Page 56 of Court of Bone and Amethyst

“If I marry your nephew, we’ll be family,” I say. “Which secures your line to the throne in Selaye.”

“I would be thrilled, of course, with both of those outcomes,” Esbella says with a sly smile. “And considering that my armies will win back your throne, it seems fitting.”

“Indeed.” We lock gazes for several long moments. “Well, let me finish my courtesy dances.”

I feel Zyren’s eyes on me, heavy as the sky, as I walk back out toward the dance floor. Within moments, one of the remaining lords approaches and offers his hand to lead me out onto the floor. I dance with him, and then the other. I make a point to seek out Lord Wyn for a more intimate conversation off the dance floor. He has a castle east of here, sitting on the coast, where the ocean is frozen and strange sea beasts sit on the cliffs and call to each other in a sort of song each full moon. He tells me of his two thousand warriors, and the town surrounding his castle, and his love of hunting and weaponry. He is handsome and seems reasonable enough, but there is just one problem, one problem that is the same for all of them.

None of them are Zyren.

When the clock chimes midnight, I find myself in a similar conversation with the baron, who has found some sparkling newfound interest in me that miraculously appeared just this evening, after his complete and utter disdain of the two previous days. I pretend to be interested in tales of his exploits against frost dragons and snow ghouls and the mountain wolves in the peaks not far from here. He commands the three thousandmen stationed here in the Court of Memory. He asks about my upbringing in Aureon, and shares memories of my father from long ago when they rode together on a journey to stamp out an attack from the Septarus on lands south.

“History has a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?” he says with a grim smile. “Tomorrow, we ride south to handle the Septarus yet again.”

“It certainly does.” Because here I am, yet again, forced to marry someone I barely know. Forced to make terrible choices to protect my people and my realm.

“I don’t suppose I could convince you to stay behind,” he says. “Stay safe behind these walls until we defeat Avonia and I return victorious.”

I lock my gaze onto his. “Swords alone will not win this battle. The nightmares must be dealt with, and only I have the magic to put them back where they belong. If we win this war, it will be a joint effort.”

His eyes flare a moment at my boldness, but then he smiles. “I like the sound of that.Joint effort.”

I shiver, because I know where this is going, can hear the words before they come out of his mouth.

Baron Ethanas goes down on one knee. “If you are willing, I think we would make a formidable pair. I offer you my hand and my house. Be my wife, Sarielle Otreyas.”

Chapter Thirty

Sarielle

Istare at BaronEthanas, my heart hammering in my chest. Behind him, about a dozen paces away, I can see Zyren over the baron’s head, and even from here I can see thin wisps of shadow spinning off him, see the murder in his gaze.

I’ve spent the most time with the baron, I know who he is when he’s not trying to impress me, when he couldn’t care less. And an indifferent prick is something I can handle. It would be best if my husband, since I have to have one, ignores me entirely. I just need my army, and the baron is the easiest choice.

I can’t bring myself to smile, but I say, “I accept.”

The baron rises, taking my hand and kissing it before thrusting our intertwined hands into the air. His voice booms out for all to hear. “We are to be wed!”

Applause swells throughout the throne room, deafening in its ferocity. I glance over at Zyren, and his gaze has gone cold, stony, as if he’s a statue glued to the floor. The baron leads us out into the throngs of people, and we are inundated with celebratory words and well wishes. The queen approaches andhugs me, and I force a smile on my face as we lead a final dance for the evening. I can feel my heart frosting over, that now familiar feeling, just as it had in Selaye the night before my wedding to the king. Just as it had when Zyren had turned away from me, refusing to acknowledge our marriage as anything other than duty.

I feel numb as the dance concludes, and the baron leads me back to my room. I am overly conscious of Zyren trailing behind him, the swell of his magic pressing against me. The baron holds my hand, his fingers softly brushing across mine as we walk. When we reach my room, I turn to bid him farewell, but he steps in close, his voice a deep purr. “Would you like me to stay?”

My heart skips a beat, my throat running dry. I bat my eyes demurely. “I’d rather wait until our wedding night.”

“As my future wife desires.” He brushes his lips over my knuckles, then shoots me a smoldering gaze. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.” I smile politely and let myself into my room, closing the door behind me. Then I turn my back to it, heart racing in panic, listening as his footsteps retreat.

The baron will be my husband, if we even survive the battle. I will spend the rest of my life shackled to someone I don’t even like.

I hear the door to Zyren’s adjacent room open and then close behind him, and he stalks toward me, fury in his eyes. “I don’t want to fight, Zyren,” I growl, avoiding his gaze as I walk toward the bed. “You know I had to…”

He grabs me and spins me just as I reach the edge of it. The light from the fire a few feet away burns in his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I don’t want to fight either.”

And he crushes me against him.

His hands slide around me, and his mouth meets mine with all the maddening torture of the last few hours. Tongue and teethcollide, and I moan into his mouth, wrapping my arms around his neck, digging my nails into his back. I tug off his jacket, his tunic, snap off his belt, pull down his pants. A sharp sound rends the air as my beautiful red dress is shredded by Zyren’s hands, split down the side and tugged off of me in a matter of moments. Our shoes follow, and then we are bare except for the glittering necklace at my throat.

Zyren lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me to the white fur rug in front of the fire. He drops to his knees and our lips meet again, burning more ardently than all the stars in the sky. We are the fire, we are the dark night, we are shadow, and we are magic.

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