Page 41 of King of Flames and Shadows

“Summon the priestesses to the sanctum,” he rumbles. “My wedding commences this night.”

Chapter 17 - Arvoren

Dark clouds swallow the sky over my city as night falls, heavy and endless. The air is thick, ripe with the scent of coming rain. The charged silence mirrors the one building inside me.

Years of hunting down potential wives, none of them worthy of me. And tonight, I take a bride.

I stand on the balcony overlooking the courtyard as servants, black-clad and furtive, rush to fulfill the preparations I’ve ordered. The sanctum must be ready within the hour, and the castle secured. The thought that she’ll finally, permanently, be bound to me should fill me with satisfaction, with control, but instead, something fierce and sickly twists within, raw and strange, leaving me uneasy and nauseous. I can’t put a name to the feeling. I can feel the castle itself churning beneath my feet as if it knows. As if it remembers.

Varya isn’t happy. Neither are any of my advisors. In fact, the only person I can rely on to support me …

“Your Majesty?” Darian’s voice breaks into my thoughts. He steps forward cautiously from his place at my shoulder, his hands folded before him, brow creased with the kind of concern I have no patience for tonight. He stands at my side.

“What is it, Darian?” My voice is low, barely more than a growl.

He clears his throat but does not back down or shy from my anger. “The preparations for the ritual are nearly complete. Lady Varya has begun gathering the components.”

I nod, already turning to leave, but he continues, his voice heavy with caution.

“I must speak plainly, Your Majesty,” he says, “about the girl.”

I halt. A chill slithers up my spine. “And what is there to say?”

“My King, I must speak that which we can all see. She doesn’t want this,” he says, his tone unsteady, as though aware he’s treading treacherous ground. “Calliope is … fighting this union with every fiber of her being. She wants nothing more than to escape. And with respect, Your Majesty, if you proceed tonight, binding her as queen—”

“Speak plainly, Darian.”

He takes a steadying breath, meeting my gaze despite the fear in his eyes. “Once the powers of the queen are hers, she could easily become an enemy—a powerful one. Should her resentment and will to escape grow, we may find her opposition dangerous.”

I close the distance between us, and he flinches but still doesn’t back down.

“Dangerous?” I repeat slowly, every syllable a warning.

“Yes.” His jaw is tight, and the words spill from him, forced but sincere. “I know you believe this is the only way, Your Majesty. But if she’s unwilling, if she holds her hatred this close to her heart, the magic will feel it, and the castle could—”

“Enough.” My voice is low, sharp as the lash of a whip. “You forget yourself, Darian. You think I haven’t considered what her power could mean?” I measure my tone into something steadier, more deliberate. “This binding is essential. She needs to be mine, entirely and without question. I will not suffer defiance from her or anyone else. She is the one. The motherof my heirs. It is her—my magic knows it, my bloodline, my dragon.”

Darian holds my gaze a moment longer, the set of his mouth grim. He bows his head at last, a reluctant surrender, and turns away.

It’s only when he’s gone that I allow my own thoughts to settle. At my back, the sanctum glows with its own fierce, private light through the gloom, its glass sides shimmering in the moonlight. At this very moment, not far from here, my soon-to-be bride is being prepared for me by the priestesses and servants who she shall soon, all the way from being tantamount to a slave, outrank.

I step inside the empty sanctum. The only witnesses tonight will be the priestesses of my castle. This place was built for ceremonies, for magic that binds, magic that lasts, that seals power and blood alike in an eternal hold. In a few minutes, she’ll be escorted here, dressed as tradition demands.

I draw in a long breath, letting it expand through my chest. She is strong; even now, I can feel her resistance in the charged air, taste her defiance on the wind. That fierce will of hers, the spark that she guards so desperately—how easily it could burn itself out if left unchecked. But as my queen, bound to me, she will have purpose. And she will submit.

The doors to the sanctum creak open, revealing Varya at the threshold, her arms laden with the ancient ceremonial vessels, brimming with the sharp scent of burning herbs and ink-dark oil. Her face is shadowed, severe, but she nods to me, and I know it’s time.

Even she knows she cannot alter this. It is my will alone.

I take my position at the center of the sanctum, cape secured with an ornate piece of plated ceremonial armor acrossmy shoulders, sword sheathed at my hip. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and lightning splinters across the sky beyond the glass, casting brief, searing light across the marble floor beneath my feet.

The door behind me creaks slowly open, heavy with age and sheer size, and I turn, watching. A procession of lesser priestesses files inside.

Then I see her.

Calliope hovers at the far end of the sanctum, hands clenched at her sides, her gaze dark and defiant even as her face remains pale, lips pressed tight. She’s been dressed in the ritual gown—a flowing, ivory robe lined with deep crimson and indigo, the traditional colors of a queen’s binding. The gold circlet rests on her brow, and her hair spills in wild curls around her shoulders, the strands catching the flickering torchlight. Her beauty is haunting, wild and untamed, like fire encased in glass.

And she hates me for this.

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