Page 9 of Rhapsody of Ruin
The courtiers gasped. A thousand whispers rose at once, murmurs of omen, of danger, of prophecy.
Rhydor’s grip tightened fractionally on mine. For a heartbeat, we were both caught, neither of us able, or willing, to pull away.
The vows came, sharp as knives.
“For peace,” I said, voice steady though my pulse raced.
“For survival,” he answered, his tone cutting, iron-edged.
Barbs hidden in silk.
The court hummed with approval, though they fed more on the tension than the promise.
When the ceremony ended, the feast began. Music swelled from the galleries, harps and flutes layered with glamour until the notes pressed against my skin. Illusions spilled anew , dancers of shadow twined among us, spectral vines curling across the walls, blossoms of light drifting down like snow. Servants poured opal wine, trays of fruit glistening as though cut from jewels.
But the court’s whispers never ceased.
Kyssa sat rigid among the dragons, her collar gleaming defiantly. Yet the courtiers swarmed, circling with barbed tongues.
“Spare bride.”
“Rejected twice.”
My mask hid the flash of anger that burned through me. I longed to rise, to slice their laughter with words sharp enough to bleed. But I remained still, every inch serene, every line of my body honed to control. Rhydor ignored them as well, his face carved from stone, his indifference stoking my fury even more. Did he not see? Did he not care?
I sat in silence, smile flawless, heart smoldering. If he thought me a pawn to be dismissed, he would learn otherwise.
The feast dragged on, laughter cutting like knives, music swirling until it rang hollow in my ears. When at last the courtiers began to drift toward their intrigues, I slipped from my place at Mother’s side. Through corridors lit with silver flame I walked, the weight of my gown whispering behind me, until I reached the wing where the dragons had been quartered.
His chamber door was guarded, but they let me pass. Of course they did. This was expected. They wanted me to go to him.
I stepped inside.
Shadowlight bathed the room. The walls pulsed faintly with illusion, breathing in time with the wards. A false sky of constellations shimmered across the ceiling, though beyondShadowspire no stars ever burned. The air was cooler here, tinged with the iron tang of dragonfire, even though no flame burned.
Rhydor stood at the table, broad back to me, removing his gauntlets. He turned when he heard me, his eyes narrowing.
“Princess.” His voice was gravel, low and sharp.
I moved closer, the silk of my gown hissing over the floor. “Husband.” The word tasted strange, but I made it deliberate.
His gaze darkened. He did not speak, only watched as I lifted my hand.
I let glamour flow.
The air thickened at once, sweet with moon-bloom and spice. My mask shimmered faintly, my skin glowing with pearlescence, my lips darkened, my eyes deepened into shadowlight. My voice softened into a cadence that tugged at desire.
“Do you see me now?” I asked, stepping closer until the heat of his body brushed mine.
His jaw clenched. His breath hitched despite himself. I saw the flicker of hunger in his eyes, the way they dropped to my lips before darting away.
“You play with fire,” he said roughly.
“I play with shadow,” I murmured, fingers brushing the back of his hand. Sparks flared, hot and sharp, our skin crackling with energy. He flinched, but he did not pull away.
My glamour thickened, scent and shimmer heightening the allure. I leaned closer, angling my body toward his. His gaze betrayed him again , pupils dilating, chest rising faster, hunger warring with suspicion.
The desire between us was heavy, undeniable, as though the bond formed at the ceremony refused to be silenced.
