Page 64 of Ruin of Revenants

I sucked in a breath as he guided us toward the grounds, suddenly feeling the urge to dive into the pond and join the other swimmers. When I glanced up at Archer, a grin twisted his lips, one that, to my utter confusion, I couldn’t read. Was he laughing at me? Was he pretending to be a doting lover for everyone that had surely noticed us by now?

His fingers threaded through mine, while his other hand slid to my lower back, toying with the feathers there. Leaning closer, he let his breath tickle my neck. I think I’d enjoy watching you lose control right here, in front of my father’s court.

I stiffened, my eyes flying to his so he could see my anger. If I did lose control of my magic, it wouldn’t be my life that would be in danger, I fired back.

Something flared in Archer’s eyes in response, and instead of putting distance between us as his steps came to a halt, ending our dance as the musicians changed their tune, he pulled me nearer. His lips brushed against my earlobe, and chills rippled through my body. Because you’re disgusted. Because you hate him, I rationalized to myself. “That’s not the type of loss of control I was talking about,” Archer whispered. He pulled back, his eyes flitting to my lips.

Alarmed, I studied him, confusion tangling inside me. There were other feelings too, terrifying ones that I couldn’t discern—wouldn’t discern, because to name them would be to make them real. Maybe they weren’t mine, but his, leaking into my consciousness.

Hesitating, I tried to think of a retort, something to dispel the tension.

Instead, King Wystan himself shattered the moment. “Let us celebrate the crown prince’s birthday!”

A cheer rippled through the crowd, and Archer and I tore apart. While he let his people surround him and offer him good wishes, I slipped away, gathering food and taking it to one of the tables set up outside for the event. Away from the pressing heat of bodies within the ballroom. Away from the feelings that had threatened my fire to rise to the surface and unleash damning sparks. Away from Archer’s piercing green eyes and confusing words.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Isoria

I stifled a yawn, longing for a chance to make excuses and slip away to the cozy solitude of Archer’s personal library. Maybe there I could wait out the evening until Archer returned, hopefully drunk and exhausted and malleable, and I could use my new knowledge. I had to do something, before this bond smothered me.

My attempts at distracting myself weren’t working as well as I’d hoped. Though the food and drinks were delicious, the company left much to be desired. Lily and Owen joined me now and again, but for the most part, they were lost in one another, dancing and flirting. I was pleased that Lily had found a way to break down Owen’s surly exterior. His normally gruff attitude was gone whenever he turned to her, his gaze softening, his mouth inevitably curling into a smile.

If only their happiness didn’t also make me feel a little nauseous, a little empty. Whenever I caught my eyes seeking Archer in the crowd, I stopped myself. You’re a captive, and whatever he was saying, whatever he was feeling, that won’t change. He hunts your kind. You can never trust him.

As I forced myself through dance after dance and falsely cheerful conversation after conversation with strangers, I impatiently waited for the moment my stunt was discovered. I’d found an alcove that had given me a reprieve from socializing, but one that still afforded the perfect view of the unfolding party.

Finally, the moment I’d been waiting for arrived.

“It’s time, Archer,” King Wystan called, his guttural voice rumbling in my chest—but not in a pleasant way. He was a solemn form on his throne, erected on a dais facing the open wall of the ballroom and the lovely nighttime scene. He waved idly toward his son.

Even from across the room, I could see Archer’s form stiffen, his shoulders pulling taut as he stood to his full height. No one else noticed, like I did, that the heartbreaker grin he turned on his court didn’t reach his eyes.

Archer stepped toward the dais, those green eyes searching the crowd, but not finding me hidden in the alcove at the back. I pressed against the wall, breathing deeply. “I had hoped my lovely betrothed would join me at this moment, but it seems she’s enjoyed too much merriment and must have retired before she could wish me happy birthday.” He strolled forward as a pair of servants pushed a wheeled cart into the room laden with the largest layered cake I’d ever seen. “But I must thank all of you for attending this celebration, and, as is tradition, cut the first slice of cake.”

“Before we do that,” King Wystan cut in, “let me add one more thing. It’s unfortunate your beloved retired early, as she won’t be able to share in your congratulations either. But let it be known that a wedding date has been set.”

Wedding date? Last Archer had shared with me, he’d said that we needed to choose one. Not that he’d chosen one.

But when my gaze snagged on Archer, his eyes mirrored my own shock. He couldn’t conceal the way he’d stiffened, his smile freezing in place. He hadn’t known either. The king is forcing this on us. No wonder Princess Briar had been in such a flurry to make me prepare.

“Crown Prince Archer and his betrothed, Isoria Gildmere, will wed one month from today. Prepare yourselves, as that will be a feast even greater than my son’s birthday celebration, and I’m sure tonight will be one that will be…difficult to remember after everyone has had their fill of our finest wines.” He smirked, and I blinked, half-shocked the king was capable of jesting. “Carry on, Archer!”

Still forcing a smile, Archer reached into his jacket for the royal ceremonial knife, I pressed my fingers to my lips to keep my laughter inside, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention. In my eagerness, I took a single step forward, not enough to leave the shadows, but enough to afford myself a better view.

Archer’s brow pinched as he withdrew a ruler, holding it aloft for all the court to behold.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, reverent quiet shifting into confusion. Murmuring began as King Wystan shifted forward on his throne, displeasure etched into every hard line on his face.

Nearby, Princess Briar sniggered, tossing her auburn locks over her shoulder. “Too busy measuring your manhood lately to remember the knife, brother?”

This time, the court was divided: some burst into laughter with Briar, clearly entertained by her comment. Others, either afraid of Archer’s title or finding they favored him over his sister, either scowled in indignance or turned away to conceal their smiles.

My delight was so intense, it nearly blocked out the humiliation and anger I could sense building within the crown prince. Just the reaction I’d hoped for.

King Wystan, however, was quick to make his fury known. “I think we’ve had enough of your jests and amusement at the expense of our traditions, Archer. Go and make a mockery of yourself somewhere out of my sight.” He waved the prince away.

As Archer wove his way through the crowd, a fake smile plastered to his face, twisted delight shivered through me. I savored the moment, the sliver of sweet victory I’d seized for myself.