Page 74 of Their Wicked Cage

I force a smile as I say, “That’s amazing news.”

Because it is amazing news.

So why is there a sharp twist deep in my belly?

After I return to the parlor, Riven waits all of ten minutes before swaggering into the room donning a different velvet doublet—this one deep blue, the color of his eyes—with thin, golden chains adorning the shoulders.

The room falls silent. A blessing on its own.

His footsteps echo against the marble, and he draws to a stop in front of us. Several of the females leap from their seats to stand and bow their heads, while others sink into impossibly deep curtsies, their skirts pooling around them. I remain seated, much to Lord Devlin’s displeasure, judging by the haughty glare he throws my way.

Riven’s eyes drift over each of the potential brides until they settle on me. That dreadful mask of his is firmly in place, ensuring his face gives away nothing of what transpired between us last night or moments ago in the hallway.

I can’t help it when my gaze trails down his body, cheeks warming.

He really is something to look at. Devilishly handsome with a cunning slash of a mouth and elegant pointed ears. A mouth that knows precisely how to pleasure a female and ears that have heard precisely how I sound when I come.

Riven scratches at the back of his neck and tears his gaze away from me to let it roam over the females who are here to win his affection.

The notion leaves me feeling somewhat… cold.

“I know I should’ve prepared a welcome speech,” he begins, flashing a grin, “but if I’m being honest, that’s just not my style.” Several of the females giggle. “You’re here because I’m in need of a wife, and your supremes must believe you would be a good fit for that role. I’m looking forward to getting to know each of you before I make my decision.”

A siren with blonde hair dotted with braids and pearls, sun-kissed skin and soft blue eyes, clears her throat. “And why are you looking for a wife now, Your Majesty?”

He shrugs, the picture-perfect image of a bored king. “A kingdom without a queen is only half-whole. I would see it complete.”

“When will the wedding take place?” asks the black-haired werewolf, who led the bowing when Riven first entered the room. She’s petite with rich brown skin, bright green eyes, and a friendly smile.

“Midsummer.”

My stomach swoops uneasily toward the floor as the potential brides begin talking over one another.

He holds up a hand, and every voice cuts off instantly, as if commanded by an unseen force.

“I promise I’ll answer all of your questions over the coming days. In the meantime, I’ve assigned handmaidens to each of you, and their first task will be to see you settled into your chambers,” he says, gesturing to the line of fae females stretching across the back wall. I mimic the other brides, turning to look behind us, where Lettie catches my eye and winks. “Afterward, they’ll escort you to the gardens for a chance to relax after your travels, get better acquainted with the females sharing this journey with you, and enjoy our first group courting session.”

Ugh. More mingling.

“And when, Your Majesty, will we have the honor of becoming better acquainted with you individually?” chirps the siren, her voice a melody on its own.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he teases. She grins at him, and I have to look away. “Don’t worry. Time will be divided evenly among you. We’ve prepared a loose schedule for your days at court, which your handmaidens will go over with you once you’re settled.”

Ah, yes. The cumbersome schedule Lettie shared with me over breakfast this morning.

For the foreseeable future, mornings are reserved for private one-on-one courting sessions with the king. Afternoons are filled with lessons in etiquette, plus additional individual courting sessions. The evenings—oh, the evenings—are for group activities.

That’s when I’ll really see who the brides are.

Several of the females chatter at once, and he holds up his hand.

“Your handmaidens will bring you to me when it’s your turn for our private courtship, and I’ll make sure no one is overlooked over the next few weeks.”

Before anyone can respond, Riven’s attention shifts. Arkyn strides into the room and whispers something into his ear. Has something happened? What’s⁠—

“Very well,” the king says, clapping his hands together. “I have somewhere to be, so I’ll let your handmaidens take it from here, and I’ll catch up with you later this afternoon in the gardens for our first group courting session.”

He turns to leave, but not without catching my eye.