Page 41 of Heart of Night
A drug—at least, I’m not slowly dying with every time I drink the laced water. My magic isn’t coming back to life either, though, so the situation doesn’t improve.
If Kaira would visit, maybe she could shed some light on the mystery of Erina’s words. She was there, at the Flame estate. Perhaps she knows something.
I’ll ask Odja about her the next time he drops by my room to deliver a message from the king or Ephegos about the daily schedule—sit around and wait—or bring in a seamstress to measure me for my wedding gown.
I hate that man for his blind compliance to a king who’s forcing a woman to marry.
And I’m one hundred percent certain Erina is not a cursed king. He’s merely a man who places his own needs above those of all others. He needs a bride, a queen, to continue his bloodline.
Clio nearly pulls my hair out when Odja knocks on the door an hour later and lets himself in. I’m wearing the shimmering brown gown Clio brought in for this morning, and I can’t help but gasp when the corset keeps me from properly breathing.
“Apologies, Lady Wolayna.” He bows at the waist in the same manner he bowed to Erina. Now that the engagement has become common knowledge, everyone who enters the room does. Except for Clio and Herinor—I refuse to let them even try. “The King is ready to see you.”
I’m so perplexed that I barely notice Herinor’s tight features as he glimpses over Odja’s shoulder.
Something is up, and it can’t be good. Why that surprises me is beyond me. I should be prepared that nothing good ever comes my way anymore.
We leave Clio behind as Odja leads the familiar way to the throne room. Instead of entering the pompous space, he turns into a side corridor where the sunlight doesn’t reach and shadows hide the ornate details of the tapestries covering the walls. I spy a portrait of the late king and queen woven into the cloth and do a double take at the similarity between Erina and his father.
At the end of the hallway, a small round table is carrying a vase of Tavrasian wisteria, the blossoms hanging over the edge in a waterfall of pink. The image would be stunning were it not for the man standing in the doorway beside it.
“Wolayna.” Erina holds out a hand in invitation as he steps back into the room.
I’m tempted to spit in his face as Odja leads me past him, inside, before retreating with a bow.
I’m alone with Erina. Not even Herinor is here to witness whatever the king has to say to me. The male was the one to close the door after Odja, probably taking up post outside with his Crow ears listening to every breath I take.
“You wanted to speak with me?” It should be my question to ask, but Erina beats me to it.
I bob my head.
“So Odja told me. You’ve been asking for an audience all week.”
He knows damn well I have been wanting details on Myron, confirmation of some sort that he’s alive and well, but he must humiliate me by making me repeat myself.
Too bad I no longer care about my dignity. If Myron is indeed alive, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure he’s all right. “I need to see Myron.”
Erina cocks his head. “Interesting how deeply in love you are with a man who forced you to marry him. Do you believe this is something you might be able to repeat?”
The audacity… And he doesn’t even mean it as an offense; I can tell by the way his features remain open, no hint of cruelty. Only curiosity. Similar to when we were children eating croissants under banquet tables and he offered for me to get one every day.
“Myron was different.” I keep the fury out of my tone, the hurt and the pain. “Take me to him.”
“I will.”
My heart leaps.
“If”—there’s that cruel smile—“you put on my engagement ring.”
“And why would I do that?” I glare at the golden band he pulls from the sepia velvet box he picks from the desk by the wide window. It’s an office of sorts, small enough to feel only cozy if it wasn’t for the hard and straight furniture and the assortment of sabers and rapiers displayed along the left wall. I swallow hard. One of those blades could save my life. If I could make it to the wall and get one short saber into my fingers, I could injure Erina and climb out the window. This is only one level above the ground floor. I might survive a jump. And then I could hide in the corners of the gardens until nightfall and I can sneak off the premises. I just need to keep him distracted long enough to make a move. “There is no logical reason for you to want to marry a traitor daughter, a traitor herself.”
“But you’re wrong.” Erina weighs the jewelry in his palm. “You might be a traitor, but you know nothing about the current state of Tavras, do you?” Lifting his gaze for a moment, he perches on the edge of his desk, shoving a stack of documents aside so he can brace his free hand behind him. “Tavras needs stability. And stability demands for a clear line of succession.”
“Succession,” I repeat like a parrot because that’s the only thing I can do at what his words imply.
“Succession,” he confirms. “Your mother was a firm believer of the union of our two houses, you know. She was the reason my father contracted yours for business—to get to know the … competition.”
“Competition.” Again with the repeating. I can’t help it, my brain is in overload. “What are you talking about?”