Elara hesitated, a breath too long, but it didn’t matter since Dar brought her along with him as he did as ordered, keeping her hand firmly in his.
She was trying to comprehend what was happening, but it all felt too surreal like a vision when she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. She suddenly understood her vision of the iron band on her finger, knowing they were wed, and feeling upset about it. It wasn’t her choice.
“Raise your joined hands,” the king ordered once they stood in front of them and Dar didn’t hesitate to offer their joined hands. He placed his hand briefly atop theirs, sealing the hold with a cold weight. “By my word as King of Scotara, you are wed—bound before throne, law, and fate itself. No claim shall challenge this union.” His hand lifted and took the iron bands Tavish handed to him. “Slip these on each other’s fingers,” he ordered, handing one to each of them, “binding you together for life.”
Dar slipped the iron band on Elara’s finger first, then Elara slipped one on his finger and briefly, a mere flash in her mind, saw them smiling, hugging, content, and she wondered if it was a vision to let her know all would be well or was it simply what she hoped would be their future together?
“Record it, Tavish,” the king commanded.
Tavish lowered his quill to the book, scratching swiftly.
Elara felt the moment fix itself in ink, irreversible, final, and her eyes met Dar’s. She saw no regret, only relief. He had kept his word to her to keep her safe.
“NOW,” the king called out, the word striking like a hammer, “we will see whether this healer”—his gaze went to Feena—“possesses skill worthy of my interest.”
Feena’s breath hitched and fear widened her eyes.
Adira froze, seeing Feena’s frightened expression and clung more tightly to her arm.
The king moved before anyone could speak and seized Adira by the arm and ripped her away from the old woman.
Feena cried out, “My king, nay! Please, nay!” She rushed forward, reaching out to grab Adira away from him, but Muir caught her arm roughly, dragging her back.
“Nay!” Elara lunged forward, tearing her hand out of Dar’s, but his arm shot out, catching her around the middle and pulling her firmly against him.
“Don’t, Elara,” he warned, his voice low but urgent.
His hold was too tight to break free, and Elara froze when she saw the blade, a sharp, gleaming curve of steel drawn from the king’s belt with slow deliberation.
Adira’s eyes went wide, so wide the whites showed all around the trembling green. She opened her mouth in a silent scream.
“Nay!” Feena sobbed.
The king ignored her.
With a swift, practiced motion, he sliced Adira’s forearm. Blood welled instantly, bright and terrible against her pale skin.
Adira’s knees buckled. She would have collapsed if the king hadn’t held her upright, his grip solid around her waist.
Elara’s heart slammed painfully against her ribs, and she went limp against her husband, sickened by such cruelty.
The king glared at Feena, who trembled against Muir’s firm hold, and he commanded, “Heal her.”
Chapter Fifteen
Blood, Silence,
And The King’s Demand
* * *
Blood splattered the polished stone floor, thin, bright streaks that made Elara’s stomach tighten. Adira trembled violently, her face pale, her lips parted though no sound escaped her silent cry.
Feena’s gasp tore through the hall. “My king, please?—”
The king nodded to Muir to release the old woman and she hurried toward Adira as soon as Muir’s hands fell away from her.
With an arm around Adira’s slim waist, the king lifted her slim body enough so that her feet barely skimmed the stone floor as he took her to a nearby table and placed her on a bench.