbeats before stepping back from Donnet, dropping his black-bladed dagger from the lord’s throat. Behind her, Ryenne shifted on her slippered feet, the sound of her skirts ruffling across the marble floors too loud in the silent, cavernous throne room. The room heaved a sigh as the tension dropped with the queen’s movement, murmurs racing through the crowd.

Except for Lord Donnet, whose round face had turned red and hot with boiling rage.

Before he could explode, however, Ryenne intervened, stepping forward and placing herself between Mariah and the lord. “Lord Donnet, what a dear misunderstanding. Please, if you would accompany me to the refreshment table, I do believe the Kreah Ambassador has supplied us with an absolutely superb vintage for tonight’s festivities …” She pushed herself into the lord, grabbed his arm, and nearly dragged him away from the dais, Kalen following close behind.

With the lord retreating quickly, Mariah felt her eyes gravitate away, pulled by a magnetic force she couldn’t fight even if she tried.

Eyes of forest green and tanzanite blue clashed together, screaming silent words across the short distance separating them, words that wouldn’t, couldn’t,shouldn’tbe said.

Especiallyafter the events in the library.

Especiallyhere, with the whole continent watching on with morbid curiosity.

But then, Andrian moved, sheathing his knife smoothly into a scabbard hidden at the small of his back before striding to Mariah in two long steps. He halted before her, his chest rising and falling in steadying breaths.

Mariah was utterly shocked at what he did next.

Like the true, highborn gentleman she supposed he’d been in another life, he extended a hand to her, rough palm up, his other hand wrapping behind his back. Those tanzanite eyes burned her, stripped her down to a baser form, the silvery gold threads of her magic dancing along her skin.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

There were no thoughts in Mariah’s mind as she grasped Andrian’s hand and let him lead her down the dais toward the dance floor beyond.

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