I freeze.
They’re bowing tome?
My chest tightens. I stand motionless, unsure of what to do. Their eyes are full of reverence, and yet, it feels like a trap.
My heart aches. I’m not ready, but there’s no turning back now.
“Lady Arlet, betrothed of the King,” one of the elves calls out.
The title is heavy and final. I hated getting a title in Enduvida… this is worse.
I close my eyes momentarily when something slick moves down my leg. I bite my tongue, holding back the sob.
The last piece of Vann I will ever touch.
This is what I chose. This is what I have to be now.
“Welcome aboard, Precious Cargo!” a familiar voice calls from behind. I turn, my heart racing, to see Emissary Thorne.
He stands tall, his short white hair catching the moonlight. His green eyes lock onto mine, he smiles brightly.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Are you taking me home?
His smile remains frozen on his lips, but his eyes change. They grow icy. Theyharden.
“No, my dear. We’re going to Shvathemar.”
What is he doing here?
My mind churns as I try to place him in a new light. My heart is still reeling from Vann. It rejects the possibility of more. Like another punch to the gut after getting slapped across the face.
I open my mouth, Thorne comes forward, grabbing my hand. I flinch, but his grip is unyielding.
“Come now, you should rest.”
No one protests. No one even bats a fucking eye—like he belongs here.
He leads me firmly into the cabin at the end of the boat. The action is not overtly rough until the door is closed. Without warning, he shoves me forward. My hips him something solid—a table—and then I fall backward.
“Thorne!” I shout. Would anyone even come?
“You smell like basil. Trying to get this little curse mark removed? Wrong choice, lovely.” Then his eyes narrow. “And you smell like… one of them. Have an eventful trip, then?”
I sneer, but he laughs. “You’ll need to behave as the next queen now.”
Then the elf pulls out a small, precise blade. He grabs my foot, restraining my attempt to kick him, and cuts across my curse mark. Pain lances through me, as a shockwave of power ripples beneath my skin. I arch off the table, gasping.
“What are you—” My voice falters as I try to steady myself.
Thorne watches me with an eerie calmness, his smile widening as he pulls at the air over my foot. Brilliant, white magic begins to flow from the wound.
My heart races.
“What is that?”
“Your gift to your future husband. I thought you would go to Arion quickly. He is unhappy with me.”
“I thought you were working for Mrath,” I say through gritted teeth.