Page 78 of A Kingdom of Destruction

Within a week, he had everything in place for the parade to kick off at noontime.

Aven pulled at the long sleeves of her high-collared gown, the material somehow itchier than anything else she’d worn.

“Stop fidgeting,” Nora hissed. “You’re going to draw attention.”

Nora had taken great pains to do Aven’s hair in an intricate curling monstrosity around her face, tendrils spiraling down her spine as well. Fresh flowers had been woven into the design with their petals a pure white to match the pearls at her ears and the base of her neck. She’d been scrubbed, primped, and painted like a doll. Nora prided herself on the finished picture, but Aven didn’t feel like herself.

How many more times in her life would she have to put on these charades?

Too many, if today’s spectacle was any indication.

Cillian had taken her agreement to heart and done his best to fill her week with over-the-top displays of his joy. Perhaps it wasn’t the joy of being with her, necessarily, but the ending of this terrible war.

As she told herself.

The dates had been lovely and planned to perfection. Cilliandelightedin the details. He was a person who saw fifteen steps ahead, twenty. He always knew exactly what would please her—from dancing to dinner to more horseback rides through the territory.

They listened to musicians and picked wildflowers. They joined the chefs down in the kitchen, neither one of them sure how to cook, and both of them covered in all manner of flour, grease, and odd stains by the end of their dinner.

Everything led up to today’s parade and the culmination of their week of courting.

“You’re hardly able to breathe in that getup,” Roran hissed at her ear.

Aven pressed her hand against her stomach and prided herself on her ability to face forward rather than turn to him in surprise. “It’s nothing I haven’t been forced to wear before,” she hissed back.

“See? Look at the verbiage you’re using.Forcedto wear. You can act like you’re thrilled by this arrangement all you like, but I know my brother.”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me that you know me as well.”

Roran countered with a snicker before he asked, “Don’t I? I know all your dinners and dates might look nice on the surface, but you’re not the type of woman to enjoy those things long term. They’re sweet, and you feel seen because you’re not used to the sweetness of them, but pretty soon they will lose their luster, and you’ll realize you are only pretending.” He leaned in closer, and his breath tickled her ear. “You need action. You need to move. You need blood pumping in your veins to feel alive.”

Aven shivered. But she didn’t correct him. “What are you doing here?”

Her shoulder tensed, bunching, and the movement in the tightness of the corset stole her breath. Roran was wrong.

He didn’t know her the way he claimed to.

“I’m here to celebrate, just like the rest of them. Do you object to my presence?”

She almost laughed at him. But for some reason, joking felt as far away from her as Grimrose. Something heavy pulsed inside of her—a thought or a presence she didn’t want to look at too closely.

Up ahead, the lines of carefully groomed horses tossed their heads and nickered in anticipation of the start of the parade. She and Cillian would be at the tail end of the procession for everyone to see.

The main spectacle.

She edged away from Nora to put distance between herself and Roran. He moved with her, and unfortunately, that put him right in her direct line of sight.

He looked good. Too good. He wore a dark fitted coat and leather riding pants, the silver of his short hair stark against the shadows. Unlike his brother’s polished appearance, there was something untamed about him, from his open collar to his worn boots.

“Aw, that’s it, isn’t it?” Roran crooned. “You would rather I stay hidden and out of the perfect picture of your life. Why is it, little princess?”

She willed her face to stay blank. “I don’t have time for your mind games.”

He snarled, a small sound of annoyance, and followed her through the crowd. Away from Cillian. Away from the horse, saddled and polished and primped as much as she’d been.

“It’s because I’m not going to pull the punches for you, and deep down, you not only appreciate it, you respect it,” he filled in for her. “I’m going to tell you exactly what I think because it’s what you need to know.”

“I have no respect for you.” She avoided his gaze. “You’re a bastard, Roran.”

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