Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

With rope tied under one pillow and a tiny blade hidden beneath another, Vaasalisa Kozár scurried around a dimly lit room in the High Temple of Mireh.

She would not be here when the sun came up.

The people dancing in the downstairs hall of this enormous temple were the perfect distraction, with their aggravatingly loud music and communal dances, absorbed in themselves and their honeyed wine without a care for the bride or groom.

She despised each and every person in that great hall. Every person who had attended this fraud of a ceremony.

Her brother, Dominik, especially, with his serpentine smile and glinting raven hair. As she peeled off her ugly white marriage gown, violent images of ripping that hair from his head and silencing his audacious laugh pulsed in her mind.

But his death was not at the forefront of her priorities. He had already slithered back to his palace and his pretty women in their home empire of Asterya anyway. Whatever reasons Vaasa’s viper of a brother had to arrange her marriage only months after their father’s death, only weeks after their mother’s, didn’t matter. It was unforgivable. It was the sort of thing someone lost their life over.

Vaasa didn’t know if death would be Dominik’s fate, but she had decided this marriage would not be hers.

She only had minutes before her unfortunate new husband came for her.

Reid of Mireh was a brutal mountain of a warrior—the youngest foreman Icruria had ever seen, and by far the most notorious. The Wolf of Mireh . He had looked upon her white dress as if he detested its absence of color—detested her, perhaps. This nation exalted bright colors and brilliant hues, so she shoved away the white nightgown she’d planned to wear and traded it for a red one, which only fell to midthigh and had a slit up to her right hip. The cool silk glided over her body. Setting her bags inconspicuously near the window, she sank into silk sheets and crossed her legs in a way she thought made them look longer. In a way she hoped would ensnare Reid of Mireh.

Vaasa had studied this nation extensively—just as much as any other threat to her family’s reign. While no one had managed to infiltrate western Icruria and come back alive, violence plagued the eastern territories, which were on the verge of an all-out war with Asterya. The republic of Icruria had begun as six independent city-states, united generations ago. Vaasa’s tutors had emphasized its unusual political structure: Icruria’s elected ruler, called a headman, changed every ten years. The headman was chosen from among the foremen of the six major territories. The five who weren’t elected became the headman’s councilors. They advised the headman, and it was eventually their votes that selected the next one. Vaasa’s new husband was said to be the most obvious next choice to rule Icruria—a dangerous, violent warlord known for his lack of mercy.

If that was true, the little slit in her nightgown might be her best advantage—it fell to either side of her leg as she adjusted her weight upon the bed. Even warlords were men, after all, and men were almost always their own downfall.

Her fingers itched for the rope beneath the pillow. For the blade.

The foreman of Mireh would probably expect a demure, well-poised woman of the heiress of Asterya. Not the murderous thing Vaasa’s father had turned her into—the callous, manipulative daughter he had demanded. Asterya’s eldest would not be some useless bride—she would be a weapon.

Upon their parents’ deaths, Dominik became the emperor, solely because of what dangled between his legs.

All Vaasa got was Reid of Mireh.

Approaching footsteps sounded upon the stone floors outside the door.

Unease threaded in her stomach for only a moment, and she shoved it down with the force of a blow. Fear was the most dangerous emotion she felt—one that summoned the infectious curse crawling beneath her skin. A serpent was how she pictured it, coiled in her gut, and prepared to strike. She might very well kill all the people in this temple if she let the force out. Might kill herself, too. It was far easier to remain angry—anger was not vulnerability.

Anger was the only emotion the curse seemed to listen to.

The door swung open and the foreman of Mireh padded through, taking up a majority of the doorframe with his far-too-broad shoulders.

Their eyes met.

Vaasa would not be terrified of this man, no matter the strength she saw there.

But there was a whisper behind that strength, a surprise or confusion at the sight of her sitting like this on his bed.

Then the foreman of Mireh morphed into someone diligent and duty-bound, pragmatic and calm. His clean-shaven face made her question what she might find attached to such a rigid jaw—fangs or some other atrocious feature, something like the magic and monsters whispered to roam Icruria.

Yet he only looked human, just like her, a thought that had haunted her since their brief and hollow exchange of vows. Young, poised. He was dressed in rich black and purple, dark hair pulled back with a leather strap, and his curious eyes roved over the image of her waiting patiently upon the bed for him. Vaasa softened her gaze and let her mouth tip into a struck grin. Golden eyes flicking down to take in that mouth, the foreman of Mireh was a fly in a web, something carnal ticking in the corner of his jaw. He looked nothing short of a conqueror.

Vaasa would make a meal of her escape.

Curling from the bed, long legs carrying her weight as she folded upright, she crossed the distance between them. Reid didn’t move. He watched each step she took until she slithered to the space just in front of him.

“Red suits you.” His western accent floated between them in the commerce tongue of the Icrurians, his eyes raising to meet the ocean of hers.

“You didn’t seem to like the white,” she said.

His lips pursed before sliding into a genuine grin. “I suspect you could stop my heart in any color.”

Such pretty words. Lifting her hand to his chest, to the space right above his heart, she splayed her fingers and pressed her palm against the silk of his draped wedding attire. Instead of words, which hardly ever did a situation justice anyway, Vaasa slid her hands to the buttons of his cloak, right at the curve of his neck, and began to undo them. Carefully, she pulled the cool fabric from his shoulders and exposed more of his bare chest.

He took it from her hands and placed it delicately upon the chair to their left.

She moved for the cross-body drape, tucking her fingers into the fabric.

Reid watched her silently, eyes a little wary, but his breathing had quickened, too.

She worked him out of his ceremonial drape and gave herself one long glance at the plane of his bare chest—all corded muscle and covered in intricate ink that threaded across the light brown skin of his right shoulder and down his arm. The subtle fragrance of salt and amber wafted under her nose, a little sweet and earthy. In any other situation, she would have described the smell as irresistible. Admitted that his candlelit, brown body covered in black ink was more enticing than she wanted to give him credit for.

But that was not why she was here.

With reckless abandon, she dragged one finger to his waistline, and then guided him toward the bed until the backs of his knees pressed to the mattress.

Surprise and excitement flickered in his eyes, and he wrapped his fingers around her own, gently lifting her knuckles to his lips. “I hoped we would get along,” Reid of Mireh said.

Vaasa released her bottom lip from between her teeth. “I would like that.”

Hands gripping her waist, Reid spun them until he could guide her onto the soft blankets, gesturing with his head that she should lie down for him. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she lay back onto the bed and pushed just far enough up to place her hands within reach of the rope and the blade.

The bed dipped with his knees, and he crawled up her body. This position wouldn’t work the way she needed, though.

She reached for his pants.

He caught her wrist. “Have you done this before, Vaasalisa?”

She paused. Did he expect chastity? Had that been a part of his agreement with her brother?

“The truth,” he said, one of his hands lifting to brush a piece of long black hair from her cheek and trailing to her shoulder, “will always serve us best.”

The truth was that men could not tell a virgin from a hole in a tree, no matter what lies they told themselves. She doubted this man could, either. Still, she wanted him to think her innocent. Wanted him to think her meek. “I have not,” she lied. “But I have heard it’s easier for the woman if she is above you. If she can control the speed.”

“And you want to do this?”

The question could have paralyzed her, the severity of his taut mouth and furrowed brow, if she’d let it. “Yes, I want to do this.”

Had he really just asked her that?

Nodding, thrill returning to his easy eyes and loosened shoulders, he slid his hand to the small of her back and rolled, placing himself beneath her. Right at her mercy. Gentle were his hands as they trailed up the sides of her legs, which were positioned around his hips. “Then by all means, carry on,” he whispered.

This was the man who would rule all of the city-states of Icruria for an entire cycle?

Beneath her was no wolf—only a fool.

Running was for the best, then; he would be crushed beneath the boots of Asterya. Her brother had no interest in trade negotiations with a mere foreman, no matter the assurances she’d received that Reid would rise to headman within the year. Reid was one of six foremen of Icruria, and by the looks of it, the territory of Mireh was as far as he would go.

Vaasa dipped her mouth to his cheek, brushing her lips over the smooth, freshly shaved skin. She would have preferred the grit of a beard—a thought she kept low in her stomach. She proceeded downward, her hands passing softly over his shoulders, trailing her nails along his skin, raising bumps in her wake. Her lips moved to his chest. When she looked up through her lashes at him, his breath caught a little.

Rising, she kissed his neck again, one hand slipping from his shoulder and beneath the pillow.

In one strike, she snatched the blade and pressed it to his throat. Right where her lips had been.

“Lift your hands above your head.”

Freezing, eyes seeming to flash on and alert, Reid of Mireh did not move.

Until he did.

He spun with an assassin’s focus, they tumbled, and Vaasa barely held on to the knife with the force. Reid’s leg slipped between hers and held the vantage until she dragged her blade down his thigh. He grunted at the slice, and she heaved his weight off her. Using her own momentum to push herself on top of him again, Vaasa pressed the knife into the skin of his jugular and her knee onto his groin, poised to strike.

This time, Reid of Mireh froze.

Vaasa pressed the blade harder, digging into the bloody skin. “Do as I say, or these white sheets will run red.”

With slow precision, he did as she had told him. He raised his arms and pressed them into the sheets above his head, and she felt him tense as her knee dipped harder into his groin. She used her free hand to snake the hidden rope about his wrists and pull it taut, securing the rope to the headboard behind him. The entire process took a breath, something she’d planned for before he walked in the door. The single vulnerable moment was past, and she again rebelled against her rising panic.

The curse in her gut hissed, reminding her that even if she could control the man beneath her, she could not control the infection in her bones.

“Tell me,” Reid said with lethal calm. “Did you intend to kill me from the beginning, or did you see me and decide I was not a handsome enough choice for you?”

Chances were not a soul would interrupt them tonight. His body wouldn’t be found until morning, and by then, she’d be long gone.

She would start a war with the most brutal nation on the continent, let Dominik pay the price.

She pressed the knife a little harder.

With wide eyes, he gasped, “You don’t have to.”

His words haunted her now, coiling in her stomach. They mixed with magic and adrenaline and urgency.

And you want to do this?

Why should that matter? One act of kindness didn’t erase the things she’d heard of him, the savage tales that had kept her awake with an ever-present fear since the announcement of their impending marriage. The youngest foreman, one who rose to his rank all before his third decade. No one secured power so quickly without evil.

But something about it tugged at her. Changed the way he looked beneath her.

Did brutality ask for permission?

Black mist began to swirl at her fingertips, to lick at the skin beneath his jaw. Her magic.

She was losing control.

Heart lurching, she nicked his throat. “Don’t come after me, or I will finish what I’ve started.”

Leaping from the bed, Vaasa hid her hands and the blade, stepping into her boots and pulling on the thick fur-lined cloak he’d presented to her at dinner as a wedding gift. She slid off the slim golden wedding ring and set it on the dresser. Faint sounds of his struggle emanated from behind her, but Vaasa knew damn well how to tie a knot. She slung her pack over her shoulders—the one she’d left near the window. In it she stuffed his silks and anything else remotely valuable left in the room. Tying the cloak closed, she turned to find Reid watching her in astonishment, fiery anger coiling each of his muscles as his arms tugged at the rope.

If he had been truly brutal, if he had been anything like the tales people in her empire whispered, she would have killed him and not thought twice about it.

And you want to do this?

Just words, though in a way, an action, too.

One that had saved his life.

“These knots are well done,” he informed her, eyes not dropping from hers, that clipped accent turning into an angry snarl. “You’ll have to teach me so we can switch places next time.”

The cocky bastard smiled. He smiled , like he found something about her amusing. Like he found anything about being tied half naked to a bed on his wedding night humorous.

It made the curse in her gut and on her hands begin to tingle. Begin to dance with the thrill of his demons. Hiding her hands from Reid’s view, Vaasa bolted to the window and opened it. Turning, she saw the red trickle of blood down his throat. “There will be no next time, Your Highness.”

She slipped out of the opening and clicked it quietly closed. Through the glass, she took one second to watch him fight with the knots on the bed. To gaze at the black mist that overtook her hands and threatened to steal every inch of life from her shaking body.

She could not let it.

She scurried off the roof of the High Temple of Mireh, the hood of the cloak up to cover her features, and into the darkness below.

First, she’d find a sodality: an Icrurian school. It was not knowledge of history or arithmetic that she sought, though. No magic pulsed in Asterya, but the magic here was rare and had been craved by her father—now by her brother, who had taken his throne with equal cruelty.

Some people had called her father a snake.

He had called Vaasa his chameleon.

Blending in like she’d been born to do, Vaasa fled the glittering city of Mireh, selling Reid’s silk for passage to another city-state. If there was a place she could learn of the curse that inflicted her bones, it was Dihrah, the City of Scholars.