Page 5 of Ties of Death

“It’s time,” he says, not bothering to greet me as he did Sigrid, which is just as well. I would have ignored it.

He lingers in the hall as Sigrid adjusts a strand of my hair one last time. “I’ll see you in the ceremony hall.”

I only nod. Of course she’s attending; that’s no surprise—but I wish we could break tradition and I could walk there with her instead of Daenn.

Sigrid leaves first, stopping to murmur something to Daenn before hurrying down the hall.

I drag my feet as I near Daenn. I steel myself, lift my chin, and meet his eyes.

His gaze flicks down my dress, but he betrays no thoughts on that stoic mask he wears now.

In an effort to draw him out, I speak. “Since you chose to break tradition in how you went about acquiring my hand, I’ve decided to break it as well.”

“I won’t argue with you wearing black when you’re marrying me.” He turns away. “It’s fitting, really.”

I blink. Does he regret killing Tolomon? But no, there’s no repentance clinging to him. And while I’m angry with what followed,Ican’t bring myself to regret him doing it, though the thought is a stab of guilt for such disloyalty toward the husband I should have respected, even if I could never bring myself to love him.

Maybe Daenn’s referring to his reputation? I am marrying death itself, if the rumors are to be believed.

He gestures me to his side. I move and brace myself for him to take my hand, according to wedding custom, but he only starts down the hallway, his strides long but measured to not outpace me.

I follow, not bothering to hide my confusion. I’ve made no efforts to conceal my feelings of him, but the bridal escort is steeped in tradition, and beyond that, Daenn—the Daenn I remembered from before, at least—has never been one to shy away from physical contact, even just between friends. He was quick to hug, to loop his arm over my shoulders, to hold my hand. Not only me—though certainly me more often given how close we were—but anyone. Pats on the back, hugs, casual friendly gestures of all kinds.

That he avoids something as simple as holding my hand merely serves to remind me that he isnotmy Daenn. King Daenn has no need for physical affection, not when he can justmake people cower in his wake with this new deadly, soulless persona of his.

The change is too stark. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand seeing this man wearing the face of the boy I knew and loved.

My makeshift weapon presses against my back with each step I take. Now is the perfect time to use it; we’re alone. I’ll never outmatch him in skill, but I have the element of surprise. I don’t want to kill him, but maybe I could use the opportunity to flee, steal a gryphon and fly away.

Slowly, I reach for it, ensuring I have a good grip before I lunge for him, aiming for his shoulder.

He reacts instantly, so fast I don’t even realize what he’s done—but next I know, my back is pressed to the cold stone wall, and he’s pinned my wrists with his iron strength. He’s wearing gloves, I notice distantly. Yet another small detail that marks him as changed from my memories of him.

I hold my breath, brace for cold fury. Maybe goading him into killing me was my real plan; I know better than anyone how well trained he is; I didn’t really think such an attack would work, element of surprise or no.

His cold gaze studies the letter opener I still hold but can’t use, and his brows draw down in a heavy glare with an edge of incredulity. He glances back to my face. I tilt up my chin defiantly as I glare back.

But his next words, while full of censure, aren’t the ones I expect. “What happened to the dagger I gave you?”

I blink.

Daenn gifted me that dagger before I left to marry Tolomon. It was beautiful, one of my most treasured possessions.

“Tolomon took it,” I admit. A noblewoman shouldn’t have a barbaric dagger strapped to her hip, he claimed, but looking back, I suspect he just didn’t like me carrying a gift fromanother man. I didn’t realize how jealous he was until later. He stored it in his personal armory for me, though I couldn’t find it when I went looking once. It had made me furious—it still did—but at that point I knew that confronting Tolomon would gain me nothing. “He said I didn’t need a weapon because he’d always protect me.”

Daenn’s jaw twitches, something dark flashing through his eyes. “How is that working out for you?”

I hiss, a surge of hot violence spreading through me. I jerk my wrists in his grip, and he releases me, but he plucks the letter opener from me in the process. “Stop trying to kill me, Emi. You don’t want that kind of blood on your soul.”

The weary note to his voice pulls me from my fury; it’s not at all what I expect from a heartless tyrant.

“Why?” The word leaves me in a whisper. I need to know. I need to understand. I don’t want to marry him regardless, not after what he’s done, not with who he’s become, but I can’t marry him without understanding this.

He’s turning away, but my whisper ensnares him. He stops moving, but he doesn’t look at me. “Why what?”

“What happened to you? Why did you murder my husband?” My voice rises as my passion returns. “What did he do to deserve that?” Any number of likely options had spun through my mind, all things I could easily see Tolomon doing, but it was all conjecture.

“He—”

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