ALIZEH LOST HER STRENGTH AT the sight of his face.
His golden skin and startling blue eyes, the sheen of his coppery hair, his luminous features juxtaposing harshly against his black attire. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how arresting. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever stared at him straight on like this, free to map the cut of his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his
jaw. He looked better rested than she remembered; more radiant as a result.
Heavens, he was breathtaking.
She watched him take in her elaborate gown, lingering almost imperceptibly along the details of the sheer bodice, its artfully placed beading and appliqués. She’d left the crown and veil behind, and her hair, in its simple updo, had begun to come undone; he focused on one of these loose tendrils, his face gilded by the warm glow of nearby lamplight. His lips were soft, and they parted when he swallowed, the movement drawing her eyes to the column of his throat.
“Hello,” she said softly.
In response he only exhaled, turning his eyes to the doorjamb. She waited a moment for him to speak, and when he said nothing, she was surprised. She realized with creeping, prickling mortification that she’d expected Cyrus to convey great emotion at the sight of her. She’d expected him to ask after her health, to
express pleasure at her recovery, to show concern about the recent attempt on her life. Instead, he radiated a tension that seemed to indicate only a growing impatience, which left her stunned. After his devastating confessions, his proprietary actions toward her; after he’d saved her life and all but painted the city with
flowers in her honor –
“Was there something you needed?” he said quietly. “It’s rather late.” “I – Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He glanced at something out of sight, then returned his eyes to the doorjamb. “I take it you’ve just
arrived,” he said. “Whatever you require may be procured. You need only ask; the servants know to attend to you without limitations. If you’re in need of a lady’s maid –”
“No,” she said, unnerved. “No, it’s not that –”
“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of service.” He withdrew with a respectful nod, and Alizeh, her mind finally catching up to her body, threw out her hand to keep the door open.
“Cyrus,” she said, alarmed. “Will you not look at me?”
He froze briefly before meeting her eyes, and when he did it was with a politeness so detached it astonished her. “Yes?” he said. “Was there something else?”
She heard the scurry of passing snodas, and drew closer to the door. “May I come inside? And speak with you privately?”
Fear awoke in his gaze, so fleeting it was gone before she was convinced it had even existed. She searched for it again in his expression, but he only looked at her steadily, his composure cool as he said, “Of course.”
He stepped aside to let her pass.
Alizeh had once been worried about the impropriety of visiting Cyrus in his bedchamber, but now that she knew she would marry him, the potential gossip no longer bothered her. Glancing once more at a
passing snoda, she crossed the threshold into his room. As soon as she heard the door snick shut behind her, her heart took flight.
She hadn’t been alone with him since that night. The night everything and nothing had happened between them.
Cyrus moved with ease, striding away from the door into the decadent antechamber. There was lush seating gathered around a pair of low tables, and Cyrus stood behind a chair while gesturing deferentially to another. He was waiting for her to take a seat before he sat down, and the attentive action was so unlike an
imperious king it shocked her. Just earlier, Kamran had boarded the coach before she did, and Alizeh had thought nothing of it; expected nothing more. Always Cyrus was confusing her, and she was made so
anxious by this simple gesture that she shook her head at him, too nervous to comply. “You’d rather stand?” He seemed surprised. “I take it this will be brief, then.”
“I – Yes –” Her heart would not slow its pounding. She felt feverish in his presence, and it was destroying her capacity for calm. “Yes, I’ve come to tell you – That is, I just wanted you to know that I’ve decided to accept your proposal,” she said finally. “Of marriage.”
He looked at her, his eyes placid. “Excellent.”
“Is it?” she said, attempting a smile. She clasped her hands against her waist, not knowing where to look. “I thought you’d be more pleased to hear it.”
“I don’t mean to offend,” he said, lowering his head. “It’s only that I find it hard to celebrate the orders of the devil.”
Alizeh nearly winced; she felt so stupid. Of course he wouldn’t rejoice at the news; it was a terrible bargain for him, one that ended, theoretically, with his murder. She supposed she’d only hoped to see more of a reaction from him in general, for he’d been so passionate the last time they’d spoken, except – heavens, that felt unfair, too, for he owed her nothing of his emotions. She’d made it clear she wanted him only for
his empire, and expecting him to fall apart at her feet was nothing short of sadistic.
Angels above, she was disappointed in herself.
“Forgive me,” she said, her eyes catching on the soft glow of a sconce. “That was a foolish thing to say.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “Thank you for informing me of your decision.”
Alizeh nodded, even as she felt a disturbing desire to scream. She didn’t understand this coldness between them, for it had never been this way, not even when she’d hated him. She averted her eyes, knowing she should leave even when some part of her longed to stay. “I’ll bid you good night, then,” she said quietly, and headed for the door.
“When?”
She turned, stunned, for the single word was charged with more feeling than any she’d received from him tonight.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“When,” he said, “will you be ready to take your vows?”
Alizeh blanched. She’d never thought of it that way: that she would vow to marry this man. That she’d promise aloud to honor and love and care for him for the rest of her life. To all the world thereafter he’d be known as her husband.
She, his wife.
The idea should’ve been offensive to her – but she was drawn, inexorably, to the idea of being with him. He, who was unproven and untrustworthy. He, whose life was braided with the devil’s. She’d never thought of herself as someone with such poor instincts, but she could imagine no other explanation for the ineffable pull she felt in his presence, the soul-deep reach. It was dangerous, how her heart beat at the sight of him.
She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to feel such things when their marriage was destined to end in murder. And yet. When had she ever been so heavy with want?
“As soon as possible,” she whispered. “Tomorrow?”
“Yes – No,” she corrected, trying to center herself. “The servants will need at least a couple of days to prepare, I think.”
He studied her with something that approached bewilderment. “Prepare for what? We need only a pair of witnesses and a Diviner to bind us.”
She hesitated. “Certainly some arrangements will need to be made. I realize it might be difficult to wed publicly – as I can’t imagine how we might secure such an event – but if at all possible, I wish for my
people to bear witness. And maybe we could have a small cake? I think Omid would like that. And the staff, too, surely they’d enjoy –”
“No.”
She stared at him in surprise. “No? You don’t want cake?” “No,” he said angrily. “I don’t want cake.”
“Very well,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I, myself, have never had cake. I don’t know whether it’s any good, but as it’s traditional in Clay weddings, I assumed –”
“You’ve never had cake?” he said, sounding suddenly bleak.
“My parents didn’t know how to cook or bake,” she said quietly. “And later, of course” – she looked away – “such luxuries were not within my reach.” She took a bracing breath, forcing herself to brighten as she met his eyes again. “Anyway, perhaps instead you might consent to wear something other than this black uniform –”
“No.”
“Cyrus –”
“No.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “This was your idea – you wanted to get married –”
“Are you trying to punish me?” he said, his voice rising in anguish. “Do you really think me capable of pretending our wedding day is the happiest day of my life?”
She tried to maintain her composure then, steeling herself as she said, “Would you instead disgrace me in front of the world, making it seem as if marrying me is a chore? Will you spend our wedding day in a foul mood and funereal clothes? Would you have your household believe you detest me by denying them so much as a bite of something sweet in my honor?”
She saw the fight leave his body then, heard his unsteady exhale.
“Fine,” he said, the word so soft it was hardly a whisper. “Do what you will.” “Thank you.”
Again, he exhaled, this time turning away from her as he dragged his hands down his face. His self- control seemed to be crumbling, for he was almost visibly shaking now; but with each passing second Alizeh, too, felt herself grow weaker before him. There was an unmistakable heat between them, an electric pull she lacked the strength to resist. She didn’t even realize she’d drawn closer to him until he suddenly backed away, his eyes devouring her as she approached, darkening with a need so palpable she felt as if he’d stripped her bare.
Finally, she saw a shade of truth in his gaze, and she could hardly breathe in the face of it. “Cyrus –”
“No,” he said sharply. “Don’t.”
She stopped in place, just inches separating them now. “Don’t what?”
“Alizeh,” he said. His chest was heaving, his body rigid with tension. “Be merciful.” These words lit a dangerous fire within her.
She told herself to withdraw, but just then she couldn’t seem to move. She was in his orbit now, so close she could see the sharp wisps of his copper lashes, her head humid with sense memory. She wanted to touch him, to know the heat of his skin. She knew what his body was like under those clothes, how much power and passion he kept tightly leashed inside him. It was a revelation she’d been slow to unravel about Cyrus: that he possessed such careful control, such extraordinary discipline over his own body. Cyrus’s desire for her had been as scorching as a summer heat; she’d felt desperate under the weight of it, yet he’d not lifted a finger to her body. He’d never kissed her, never simply claimed what he wanted. Not the way Kamran once had.
This was a fascinating discovery indeed – for royals, so saturated in overindulgence, seldom knew how to deny themselves. Having worked in a number of prominent houses, Alizeh knew firsthand that the rich and titled were gluttons of the worst variety. Upon first engaging with Cyrus she’d been so distracted by his perceived monstrousness that she’d failed to notice the inconsistencies in his royal character. His modest
presence was perplexing enough: his plain clothes, his conspicuous lack of jewels or adornment – even the common way he’d tended to his own dragon. More interesting was that he had no attendants, no entourage trailing him, no snodas supplicating at his heels. But perhaps most unaccountable was that the servants did not quaver around him; they didn’t fall to their knees in his presence.
She marveled at these realizations now, and very carefully, she stepped back, putting at least two feet between them.
This distance seemed to accomplish nothing.
A dam had broken, and there was no repairing it. Gone was his cool exterior, his eyes bright now with the fire of pain and hunger. The longer she looked at him the more unsteady she felt, and soon the fever between them reached a dangerous pitch, her own torment growing so acute she felt desperate to sit down. She wanted relief she didn’t understand, wanted something from him she couldn’t name. Her every feeling was so heightened she worried she might cry out if he so much as walked toward her.
“Cyrus –”
“We should perform the blood oath tonight,” he said, turning his body away. “What?” She blinked; her head was swimming.
“If we’re to be married so soon, we should not delay.” His voice was rough, and he paused to clear it. “I’d prefer to have a couple of days to recover before the ceremony.”
This shocking statement produced precisely the cooling effect Alizeh required. It was an ice bath of reality, one she’d nearly overlooked.
Blood oaths were morally reprehensible, and yet she could not see a way around such a provision in this circumstance. It was the only way to be certain Cyrus would uphold his end of the bargain.
“I’ve never seen it done before,” she said, sobered. “I’ve only heard stories. Will it be very bad for you?”
He kept his eyes on the ground when he said, softly, “It is my understanding that, in the beginning, there will be a great deal of pain.”
“Will it get better?” “It depends.”
“On what?”
He shook his head, still avoiding her eyes. “These details are of little importance. If it’s amenable to you, I’d like to perform the oath tonight.”
She tried to adjust to the idea. “We’ll need a Diviner, won’t we? Is it too late?” Again, he shook his head. “I can do it myself.”
Another shocking revelation. Blood oaths required an enchantment so advanced Alizeh had never heard of one being performed by anyone outside the priesthood. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She was quiet a long moment before she said, “Cyrus, will you never tell me the truth?” He startled, lifting his head to reveal an unguarded fear. “The truth about what?”
“About who you really are. There’s so much you’re not telling me – so much that doesn’t make sense.
Every time I speak with you I’m left with more questions.” “Do you think I’ve been lying to you?”
“Yes,” she said, and paused. “Except that I have the strangest feeling you might be lying about how horrible you are.”
Cyrus almost smiled, though the action was weighed down by an unspoken grief. “Give me twenty minutes,” he said. “I need to prepare some things.”
“Are you going to ignore what I just said?”
He strode to the front door, which he opened in a fluid motion, shifting aside so she might exit. She stared at him. “You want me to leave?”
There was a weakness in his eyes when he said, “No.” “Cyrus –”
“We’ll need at least three witnesses,” he said, lowering his head. “Though I’m sure you’ll have no trouble convincing your friends to watch me suffer.”
Alizeh frowned, then moved to the door in a daze, her skirts whispering along the floor. She came to a halt in front of him, their bodies only a hand apart – and she studied his chest, then his throat, his jaw, the
curve of his lips. Her voice was a little breathless when she said, “You can’t just ignore the things I say and hope they go away.”
“I’ll meet you in the library downstairs,” he said.
It was unconscious, what she did next; she didn’t mean to touch him, not exactly. In fact, she couldn’t even remember lifting her hand to his body. She only remembered the softness of his sweater, the heat and hardness of his torso beneath – and then relief, intoxicating relief when he finally touched her, when he
dragged his hands down her body with a tortured sound, his palms branding her through the thin tissue of her dress before he gripped her hips, hard, and she bit back a cry, startling as the door slammed shut only to discover, with a shock, that she was pressed against it, held in place by the hot length of him, his chest heaving so hard it seemed to mirror the chaos inside hers. He looked wild and barely leashed, as if the effort to keep himself still was actively killing him.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice so rough it was unrecognizable. “You don’t know what I want from you, angel. You can’t even imagine.”
“What do you mean?” She stared up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. “What is it you want?” His eyes seemed to glaze over at that, the blue of his irises blown out by black, and he dipped his head,
nearly touching her lips as he exhaled, his body shaking. “Everything,” he whispered, releasing her suddenly, backing away as if she’d run him through with a blade. “I want everything.”
Alizeh felt liquefied. For all the frost in her veins, she’d never known this kind of fever, never felt such desperation. And he’d never even kissed her.
She made a breathless, anguished sound.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” he said, staring at the floor. “Twenty minutes.” This time, she fled without a word.
