by Gwynn White
The door opened, and she stood to face her visitor, expecting to see Mother Saskia.
Lynx raised her eyebrows as Lady Tatiana stepped into the room. Over her arm hung a golden dress. She held it out to Lynx.
“Let’s get you into this.”
“Let’s?” Lynx folded her arms. No matter what Tao had said about Tatiana, Lynx had no intention of letting this stranger know she mourned the loss of the love of her life. “My mother taught me to tie my shoe laces when I was a child. I haven’t needed help with dressing since then.”
Tatiana’s piercing dark eyes settled on Lynx. “The emperor is right. You are a wild one.”
“The emperor? He sent you?”
“He thinks you need help—with the length of your skirt.”
Lynx snorted. “So much for our deal.”
“What deal would that be, Highness?”
“That I could wear my knee-length dresses with a bustle as long as I seduced his son,” Lynx said icily. Mott’s ex-mistress was the last person in the world with whom Lynx would want to spend her last morning as a single woman. Even Mother Saskia would have been preferable to this.
Lady Tatiana’s perfectly penciled-in eyebrow rose. “And have you seduced his son?”
Lynx’s cheeks warmed. “I hardly think I need discuss that with you.”
Laughter rattled in Lady Tatiana’s throat. “Have no fear, Princess Lynx, sex between the two of you is assured—given how our crown prince’s tongue hangs out every time he looks at you. A boiled goldfish has more sense that he does. And looks less gormless.”
Lynx scowled, both at her own childish blush and at Tatiana’s crass directness. Not to mention her veiled insult. “I suppose you’ll be checking our bed sheets, ready to report to the emperor when the boiled goldfish and I finally do the deed?”
Tatiana’s smile reminded Lynx of an old lioness, tired but not to be trifled with. She held out a corset and bustle. “Your dress.”
Lynx frowned, considering her course. Should she do what Uncle Bear would suggest and wear the long dress to keep the peace? Or should she risk defying the emperor and refusing?
Perhaps tired of holding the garments, Tatiana dropped the garment on the bed and glided over to an icon of the Dragon, the only adornment in the stark room. She studied it as if was the most fascinating piece of artwork in the world.
Heart pounding as she considered the consequences of this decision, Lynx fingered the lacy gold corset. In one quick movement, she wriggled out of her sleep-creased dress and tossed it on the floor. Then she grabbed the golden wedding gown and pulled it over her head. The silk settled around her as if the dress had been made for her.
It hadn’t. At least a dozen Norin brides had worn it before her. Some Chenayan seamstress had labored to ensure it fit her perfectly. Lynx slid her hands down the luxurious skirt, aware of the fabric bunching at her feet. She had an oath to fulfill and if tripping over a long skirt smoothed that process, then she would not fight it. Hands fumbling at her back made her jump.
Lady Tatiana’s fingers expertly tugged at the ties lacing the dress closed. She half-coughed, half-snorted. “Tall, thin, and not a natural curve in sight, and yet you still have men gagging after you.” She gave an especially hard tug on the ties, almost choking the breath out of Lynx. “How is that possible?”
The last thing Lynx wanted was to discuss her attributes, such as they were, so she pulled away. Tatiana laughed, a croaky sound, and Lynx wondered what Mott’s ex-mistress thought of her decision to wear the traditional dress. She turned to face her, trying to read her expression. Tatiana’s thoughts were hidden behind a haughty sneer.
It was time to get rid of her.
Lynx pulled herself up tall and said firmly, “I am quite capable of doing my own hair.”
Another snort. “If you call that mess of a bun you’ve been sporting ‘capable,’ then yes, I suppose you are. If, however, you wish to look like an empress, then allow me to help you. After all, Highness, the boiled goldfish is not the only person you need to impress today.”
Lynx sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Tatiana was right. Not only did she need to seduce Lukan if she was ever to fulfill the Dmitri Curse, but she also had to beguile the rest of the high-born if she was to make any allies here.
That didn’t mean she had to be gracious about it. “Fine,” she snapped, and plunked herself down onto the bed to await Lady Tatiana’s ministrations.
Within minutes, Tatiana had rustled up a box of make-up and an array of hairbrushes, hot tongs warming in a brazier, and handfuls of clips. Lynx closed her eyes and allowed herself to be primped. An hour later, Tatiana declared her ready and held up a mirror up to Lynx’s face. Lynx gasped, hardly recognizing herself.
“On your feet, Highness,” Tatiana said, stepping back.
Lynx teetered up on the high heels Tatiana insisted she wear. “Winds! How am I supposed to walk in these?”
“Carefully, unless you want to confirm in everyone’s minds that you are nothing but a jumped-up low-born.”
Lynx glared at her. “The word you are looking for is Norin. And there is nothing elevating about marrying into the Avanov family. Despite your lack of aversion to spreading your legs for the head.”
Instead of looking offended, as Lynx hoped, Tatiana smiled, the only real smile Lynx had yet seen on the woman. “Come, Highness, save the act. We both know you’d rather be out on the plains, dressed in leather, hunting down ostrich poachers.”
Lynx shrugged, acknowledging the truth.
“But, instead, here you are.” A hand brushed Lynx’s dress as if Tatiana were wiping out imaginary creases. “A toy for a spoiled man. So wrong on so many levels. But, sadly, given time, Highness, and you’ll be spreading your legs, too. Just like the rest of us.”
Lynx was about to comment that she would never be like the rest of them, but Mott’s ex-lover was already at the door.
“Maybe spreading my legs for Lukan is my plan,” Lynx said to her back, knowing she had not come off victor in this meeting. Still, she couldn’t resist adding, “Our bed sheets? For when the day comes?”
Tatiana didn’t look back at her. “Will be taken care of.” She swept out of the room in a shimmer of gemstones and silk.
Chapter Forty-One
For the first time in his life, Lukan was early. He straightened his crown in the mirror on the wall of the antechamber where he waited for Lynx, Tao, and Kestrel. A magnificent dragon with ruby red eyes, the crown suited his face perfectly.
He sighed. Today, he was getting married. Against his will.
Regardless of what Dmitri had said about the sanctity of human choice, Lukan had been a tile right from the start—a mere piece on the strategy board to be manipulated by his father and his uncle. Squandered even, if it suited their game plan.
Well, today, all that would change.
The moment his father lay dead at his feet, he would deliver a damning speech to the high-born. Lukan smiled with grim satisfaction; in a stroke of genius, he had briefed Morass to hold back after shooting his father until the speech had been given. Even Felix had seemed happy with that arrangement.
So, if all went according to plan, Felix’s cretin wouldn’t have to let fly his second quarrel. Lynx would walk free. His smile turned to a grimace. What he would do with her after that remained a mystery.
The rasp of boots on the flagstones reached him. He recognized the gait before he saw the wearer.
Axel.
Lukan’s usual anger at his cousin flared, but he stifled it. The minute his speech started, he would need Axel like never before. He fixed a smile as Axel entered the room. It was wiped away by the gasp that escaped his lips. “You look . . . terrible. Exhausted. Like you haven’t slept.”
Axel grunted, and Lukan wondered if his cousin would deign to reply. Then, with an astuteness Lukan bemoaned, Axel drawled, “You look like hell, too. Even your diamond has lost its sparkle.”
Lukan probed his stone. It
brought his mission to break the news to the high-born to the fore. He felt his face pale—even more than it probably already was.
He changed the subject. “You have the rings?”
His cousin had the honor of being ring-bearer for both him and Tao. Axel pulled four gold bands, each slightly different, out of a pocket and tossed them into the air, catching them expertly. He dropped them back into his pocket and fixed Lukan with a sharp stare. “So, Morass?”
Lukan’s heart skipped a couple of beats.
Felix had told Axel about their plans. Of course he had. But did that include Felix’s scheme to murder Lynx? An icy chill surged through Lukan. He studied Axel’s face for any clue that his cousin suspected she could be in danger. As usual, Axel’s sardonic expression gave nothing away. Lukan briefly considered taking Axel into his confidence but rejected the idea. The fewer people who knew what he planned, the better.
Instead, he would use cleverness to elicit answers. “I wanted Lynx to accompany me to dinner last night, but I . . . couldn’t find her. She wasn’t with you, was she?”
Axel turned flinty eyes on him. “As if I’d tell you.”
Lukan snorted. He had his answer. The Axel he knew and hated would have no problem gloating if Lynx had spent the night with him.
A low hiss of voices had him—and Axel—turning toward the doorway. Tao, holding Kestrel’s arm, followed by Lynx, stepped into the room.
“I met them in the hallway,” Tao explained, but Lukan hardly heard him.
Like steel to a magnet, his eyes locked onto Lynx. Shimmering like liquid gold, she glided slowly across the room. Folds of fabric stretched out behind her like golden lava. Her silky blond hair tumbled in gentle waves, softening her face. But it was her eyes that struck him. Rimmed with kohl, he could see forever in their crystal depths. Someone had worked hard to ensure that she looked every inch an empress.
Just as well because today we will both ascend to the throne.
He found his tongue and was about to speak when Axel stepped up to greet her. Lukan scowled as she smiled up at Axel, her face soulful with emotion.
Speaking softly, she said, “Honor. You understand that, don’t you?”
Axel nodded. “It’s what I love about you.” He gestured to Lynx’s wedding gown. “Go with Malika and Stefan. Afterward.”
Offended by Axel’s declaration, Lukan elbowed past his cousin to claim his bride. “If you and Axel are quite finished, perhaps we can get on with the day? It would not do to keep our subjects waiting.”
“Since when have you cared about keeping people waiting?” Tao murmured.
For the first time since Tao and Kestrel appeared, Lukan looked at his brother and his betrothed. Lukan couldn’t resist a small smile of relief. For once, Kestrel’s eyes weren’t locked on him. As used to being admired by women as he was, Kestrel’s attentions had been almost unnerving; he empathized with the voles her namesake hunted. Today, the princess’s rapacious eyes were fixed on Lynx’s gown, far more spectacular than her own silver dress.
Her jealousy didn’t concern him. Lukan clasped Lynx’s arm and set off toward the main doors to the great hall. Tao and Kestrel followed, with Axel bringing up the rear.
The great hall was festive, with huge garlands of red roses spilling between black and gold bunting. An army of low-born waited in the kitchen to clear the chairs away and set up tables for a wedding feast Lukan knew would never happen.
Not after the death of his father.
The moment the guardsman at the door spotted their procession, he blasted his trumpet, and every knee—apart from the emperor’s—bent.
Gliding slowly, as only a crown prince moments away from claiming the throne could, Lukan led Lynx up an aisle set between rows of seats lining both sides of the hall. Although years of practice ensured he could appear serene—majestic even—under the most trying of circumstances, the back of his neck burned, and rivulets of sweat trickled down his tunic.
Morass lurked in a hidden spy cubicle at the far end of the hall, divided by a wall from the crowds of guardsmen and priestesses jamming the gallery. Lukan longed to look back, but years of discipline kept his eyes focused on Mother Saskia.
The priestess waited at an altar below the dais, where his father sat on his throne, surveying the crowd.
At last, the long walk was over, and he and Lynx reached the altar. His wedding ceremony was about to start. For good or for ill, Lynx the Norin raider would be his wife.
The trumpet blared again, and the assembled throng rose to their feet, the high-born to sit on their cushioned seats, the rest of the observers to stand. Guardsmen and priestesses in the gallery would carry stories of his wedding into the homes of Cian. From there, rumor would spread throughout the empire, embellishing the simple announcement each town crier would have been commanded to make.
Mother Saskia started to speak, but Lukan hardly heard her.
How would his subjects greet the news of Mott’s death? Would they welcome him as their new emperor? How would his announcement to the high-born that their stones were a fraud change the lot of the nameless millions he would command? Despite the heat from the burning torches and the mass of bodies packed into the hall, he shivered. With everything else going on, he had given no thought to the shape his new government would take. All he knew was that both his father and his uncle had to die.
Today.
As the priestess’s voice droned on, he glanced up at Felix, sitting on a smaller throne below Mott’s.
Lukan smiled in anticipation of shouting to Morass to shoot his uncle instead of Lynx. Let Felix suffer the agonizingly slow death of the Norin poison.
And the consequences?
What did it matter whom he killed today if the whole palace was in an uproar with rampaging high-born out for revenge? The Fifteen would praise him as a hero for freeing them from Avanov suppression.
Someone nudged Lukan’s arm.
Axel.
His cousin glowered at him, rings on a black velvet cushion shoved at his chest. Lukan swallowed hard, looking around. Was it possible he had missed the entire ceremony? Axel’s expression suggested he had. He cleared his throat, gave Lynx a tentative smile, and took the smaller ring off the cushion. Lynx took the other.
Facing Lynx, together with her, he repeated the Chenayan vows Mother Saskia chanted. “With this ring, I thee wed. With this ring, I thee troth. Mine to hold. Mine to have. Mine to keep until death us do part.”
With shaking hands, Lukan slipped his ring onto the finger Lynx held out to him.
Face expressionless, eyes frozen, she took his hand and fumbled to get her ring on his thumb. Task done, she turned to face Mother Saskia, as if nothing momentous had just happened between them.
That rankled. The least the girl could do was smile for the crowds. Was that too much to ask? Face like stone, he turned to Mother Saskia.
Holding her hands to the heavens, the priestess declared, “By the power vested in me by His Magnificence, Emperor Mott, Supreme Ruler of All Chenaya and the Conquered Territories, I declare His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan Avanov, and Her Highness, Princess Lynx of Norin, husband and wife.” She picked up a gavel and hit the altar. “So be it.”
It was time for him and his new wife to face their subjects.
“Wave and smile, and then we must kiss,” Lukan hissed under his breath as he took Lynx’s arm. Aware of her rigid body, he smiled and waved. Hopefully, all eyes would be on him, so no one would notice Lynx’s fake upturned lips and icy eyes.
The crowd burst into roars of applause, which he took as a sign to kiss his bride.
Heart racing, he turned to her. She was shaking, her whole body trembling as if she were gripped with fever, and her face was bleached white.
“Do it. Quickly,” she whispered, her voice pleading.
A frisson of anger mixed with sorrow coursed through Lukan. She was his wife, the woman he’d just vowed to spend the rest of his life with, but she didn’t want him. Yet
, he still wanted her with an ache that threatened to crush him.
He took a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm him. Sensing the anticipation—every person in the hall seemed to lean forward for a better view—Lukan forced his hand up to cup Lynx’s face. Next to him, Axel stiffened. Hating Axel, and his father, and Thurban, and Dmitri—everyone who had ever wronged him—Lukan closed his eyes and kissed his wife on her perfect, irresistible lips.
Lynx did not kiss him back. Then she placed her hand on his wrist and kissed him lightly on his lips.
Need, so strong it almost laid him low, gripped him. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the altar.
His movement broke the kiss.
Without meeting his eyes, Lynx stepped away from him and smiled out at the crowd.
Lips burning from her touch, one thing was crystal clear: He wanted Lynx more than anything else in the world. And after his speech to the high-born, he could have her. That night he would make love to her, consummating their marriage and binding her to him until death them did part.
Mother Saskia cleared her throat, a gentle reminder, perhaps, that Tao and Kestrel needed their time at the altar. After a last smile at the crowd, Lukan led Lynx to a double throne off to the side.
The moment his brother and Kestrel were married, Emperor Mott stood and began his descent from the dais.
Lukan’s insides turned to water. Any minute now, Morass would strike.
* * *
Mott was almost at the base of the stairs. Nervously twirling her wedding band, Lynx kept her eyes on Axel. It was only his presence here, sharing her pain and despair, that stopped her from shouting out to Mott and the crowd that she despised Lukan and had married him only to fulfill a pledge to her father. An oath that now no longer bound her.
As if sensing her turmoil, Axel glanced over at her and smiled—the sardonic grin she loved so much. It was instantly calming. The smile faded as he gestured to a table draped with a red cloth near the altar.
