Page 7 of A Bride for the Winter King
“You’re not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.”
He gives Seth an inch to spare. “How did you pierce the barrier without tripping the alarm?”
“I snuck in behind Elio, followed Lori, and overheard the single most juicy piece of gossip since my own birth,” Seth chucks out. “I’d call that karma.” His eyes roam over Damian with a mix of fear and respect. “What happened to you? You look…different.”
“Never been better.”
“I believe it.” Seth licks his lips. “I’m not after your throne, D. I just need to find your phantom queen.”
Nell’s top lip curls in disgust at the mention of Morrigan’s nickname. “She’s not his queen.”
The Fae rubs the curve of his jaw and corrects himself quickly. “Erm.Notyourqueen, obviously. Nell here is the onlywoman in your life worth mentioning. Congratulations on the wedding. I only wish you two the best— Truly.”
Damian pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand like he’s about to lose his mind. “What am I going to do with you now? It’s not like I can just enchant you to forget?—”
Nell places a soothing hand over her lover’s arm, and Damian finally releases his unforgiving hold on our visitor. “What can you do for Ayaan?” she asks Seth.
“Keep me around a little longer, and you’ll find out.” The Fae prince dusts off his jacket and shakes out the assault like he deals with threats and punches every day.
Given his behavior, I believe it.
The tension that had built up and up after Seth had revealed himself dissipates, and the potent scent of cinders—all the shadow magic clogging the air—goes along with it. Damian and Nell have a quiet conversation, the Shadow King and his future queen silently coming to an arrangement that’ll no doubt affect Seth’s survival chances.
“Alright. You’re going to stay here—within Lori’s sight—until the wedding. I’ll deal with the reapers, and we can chat about the Yule pageant after the ceremony,” Damian says. His shadowy aura thickens and drains the light from the room until the darkness becomes suffocating once more. “But if you pressure her in any way, or you say anything out of line, you’re dead. I don’t care what slippery shape you take, I’ll find you. Clear?”
“Oh, I’m taking meticulous notes, and I’m with you. One hundred percent,” Seth declares a little too formally. Damian spins around to leave, but the rogue Fae prince calls after him. “To sum up… You’re inviting me to your wedding?”
The Shadow King slips his hand into Nell’s without looking back. “Behave yourself, Seth, and I won’t have to kill you before I leave for my honeymoon.”
The bride and groom whistle out through the mirror, and Seth nudges my side. “We’ll go together, then?”
Arms crossed over my chest, I raise a brow. “Where? I still haven’t accepted your offer.”
“To the wedding. Like a date.”
My jaw drops, and I can’t help but look him over. The damn prince is like a cardboard cut-out of a romance cover model. I can see his fucking abs through his shirt, and his dark skin looks perfectly smooth to the touch. “Youjustsaid that I’m a ringer for yourcousin.”
He shrugs, his hands tucked in his pockets. “So what?”
The mouth-watering shape of him fogs my brain, but I tear my gaze away.A Fae prince. No,thank you.Sleeping with him would without a doubt ruin me for all mortal men. My last sexual relationship was a long-lasting friends-with-benefits arrangement with a fellow Shadow hunter, so I’m familiar with Seth’sno strings attachedbehavior, but I’m done with all that.
I have enough on my plate.
But the alarm bells ringing inside my head aren’t enough to deter me completely. Seth is a welcomed distraction from the ache in my ribs and the unquenched thirst for revenge burning at the back of my throat, and a smile pierces my scowl. “You’re a cocky jackass, aren’t you?”
He wraps an arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his side with confidence and ease, like we’re already the best of friends. “That I am, Lori. That I am.”
Chapter 4
Miss Congeniality
LORI
The half-moon shaped balcony offers an unobstructed view of the pristine white gardens below. The Hawthorn towers in the center of the interior courtyard, the inch of ice and snow left by our afternoon visitors covering up all the imperfections of the shoulder season. A few snowflakes swing in the waning breeze, their slow drift unpredictable and mesmerizing.
Cece, Seth, and I stand by Nell on one side of the crescent-shaped space while the other Shadow hunters stand next to Damian.
The Shadow King’s black tuxedo shimmers in the night. Nell’s white-blond hair and ivory dress slice the darkness, the bride absolutely luminous under the glow of the last Morheim moon. The obsidian crown atop her head matches Damian’s, the intricate piece of jewelry glimmering with iridescent teal, purple, and golden hues.
