Page 3 of Monster's Pretty Bride

I watch her from above, wings tucked tight against my back. My soldiers flank the cliffs, silent shadows perched along the edges, waiting. Waiting for her to misstep. Waiting for the deception to slip from that carefully held face.

But the woman in white does not stumble. What was she called again? Eryss?

The wind howls through the gorge below, carrying the stench of sulfur and old magic. The fortress rises behind me, a monolith carved from the core of the earth, its stone ridges worn smooth by time and war. The bastion of my people. The last stronghold of the cursed.

This slip of a creature is to be its queen?

The thought stirs something close to amusement.

I step forward as she crests the bridge, and the priest trailing her stiffens. His thin, reedy voice quivers through the dead heat. “The peace bride, as promised, Lord Naranus.”

He is careful not to meet my eyes. Cowards always are.

She, however, is not. She stared at me earlier, as well. I like it.

Storm-colored irises lift to meet mine, cool as a dagger’s kiss. They do not tremble. Do not waver. The same defiant fire from the exchange ground still simmers there, barely contained beneath the veil of her expression.

Good.

A lamb would not last long in my house.

My gaze drifts lower, past the delicate curve of her collarbones to where the dress clings indecently to her form. The heat of the desert has dampened the fabric, sweat pooling between the valley of her breasts, glistening along the line of her throat.

The dark elves dress their offerings like whores.

I drag my focus back to her face. “Remove the dress.”

The priest jolts as if I’ve struck him.

A muscle shifts in her jaw.

“No.”

The word hums between us, tension strung taut as a bowstring.

The priest sputters, “L-Lord Naranus, this is a?—”

I lift a hand, silencing him. “Did I ask you?”

His mouth clamps shut.

She remains unmoving, shoulders drawn back, chin tilted. A soldier trained to withstand intimidation.

Or a woman who has nothing left to fear.

I take a single step closer, lowering my voice. “You walk into my domain as my bride, yet you refuse my command?”

Her breath is steady. “A command meant to humiliate is not one worth obeying.”

A flicker of heat licks through my chest, curling tight in my gut.

Defiant little thing.

The priest dares another step forward. “Lord Naranus, please. The peace?—”

I snarl, baring my fangs. “There is no peace.”

He stumbles back, clutching his ceremonial staff.

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