Page 4 of Wings of Cruelty and Flame

“Oh joy,” I muttered under my breath. “Just what I always dreamed of: two hundred people cheering for my impending deflowering.”

A low rumble of thunder sounded, and I startled, my heart knocking into my ribs. But no, that was just my husband laughing. A startled glance at him showed his eyes had crinkled, his smile hooked deeper on the right side than the left.

“You didn’t hear what I said,” I breathed in horror.

His eyes met mine, creased in a smile, his irises a honeyed shade of amber. “Of course not, dearling.”

I groaned, a flush of heat moving through my face to my chest, tingling my ears. He undoubtedly heard. But he’d laughed, and he was smiling—that was a good sign, right?

Because I was looking at him, I saw the scrunch of his nose and the disgust enter his eyes when more calls went through the crowd, their excitement building. At least this was the portion of the night where I left this villa behind forever. I wouldn’t be any less an oddity in my next home, but at least I wouldn’t have to see the dislike in my father’s eyes or the anger on my brothers’ faces.

I wondered if Varidian knew he’d married a killer. Wondered if he knew I could kill him with a single brush of my fingertips.

“They don’t need to sound so… chipper,” he said quietly, the remark for my ears. “Don’t listen to their demands; there are two people in this marriage, not two hundred.”

“Tell that to them,” I drawled.

His words warmed my chest and my face for opposing reasons. Did he think I’d be a coward when it came to our wedding night? Did he think I wasn’t prepared for a true consummation? I needed this marriage to work as much as he did. Even if he collected the heads of tigers he killed or was accustomed to wearing pink, fluffy slippers, I was determined to keep him as a shield against my past, my family, and worse.

Since Shahzia’s death I knew it was only a matter of time before I was executed for possessing such dangerous magic. Sooner or later, shunning me wouldn’t be enough, and the sneers in the hallways and pointed remarks would turn to accusations. I’d hang for this dark magic in my fingertips. But it was far harder to accuse a king’s daughter-in-law than a gentry’s girl.

“Come on,” Varidian said. He rose to his feet in a powerful flow of motion and held out a hand to me. “We’ll satisfy the vultures’ needs, then talk at home when we won’t be overheard.”

“At home,” I echoed, my stomach in knots. I’d given plenty of thought to leaving my childhood villa behind, but absolutely no thought to going to his home beyond a passing thought that he lived in Red Manniston in the south. I’d be in a whole new city, in a new home, withmy husband.

“I promise it’s not a rat-infested hovel,” he said, those warm eyes still crinkled.

I accepted his proffered hand and rose. The eyes of all our wedding guests pierced me like needles. Not entirely unpleasant, but not particularly welcome, either. Wine had flowed freely, food had been devoured from hand-painted plates, every last trace of desserts scraped from gilt-edged bowls with spoons fashioned with chunks of precious stone in each handle, and as the night wore on all those favourable glances had sharpened. Like I knew it would, the earlier admiration of me as a bride had turned to criticism of me as a woman. Strangely, the same had happened to my husband—a dashing groom no longer, now he was the source of speculation and suspicion.

Who was his mother, to give him such evil magic?I didn’t care—I didn’t know my own mother, so why would I care about his—but the guests weredyingto know.

I cast a sideways glance at my handsome new husband and wondered if it bothered him. He must have heard the remarks. Now, those same people threw up their hands and cheered good-naturedly, ushering us back through the throng of seats and tables towards where a wagon undoubtedly waited at the front of the villa to carry us across desert and through woodland, to where Red Manniston sat surrounded by mountains on all sides.

I began to chew my lip, but the loudtskof disapproval from my aunt made me release it before I could wear a hole into mybottom lip. It probably wasn’t very bridal to have a bloody lip on your wedding day.

“Five minutes of hell, and then we can escape,” Varidian said under his breath, so quiet I wasn’t sure if he was encouraging me or himself. The scent of him thickened when he stepped closer, oud and spice heady as it surrounded me. He hadn’t released my hand, his fingers a warm, reassuring weight wrapped around mine. I tried not to notice that his hand was dry where mine was clammy. The stares fixed on us as we walked through the natural aisle of the garden didn’t help, and neither did the tropical heat that hit this side of the house around sunset every day.

“Make than ten minutes,” I muttered when King Bakshi Saber stepped into our path, his rich brown face a little flush, his eyes glossy with merriment.

I flattened a smile between my lips. I’d never seen the king drunk before. Had never seen him this close, actually. I glimpsed him once during a parade in nearby Tourlestyn when I was a child, and even then, all I remembered was a beaming smile, a cloud of black hair, and clothes so detailed and in so many clashing colours, they bordered hideous.

My almost-smile died a swift death when my father joined the king in front of us, the welcoming smile on his face more brittle. Strangely, where my father faked his pride and affection, King Bakshi’s seemed real.

“Let me get another look at my new daughter,” King Bakshi said, his cheeks rounded as he grinned and reached out to me. I sensed no menace in him, so I didn’t cringe from his touch. He was the king; I’d have endured him no matter what, since I didn’t have a death wish and I was using my new relation to him as a shield, but it was nice to not have my stomach sink when someone drew me closer.

His hands fell on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length as he perused my face.

I waited for some burning remark about my power or my absent mother or my family line, but King Bakshi just said, “Welcome to the family. If you’re anything as magnificent as your father tells us, we’re very lucky to have you.”

I didn’t hide my shock quickly enough.

“No need to be modest, daughter,” King Bakshi said, squeezing my shoulders before he released me, stepping out of my personal space which was nice. He was nice.The kingwas nice. This was all very weird. Our ruler was kind and welcoming and my husband had a face shaped by god and shoulders as big as boulders. I wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. I wanted to burst out laughing just to alleviate some of the manic energy inside me, but I’d only look mad.

“I’m lucky to join such an exalted family.” The words weren’t completely empty; while I’d never grown up with dreams of marrying a prince and living a fairy tale life, I grew up reading fables of heroes, villains, and daring rescues. The Saber family were directly descended from the first warrior queen of Ithanys. “I’ve read a dozen different stories about Aleena Saber. She’s my favourite hero.”

Bakshi’s smile grew so wide it must have hurt. He clapped my father on the shoulder, his voice boisterously loud when he said, “You raised your girl well, Falael.”

“I’m certainly happy with how she turned out,” he replied, like a true politician. He was happy with the elevation of rank and his beloved chest of gold. I barely repressed an eye roll; if the king weren’t here, I would have let him see it.

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