Page 113 of Silver & Smoke
The broken pieces of her fallen kingdom blurred as she passed through the city, tears stinging her eyes, her heart lodged in herthroat. Wren walked and walked, until she stood at the edge of Dorinth, until she was finally alone.
And when she stopped, she brought a tempest down upon the empty land before her.
Night had fallen by the time Wren returned to the heart of the stronghold. Her body was aching from being cramped in the metal cage, and she desperately wanted to wash the filth of the day from her skin, but the atmosphere of the camp brought a chill down her spine. People were watching her – people she didn’t recognize, people dressed in far finer clothing than a war camp required. As she walked between the tents, she spotted Darian, whose face fell as she approached.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stall him any longer. He’s—’
Panic speared through her, her mind racing through all manner of horrific possibilities. ‘What is it? Is it Torj? Is he—’
Darian shook his head and pointed to a tent a few yards away. ‘It’s not Torj.’
‘You’re scaring me, Darian.’ Wren’s heart raced, her clothes damp with sweat as she took a step towards the canvas structure.
‘I’m sorry,’ was all Darian managed.
Fighting down the rising fear, dread sinking in her stomach like a stone, Wren reached the tent and, with a trembling breath, stepped inside.
Several lanterns illuminated the space within. It wasn’t like the command tents she’d seen, strewn with maps and weapons. There was no council of generals awaiting her, ready to finalize orders and march into Delmira.
Instead, hanging against the centre pole was a gown of pure white, its pristine silk a stark contrast to the muddy war camp around her.
‘Your engagement has gone on long enough.’ Lord Lucian’s voice cut like glass as the tent flap dropped closed behind him. ‘Before your coronation, you will marry my son. And when you walk into that throne room, it will be asDarian Devereux’s wife.’
Spots swam in her vision, and her hands went numb. It felt as though someone was squeezing the life out of her, the air unable to reach her lungs. Wren braced herself against a table, which she now saw was covered in an array of jewellery.
The words that followed didn’t sound like her, but she felt her mouth moving. ‘You can’t be serious, Lord Lucian. Surely it’s not befitting of a royal union to marry in the mud.’
Lucian closed the small gap between them and grabbed her arm, his grip hard enough to bruise not only her skin, but the bone beneath. ‘You can marry him in a damn pigsty for all I care,’ he hissed menacingly, ‘but youwillmarry him, and you’ll marry himnow.’
For all her poisons and storm power, Wren froze. She had told herself that she’d never be at the mercy of a man, that she had all the strength within her to bring the bastard to his damn knees, but she froze.
His breath was hot on her face. ‘If you don’t get into that gown this instant, I’ll put it on you myself.’
A tearing sound startled her, and she cried out as Lucian ripped her shirt away from her body, the cold air hitting her bare skin.
‘Lucian,’ she croaked, hating the pleading note in her voice as she stumbled.
But he didn’t stop.
More fabric gave way around her as he clawed at her, all the while muttering, ‘You’ll need to wash this filth off. You can’t marry my son in this disgusting state.’
Wren couldn’t breathe. She couldn’tbreathe.
A strangled noise escaped her as she tried to fight back, tried to clamber out of his reach, her magic suddenly failing her—
A pulse of power surged through the campsite.
A warning.
But it hadn’t come from her.
Gasping for air, heart pounding, Wren looked up, still recoiling from Lucian’s touch.
‘I’ll say this once, and only once.’ Torj Elderbrock stood before her, towering over Lord Lucian. ‘Take your fucking hands offmy wife.’
CHAPTER 58
Torj
