He stalked closer to me until I was backed against the wall, trapped between the ice at my back and the unyielding glacier of a male in front of me. He leaned down, speaking in my ear the way he had the first courtier, just before he shattered her.
“If I could so easily be free of you,Morta Mea,I would happily kill you myself.”
Morta Mea.
He was telling me I was the death of him. Literally. Something in the way he said it made me think it was more than just an insult.
It was a bone deep belief.
He backed away, turning his back on me before I could form a response.
“But the Shard Mother has spoken, and the bond cannot be broken, so we are both chained to this fate.”
He gripped the handle on the door, cold mana pulsing down the frame from his touch. Frost gathered around him like a curse. It climbed the polished walls and smothered the dying embers in the hearth, robbing the room of its last vestiges of warmth.
Batty shivered in my sleeve, so I scooped her out, holding her against my chest and pretending it was for her sake rather than mine.
The last thing I heard was Draven’s growling voice, demanding a soldier fetch him the visionary. Then he was gone, leaving me with his fury and the unwelcome realization that there was no way out.
Not for either of us.
Chapter 21
Draven
“Send for the Visionary,” I snarled, my voice cracking through the corridor like a frozen whip.
I didn’t wait to hear them scramble. I stalked off, each step dragging ice from the air, bleeding mana into the stone floor. The path to my quarters blazed with frost by the time I reached the door, the rage inside me turning rancid.
Of course there was no escaping my regrettable choice in bride when she was in the room across from mine, a glaring reminder of the lie Fate had shackled me to.
Impossible. It didn’t make sense that the Shard Mother would choose a Hollow as my bride. Unless this was a punishment to me, which I was sure as hells beginning to suspect.
The door slammed behind me with a groan, hinges nearly buckling from the force. I crossed to the liquor tray near the hearth, poured a full glass of Shivermark gin, and downed it in one pull.
It was too chilled—thanks to the frost still humming in my blood—but the bitter herbal bite was familiar. Steadying. And I needed steadiness right now.
I refilled my glass and drained the contents just as quickly as before.
The Heartstone ceremony had siphoned out more mana than it had during my first ceremony, like it was punishing me for daring to interfere, like I had done that intentionally. I had been careful not to touch the stone directly. It shouldn’t have been able to reach my mana at all through hers, let alone steal it.
At worst, I thought I might be caught in the crossfire when it flung her from the dais. It never once occurred to me that she was a Hollow. My Fate-chosen bride, just when my kingdom needed a queen. A queen with mana.
The Shard Mother had a wicked sense of humor.
Or was this justice? More penance—not only slowly watching my kingdom tear itself apart, but knowing there was nothing I could do to stop it?
I didn’t bother with the glass this time. I drank straight from the bottle, lifting it to my lips just as the door slammed open without warning.
Nevara stood in her ceremonial silks, Glacemark paint still streaking her face like silver tears. Her presence filled the room with quiet power, old as the curse that bound her line.
“Care to explain yourself?” I snapped as soon as she shut the door.
It was impossible to cage the fury any longer, not when it was clawing at my skin like a living, breathing thing.
She arched an iridescent brow. “The Visionary explains herself to no one. Not even you, my King.”
The mocking lilt in her voice scraped across the last of my patience.