“Father,” I said quietly. “I will ultimately be alone with King Adrian many times in the coming weeks. What is a few minutes here in the walls of our home?”
He watched me, frowning, and then glared at Adrian.
“I will give you five minutes. No more.”
I looked at Adrian and then turned, leading the way into the anteroom. I clenched my teeth and fists, feeling so violent, I shook. It did not help that when I faced him, he looked completely calm.
Of course he was calm. He would end this day with a new kingdom and a wife.
Wife.
My stomach sank at the word.
“Is this some kind of joke?” I demanded.
“Which part?” he asked, as if he could not guess.
“The part where you asked for my hand in marriage,” I spat.
“That part,” he said, his voice deep, his words deliberate, “is very serious.”
“What need have you for a wife?” I asked. “You cannot sire children.”
Vampires were not technically living creatures and could not reproduce; they created more of their kind by turning existing humans into monsters.
Adrian narrowed his eyes, and I wondered if I had struck a chord. Still, kings married for many reasons: if not heirs, then alliances, and occasionally love. Adrian could not have children, he did not need alliances, and love was a ridiculous notion for someone like him.
“Do you wish to be a breeding mare?” he challenged.
I scowled. What did it matter? I did not want to be a wife, but here I was, suddenly engaged. “Will you take a wife for every house you conquer?” I countered. Perhaps he wished for a harem or bodies he could drain.
Adrian seemed amused, his brows lifted, his lips pursed. “I think you will be challenging enough. Why would I wish for more?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What is there to understand?”
“Why me?”
He stared at me, and I got the impression he did not know how to answer my question.
“You assume I want a wife,” he said. “But I came for a queen.”
It was my turn to stare.
“So our marriage will be one of pageantry?”
“Oh, I think we are both too passionate for that.”
His words had an unnerving effect on me, and I could not figure out if it was because of the way he said them—his voice low and erotic, the voice I imagined he used in the dead of night as he spoke to his lovers—or the words themselves.
I stiffened, and yet heat blossomed in my chest. “You did not have to ask for my hand if all you wanted was my body. I am sure we could have come to an agreement.”
Adrian’s eyes flickered, and he took a step forward. I could not tell if the action was from frustration or if he’d taken my comment as an invitation. Either way, it took everything in me not to step back. He must have seen my apprehension, because he paused.
“You have nothing to fear in my approach.”
“I have everything to fear. The blood of the Nine Houses is on your hands.”
“Not your house,” he said, as if that made everything better.
Perhaps I should have said it differently. “Do you intend to continue your war upon Cordova, even with my father’s surrender?”
“I did not set out to conquer the House of Lara only, Princess Isolde. I set out to become king of Cordova.” His eyes dipped. “And I need a queen.”
“Are you trying to tempt me with power?”
“Eventually, as it tempts all.”
“Is that why you are doing this? For power?”
“It is not my main motivation,” he said. “But a result of it.”
“And what is your main motivation?” I asked, my eyes slipping to his lips, which lifted at my question.
“I’m afraid I cannot be tempted to reveal all my secrets, Princess.”
“Really?” I breathed. “Not even a little?”
He lifted his hand, and I took a step away. He chuckled, as if I’d proven his point.
“No, not when you flinch at my approach.”
I glared at him.
“I swore an oath to your father. I will not hurt you.”
“Do you uphold all your oaths?” I asked.
“I have never sworn an oath until now,” he answered. “And I will swear no more after this.”
Once again, he held out his hand. My eyes fell to it—scarred, strong, graceful—and I gave him my fingers.
“See?” he whispered. “Nothing to fear.”
Though he spoke the words, I still held my breath as he turned my hand over to reveal my palm. It was bloodied from earlier when I’d clenched my fingers tight in an effort to keep standing after he’d asked to wed me. Now the blood had dried into the cracks of my skin.