Page 7 of Marked By the Enemy
A quiet murmur. Displeasure barely held back. My breath hitched briefly as I wondered what had truly happened to them.
“Is she to be acknowledged as Consort in full?” the Earth Seat asked.
“Yes,” Prince Darian said.
I winced inwardly. To be married to the man I should have killed brought dishonor to my name. What if anyone from the Boundless found out? They would think I was a traitor.
“Then she must speak.” The Earth Seat’s dark eyes flashed the color of honey for a second.
I hadn’t been told the words. That wasn’t an oversight.
The Prince’s voice was low. “One sentence. Say you accept. Or say you don’t.”
I knew the rules. If I accepted, I became theirs. If I refused, they’d bury me before I hit the floor.
I stepped forward. “I accept the bond that has claimed me. But not the throne.”
A few nods followed, some reluctant, some satisfied.
“It is done,” said the Bone Seat.
Darian came to my side, but didn’t look at me.
My breath sounded loud in my ears. I hated him more than ever, even if he acted cool and calm. His armies had destroyed my home, and I would never forgive him.
“You may go,” he said.
I left alone. No one stopped me.
Chapter three
The Knife Beneath the Pillow
The fire had burned low by morning. I had slept little. The bond itched under my skin, like a memory caught beneath the surface. Initially, I believed the bundle on the chair to be only fresh clothes. But when I unwrapped the dark cloth, a glint of metal caught the firelight.
A knife. Narrow-bladed. Balanced for throwing or close work. Beneath it, a folded square of paper:
You’ll only get one more chance.
I read it twice. Then a third time.
The knife went under the pillow. The note into the fire. Let him think I had given up. Let him think the bond was enough. Outside, the sky had cleared. Light from the window, pale and sharp, made stone glitter and shadows stretch thin. Morning in the Moon Court. The air smelled like jasmine and iron.
A maid came in with fresh clothes and a bowl of warm water. A different one this time—older, maybe. She quietly folded the robe, set it on the bed, and dipped a cloth into the basin.
I watched her move. “The prince—has he ever had another?” I didn’t know why I asked.
“No. There has never been another.”
“Because of the war?”
Her hands paused. “Ask someone with the authority to speak.”
I watched her wring the cloth. “What is this bond, really?”
She blinked. “I bring clothes.”
I tried again. “Do people ever survive it?”
