Page 21 of Poisoned Vows

I don’t know what kind of wine I like.I don’t say it aloud, because I don’t really want him to know just how sheltered I am. I don’t want him to realize that I’ve been essentially kept a prisoner all my life, and now I’m just trading one type of cage for another.

I take a sip of the wine, trying to look as if I appreciate it. Itdoestaste good, rich and earthy, but I couldn’t say what the notes are, or if it’s better than any other kind of wine.

The door opens, and a staff member sets salads in front of us, an arrangement of greens studded with dried berries and bits of soft white cheese. I look at the table setting in front of me, hoping I remember which fork to use.

If I choose the wrong one, Nikolai doesn’t say anything.

“Did you enjoy your day out today with my sister?” He looks at me, taking a bite of his salad. “I know Marika can be—extroverted. But she’s very excited to welcome you to the family.”

“She was very nice.” I keep my tone flat and diplomatic. “It was fine.”Fineseems like the wrong word to use for a five-figure shopping trip, but a part of me wants to undersell it. I want Nikolai to see that I don’t care about any of this. That I’m not impressed or won over.

Setting me free would impress me. Letting me go would make me like him. But that wouldn’t be to his benefit, so it’s not going to happen.

To my surprise, he makes no mention of the credit card or asks how much I spent, as if it truly doesn’t matter to him. He takes another bite of his salad, as if considering what he wants to say.

“Is that something you like to do? Shopping?” He asks, and I have to fight not to roll my eyes at what feels like a painfully banal line of questioning.

“Why are you asking me?” I ask him bluntly, taking another sip of my wine. “Why do you care?”

Nikolai lets out a breath, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. “I’d like to get to know my new wife-to-be before we’re wed,” he says simply. “What you like to do—your interests.”

“Why? So you know if we’re a good match?” My tone is every bit as mocking as I mean for it to be. “Did you not think to find out before we signed a fucking blood contract?”

I regret cursing as soon as the words are out of my mouth. That sort of tone would have earned me a slap from my father, or at the very least, a few days locked in my room. But on the other hand, I almost want to push him. I want to find out how violent my new husband is going to be. At least then, I can prepare myself for what’s coming.

Nikolai doesn’t flinch. “I understand this is difficult for you,” he says finally. “But it could be worse. My father seriously considered taking you for himself.”

I stare at him, realizing that he means it. He thinks this is better. “I would have rather had your father,” I say finally, my tone cutting. “He would have fucked me and gotten tired of me. Then I could have left and lived my own life. This is life in prison, Nikolai. It’s not a fucking favor.”

Nikolai’s mouth twitches. His fingers tap against the table, and I wonder if these are his tells. If this is how I know he’s reaching the end of his patience. My father has those.

If I want to survive, I’d be wise to learn Nikolai’s.

“My father would likely have killed you,” he says finally. “You wouldn’t be the first. And your father was very clear that he could have done anything to you that he liked. It all would have depended on his mood. And with that sharp tongue of yours, he might have cut it out of your mouth before he finished with you.”

The way he says it, so dispassionately, as if he’s talking about the weather, makes me feel sick. I can’t take another bite of my salad, so I reach for the wine instead.

“Just let me go.” The words come out before I can stop them. I don’t want to beg him, but I also don’t know how I can bear to stay here. This world isn’t for me. This family is everything I despise. “I can’t marry you. Please just let me go.”

Nikolai looks at me for a long moment. “No,” he says finally, and it feels like cold water thrown in my face. I think I actually flinch.

“You were given to me,” he says after another moment. “I plan to have you in every way.”

Again, he says it so calmly. As if it were a normal thing to declare over salads and wine. A normal thing to say as a staff member comes to sweep our bowls away and replace them with a soup course.

I feel like I’ve entered some kind of alternate dimension.

“Youwillbe my wife, Lilliana,” he tells me. “But I won’t be cruel to you. I can be a cruel man, it’s true, but not to my bride. You will be cared for. You will enjoy the privileges that the wife of the Vasilev heir should enjoy. You will have everything you want.”

“I want my freedom.”

“No one is keeping you prisoner.”

“Can I refuse you?” I challenge. “Can I refuse this marriage, say it was contracted under duress? Will you give me money for a plane ticket anywhere I want to go? Let me start a new life and not come after me?”

He remains silent, and I shake my head, fighting back useless tears. “Then I’m a prisoner,” I tell him flatly. “A gilded cage is still a cage.”

“I won’t hurt you.” He says it as if it matters. As if it makes things better that he thinks he’s a kind jailor.

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