Page 36 of Threaded
“And I look forward,Mariah,” he growled, pushing her name through clenched teeth, leaning further into her space, “to seeing just how much you’ll come to regret this decision tonight. To seeing how much Idon’t belong here.” With that, he leaned away, just enough to meet her gaze, and smirked at the confusion and shock he found written in those hypnotic green eyes.
She thought for a moment before narrowing her gaze. “This wasn’tmychoice. And I gave you an out, remember?Youare the one who had the choice. You didn’t have to swear the oath.”
“Did I not?”
They were silent for too many heartbeats, their gazes suddenly locked, neither wishing to back down first. He wanted nothing more to do with her, but by the Goddess there was something about those emerald eyes that made him want to rise to her challenge, to meet her head-on, to break her and make herhis.
Wait … what?
She released his hand just as that last thought filtered through his head, pushing away from him too quickly. He watched as she tried to twist her lips back into a smile, managing an expression that only resembled a grimace. He watched her, holding his features still as stone, trying desperately to get control of himself and the shadows twisting just under his skin.
Finally, blessedly, she turned on her heel, putting her back to him as she strode to the altar at the front of the room.
Andrian ignored the way she moved with athletic grace over the ground. Ignored the way her hips swayed with each step. Ignored the way the black lace of her dress caught and pulled and swirled around her legs.
He followed after her, passing over the stares of the six other men who now stood around that altar. They were as close to him as brothers; they’d been Marked as children, moved to the capital together, trained as a single unit to protect a queen they hadn’t met—or, for most of them, would never meet. Not the way seven of them would.
Andrian should’ve been part of that majority. The odds were in his favor.
But he’d never been particularly lucky.
He loosened the damper on his magic, just enough to release the pressure building beneath his skin. As he stepped into a dark corner beside the dais, wreathed in the same shadows that crawled beneath his skin, tendrils of darkness spindled off his shoulders and into the blackness above.
Hidden, dark, quiet.
Just how he preferred to keep his curse.
Unlike most magic, this was no gift. Or at least, it hadn’t been bestowed by any god or goddess of Onita. Only a few knew of it—the other men in this room being part of that select few—and he’d only been able to grapple with the gift after reading those dusty old manuscripts he’d found in the library.
His only other connection to that side of his blood—the mother from the northern kingdom of Leuxrith—was lost to him not long after he’d been Marked.
Andrian hated thinking about his mother and the accident that stole her gentle soul from the world.
Distantly, he heard the high priestess, Ksee, say a few pompous words to bring the ceremony to a close. She and Queen Ryenne dismissed the lucky men who would go forth with the rest of their lives, bearing the Mark on their chests but with their necks free of the noose of the Selection oath. Andrian felt almost wistful as he watched them file out of the room, followed closely by Ryenne and the priestess.
His feeling vanished as his attention settled back on Ksee, watching her back sharply as she strode out of the temple doors. He’d never liked that priestess. Something about her set his teeth on edge, made him uneasy in much the same way his father and the other lords of the kingdom always had.
And now, he would never be free. Of her, of the Royals, of his father …
Andrian found, in that moment, another reason to hate his newqueen.
Unbidden, as if pulled by the thought, his eyes darted to where she still stood on the dais. Another crash of lightning raced through him when he found her staring back at him.
She had that smile on her lips again, the one that made his skin crawl. She was a dark witch hiding in a young woman’s skin.
He ignored the knot in his stomach. Narrowed his eyes. Smiled wickedly back.
Her grin faltered, just slightly, before she wrenched her gaze from his. Her attention drifted over the remaining men gathered around her—her new Armature, he realized with a sudden jolt.
Of which he was now one.
He used her distracted attention to survey who was to be his eternal brother, to join him forever in this damnation within the walls of the palace. He spotted Sebastian, along with his younger brother, Matheo. Then there was the one whose father had been Kreah—Feran—and beside him was quiet, ever-brooding Drystan. Finally, there were Quentin and Trefor, both of them usually more interested in fucking around than taking anything seriously.
Not that anyone could tell that now, though. Not with their chests puffed out in pride as they waited patiently for their new queen to speak, already lost to her spell.
It made Andrian sick.
Finally, Mariah broke the expectant silence.