Between Tides Thunder(9)
I purse my lips at him, half-tempted to leave him bleeding.
He arches a brow in challenge.
With a loud sigh, I call to my power and quickly heal his cut, leaving his skin flawless and smooth. When I steal a glance at him, his eyes are wide, as if awestruck. My lips tip up at the corners. It pleases me more than it should that I’ve impressed this formidable wielder.
Zevayr retrieves a small box from within his heavy, leather-lined cloak, opening it to reveal a sparkling ring with a massive dark stone—a black diamond, perhaps?
It’s flashy and ominous. I hate it.
“Princess Mayah of Tundrayn, on behalf of my brother, Crown Prince Faramir of Arbinj, I accept you as his betrothed. I vow to protect you from all harm and deliver you to him safely. Lightning strike me should I fail.”
Zevayr reaches for my hand when—
“It is customary in Tundrayn for the man to kneel before his intended when accepting her as his betrothed,” Father drawls, arms crossed over his chest, his staff dangling casually between his fingers.
It’s a bald-faced lie. There’s no such custom.
A hush falls over the audience. Every eye is pinned to the Dark Commander.
Zevayr glares at Father, his fingers curling into tight fists. A powerful rumble of thunder rattles the hall. My heartbeat ratchets up, palms growing damp.
“Would you dishonor my daughter?” Father demands when Zevayr doesn’t move.
A muscle jumps in the Dark Commander’s jaw. “I would never dishonor my brother’s intended,” he grits out. Then, he gracefully kneels before me and takes my hand in his larger one, his callouses scraping against my palm.
My mouth parts in surprise—I was certain he’d refuse. His eyes don’t leave mine. I want to look away, but I can’t.
A begrudging flicker of respect blossoms in my chest before I regain my senses.
He’s a murderer.
Zevayr slides the ring onto my finger and seals my fate.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE DARK COMMANDER RISES, tugging me up with him, our joined hands held aloft.
“The new princess of Arbinj!” he announces.
The hall remains painfully silent.
Zevayr’s grip tightens around my hand, unyielding even as Father ascends the steps and embraces me. The touch is so unfamiliar that I remain stiff in his arms. When he draws back, his icy eyes soften—for once—as they rest on me.
The moment is fleeting, passing through my fingers like water as Father turns to Zevayr. “We’ve prepared a feast tonight, and a grand celebration tomorrow. The servants will show your party to—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Zevayr cuts him off, waving a dismissive hand. “We return to Arbinj within the hour. Enough time for the princess to pack her belongings.”
I gape at him. He can’t be serious.
Father’s face reddens, fingers tightening around his staff. “We have spared no effort in preparing for this occasion. You insult both my daughter and Tundrayn,” he hisses, spittle flying from his mouth.
“That is not my intention,” Zevayr says easily. He still doesn’t release my hand. “I was tasked with delivering the princess immediately. Your efforts are appreciated and not unnoticed.”
Angry muttering erupts within the hall. Zevayr casts a narrowed gaze around the room. “I’ve also brought the first shipment of food stores. Plenty of meat and grains.” His words have their intended effect. The hall quiets, though Father remains scowling.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Daak stalking over, his icy gaze fixed on mine and Zevayr’s still-joined hands. He faces the Dark Commander, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “You can’t expect the princess to be ready for travel in an hour,” Daak snarls.
Zevayr eyes Daak with unconcealed disdain. “You are?”
“The captain of the royal guard.”
Daak’s eyes flit to me.
A powerful thunderclap sounds out, louder than any I’ve ever heard. I flinch, my heart battering my ribcage. A distant ringing sounds in my ears.
Lightning flashes, bathing the room in blinding light for a heartbeat, and I inadvertently squeeze Zevayr’s hand. His attention cuts to me for a fleeting moment, brows furrowed, before he resumes his staring match with Daak.
Thunder rumbles like icebergs scraping together.
By the Tides.
I can’t pass out in the middle of the hall.
“It’s all right, Father,” I reassure. My voice is steady even as my stomach stumbles. “I’m ready to begin my new life.”
Before Father or Daak can object, Zevayr guides me down the aisle, his soldiers snapping into formation at our sides. Behind us, Daak’s voice cuts through the hall as he commands the royal guards to follow us to my chambers.
Zevayr halts so abruptly it throws me off-balance.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says without turning. “She is a princess of Arbinj now. She is under my protection.”
Cold fury rushes through my veins. The insufferable man sees me as property—goods to deliver. I may wear his brother’s ring now, but that doesn’t mean he owns me.
“She is still a princess of Tundrayn,” I snap heatedly, glaring up at him. Amused gray eyes meet my own. I want to claw them out with my nails. “Your guards may accompany me, but so will my Father’s.”