Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I saw a flash of surprise followed by something I couldn’t parse—something almost soft. But it was gone in a moment, making me wonder if I’d seen it at all.
In its place was something harsh and tight that culminated in a muscle twitching in his jaw as he reached out toward the officiant who held a small copper tiara in the shape of vines with black gemstones dotted like leaves or flowers. It was a study in contrasts: both delicate and feminine but stark and brutal.
The prince set it on my head before turning back to the officiant.
“Are we done?” he asked.
The man looked taken aback but was quick to shake his head. “The rings, My Prince.”
“Right,” the prince said, glancing back at the man standing near him.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a ring.
I wasn’t even aware of telling my body to slide the ring onto his finger, but I watched as the silver and onyx slid into place.
My ring was next—a delicate band that looked too small to support the giant curving oblong onyx holder.
There was a strange catch in my breath as I watched him slip the ring onto my finger before turning back to the officiant.
“Is that it?”
The man nodded, his face tight.
“Good.”
My wrist was grabbed in a firm, but not crushing, hold, and I was pulled from the altar and toward the castle.
To what fate?
I guess only time would tell.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jet
I’d agreed to the wedding—without any lip—under the condition that some giant spectacle wasn’t made of it. I understood he had to have certain members of his council and the heads of important families there, but I didn’t want decorations, music, long, drawn-out vows, or anything of the sort.
He’d insisted on a meal afterward.
I warned that I might not be present for that.
Neither of us was happy, but we were both getting a little bit of what we wanted, so we went ahead with it.
I strode down the aisle, the crown on my head that the metalsmith had used to craft the tiara for my future wife, future bride, future princess, perhaps one day, my queen.
She was just a mass of white.
The gown was the traditional white, but an older fashion that gave no hint of the shape beneath. And the veil hid her even further.
Not that it mattered what she looked like.
I wasn’t planning on having any sort of relationship with her.
That apathy, though, rushed out of my body like a wave when I lifted the veil.
Not only because she was absolutely stunning with her long, dark hair, flawless skin, blue eyes, tipped nose, and pouty lips.
No.
Because the woman at the altar in a gown and veil? That was not Gemma Grimwood.
I’d only met the woman twice in my life. Both times, she’d been the most unpleasant woman in the room. But while this woman could pass for Gemma from afar with the same height, dark hair, and weight. But unless Gemma had gone through extensive spellwork to change her appearance, there was no way it was the same woman.
It was the moment I should have spoken up, should have called out Grimwood, called off the wedding.
At the end of the day, though, I didn’t care who I married. And I didn’t need to watch my father have another man dragged off to be tortured for all eternity. And possibly even his daughter. I didn’t need that shit on my conscience when it didn’t matter who stood next to me at political events.
So I stuck the tiara on her head, made sure the whole thing was official, then grabbed my new wife and pulled her inside where Vishen was waiting.
“Who the hell is that?”
“My new wife.”
“I saw that. But that’s not Gemma Grimwood.”
“I’m aware.”
“Why did you go through with it?”
“Does it really matter who she is?” I asked as my wife stood there mutely, gaze sliding between us as we spoke.
“I guess not. And I guess anyone is better than that toxic witch Grimwood spawned. What’s your name?” he asked, looking at the woman.
Her mouth opened, closed, her brows knitted, and she shook her head.
“Did he cut out her tongue?” Vishen asked.
“What?” I hissed, never having considered that.
“Trust me, I’ve heard of Grimwood doing far worse.”
“Did he cut out your tongue?” I asked, looking back at the woman.
She shook her head, parted her lips, then pointed inside, and did a one-handed shrug.
“Did he give you something?” Vishen asked.
To that, he got a nod.
“Did it taste like flowers?” he pressed.
He got a more eager nod at that.
Vishen looked back at me. “Bellhush.”
“A flower?”
“It’s heavily distilled from the flowers, but yes.”
“How do you know that?”
“They’re used by the military.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. There was only one reason the military would want that kind of tonic: to silence people being tortured.
I exhaled hard, wondering how many other horrific things my father was guilty of.