“Is she?”
Sipping my drink, I watch Harlow over the rim of my glass. She hasn’t touched her food, but she’s doing something with mine. Probablypoisoning it. I’ll have to make sure someone brings some food up to our room later.
“I guess we’ll see.”
My father pats me on the shoulder. “We’ve waited a long time for this opportunity. This is the last step to solidify this alliance. It will grant us the men we need to guard the wall, and, Divine willing, it will eventually give us some peace.”
I worry that inviting men from Lunameade into the fort will just create a whole new set of problems, but we don’t have much of a choice. We desperately need the support.
Seeing Maxime go down last night was a wake-up call.
My father squeezes my shoulder. “Your mother and I will stay by the door so we’re as far from the ceremony as possible. You can tell Harlow that. It might put her more at ease.”
I doubt that anything will make her feel at ease about getting fucked by the husband she doesn’t want in front of a crowd of people who hate her and her family.
I’m suddenly glad she opted to wear lingerie. It feels like too much to ask her to be naked and vulnerable with so many eyes on her.
I shake my head. What is wrong with me? I knock back the rest of my whiskey and hold out my glass for the server to refill.
“Go eat something. You’ll need your strength. And get her up to dance in a bit. She looks stiff and it might help her relax,” my father says.
I nod and cross the room. Several guests offer their congratulations as I pass, but just as many give me looks of distrust, as if this marriage is a choice I made out of love and not necessity.
Across the room, Stefan is leaning against the bar, talking to several notable fort families. He looks like a king holding court, all smiles and humor as they laugh at whatever story he’s telling. It’s easy when you have nothing but theoretical ideas of how to fix our issues. More and more, it seems that our people are out of patience—that they prefer fantastical promises to hard truths.
By the time I sit down next to Harlow, I’m full of doubt. What if this plan does more harm than good? What if I can’t get Harlow to open up to me fast enough to win my people over?
I stare at my plate, trying to compose myself, and it takes me a fullminute to realize that Harlow has pushed my food around and used a long, stringy piece of pasta to spell something out.
Infection?
When I meet her expectant gaze, she’s grinning. “Well?”
I laugh because of the strangeness of the day, because I’m so tense from these expectations, and because I thought my new wife was nervous, but really, she’s just been planning my demise by checking off ways I’ve died from her mental murder list.
The question rebalances the ground between us. I should be angry. We’ve been married a half-hour, and she’s spent the entire time thinking of creative ways to kill me. But I’m relieved that whatever we said in our vows, the truth remains. She is my adversary through and through.
26
HARLOW
I’m relieved to be away from the heat and burning eyes of the ballroom. I can almost pretend I’m not about to get fucked by the new husband I hate in front of a room of people who hate me and my family.
I’m grateful to have a few moments of relative privacy in this little room tucked behind the ceremony space. It’s no more than a windowless space with gray stone walls, a vanity, a couple of chairs, and the soft glow of sunstones in the fireplace.
We already agreed on positions and what I’m comfortable with in the library, but I’m still tense. What if he ignores my wishes and does whatever he wants? He’s been waiting ten years to fuck my family. What better time than when he’s literally fucking me?
But Henry doesn’t seem the type. He will want to do everything exactly as I’ve given him permission to and still make me come. He wants to prove he can because he knows that would be more humiliating than anything else he could do.
Too bad for him it’s not going to work.
I slip off the silver dress, careful to keep my front facing the servant as I hand her the dress. The last thing I need is for anyone other than Henry to know about my scars—well, I suppose other than Henry andhis parents. I have to operate under the assumption that he’s shared everything we spoke about with them.
The servant woman hangs the dress carefully and hands me the red slip I had made for this ceremony. The fine silk and delicate lace slide smoothly over my skin as I pull it into place.
I walk across the room to the looking glass next to the fireplace.
The servant steps up beside me. She’s a pretty young woman with honey-blonde hair and full pink lips and a hazy purple aura. She’s blessed by Elvodeen, Divine of Strength. I wonder if she has healing like Henry or some other type of strength magic.
