Page 16 of Marked By the Enemy
“To be seen.”
Seen by whom? The nobles? The court? The bond? I didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
The dress fell to my ankles. The silver trim gleamed in the candlelight. I moved my shoulders back. The fabric didn’t fight me. No corset. No laces. Freedom dressed as elegance. When she finished, the maid stepped back and unwrapped a small cloth bundle. A dagger rested inside—slim, refined, wrapped in a sheath that fit the width of my hand.
She held it out with both hands. “It’s ceremonial.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s sharp.”
“Still ceremonial.”
The blade gleamed, polished to a sheen so fine it caught the light like water, but beneath its surface ran dark veins—quiet scars from where the Fae-Steel had been folded again and again. I turned it in my hand, feeling the balance, and slid it into the lining of my boot where it vanished like a thought withheld.
Outside my chamber, two guards waited. They didn’t speak. One walked ahead of me, the other behind. At the end of the final hall stood a pair of high, arched doors carved with skulls and crescent moons.
The guard ahead opened the door. The bond responded, and I recognized it. It wanted to observe what I would do in that room and what I would become.
Light spilled out in gold and wine-red, carrying the scent of roasted meat, spices, fruit syrup, and something faintly magical underneath. A charm to dull tongues. A glamor to smooth tempers. Laughter rose from within—too loud, too easy.
The Silver Table wasn’t silver at all. It was long and black and veined with something indigo that shimmered under candlelight. The room around the feast and fae glowed with soft yellow fire caught in hovering orbs. The ceiling arched high enough to vanish into shadow. Fae nobles filled the seats. Robes and ringsand high collars.
There were some human priests and priestesses, too, and I wondered if any were assassins. Perhaps there was a spy who had slipped the previous knife into my chamber. The green dress caught their attention. Every gaze found me. I’d lost the last of my cover.
The steward called my name: “Lady Talia of the Borderlands, Consort of the Crown.”
They all turned. Every gaze pinned to me—some like nails, some like questions. I saw it register in their eyes, the way they took me in: the human girl who’d tried to kill their prince, who’d been claimed by a magic older than their laws, who now stood before them as his bound Consort.
Darian sat at the head, keeping his gaze on the candlelight and food.
My stomach clenched, but I kept walking. One foot, then the next. The council hall stretched longer than it had moments ago. A bead of sweat crept down my spine. Don’t stumble. Don’t pause. I puffed out my chest and tilted my chin back enough to look like I belonged. Let them think I was proud. Let them believe I wasn’t afraid.
Inside, everything tightened. My ribs. My throat. The bond stirred beneath my skin, too aware. It didn’t like the stares either, but it didn’t shrink from them. Neither did I.
I walked the full length of the table proudly. The seat beside Darian was empty. I didn’t take it. I took the one a few places to his right, between fae nobles. That earned a few glances. One of the nobles—a hawk-eyed woman with silver threads in her braids—nodded slightly. Approval? Amusement? I couldn’t tell.
He stared at all the faces around us except mine, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter. I rubbed my brow, slow and firm, as if I could press the moment out of existence. I’d meant to shame him. Not entertain him. Why did it always feel worse when he laughed?
A plate appeared in front of me. I hadn’t seen the servers move. Meat glazed with dark fruit. Roots sliced into crescent moons. A pastry shaped like a rose. I picked up my fork but didn’t eat.
Darian spoke without turning. “You’re supposed to pretend to enjoy this.”
“I’m better at pretending when no one warns me.”
He didn’t reply.
The woman across from me leaned forward. “You held your own in the second trial. The construct isn’t known for mercy.”
I met her gaze, wondering if they had somehow recorded it. “Neither am I.”
Laughter rippled down the table.
Another noble raised a glass. “The consort has teeth.”
“I have knives too,” I said.
More laughter. Softer this time. Uneasy.
The courses came and went. Darian stayed silent. I ate enough to look polite and drank enough to seem calm. Near the end of the meal, a pale man in red and with pointed fae ears leaned across two plates and said, “Is it true you tried to kill him before the bond took?”
