Chapter 7

Chestnut brown hair fell effortlessly over the stranger's forehead, framing his face, while his sharply defined jawline gave away the clench to his teeth. His penetrating brown eyes, so dark they could have been black, locked on to mine. Though he lay beneath me, his long, muscular physique radiated power, filling the space with a heady presence. The slight tilt of his lips gave away the cocky thoughts in his pretty head.

"Why are you in my room?" I narrowed my eyes until I knew he could feel the wrath behind them.

He cleared his throat. "Surely you've heard my name spoken before this moment."

I leaned in until we were nose to nose. "Of course, I have. But you still haven't told me why you're here."

In truth, I had no idea what my betrothed's name was or what he looked like. My father had intentionally kept all details from me, knowing I could easily hunt down any prey, gather information, and potentially kill him. I could have done it anyway. The alleys of Silbath were just as loud as those of Perth, but my curiosity hadn't piqued. Instead, I'd avoided the topic every chance I got.

"If I could stand, Princess—er, Maiden. How should I refer to you?"

I didn't budge an inch, and his solid body beneath me hadn't protested. "My name is Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death's Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth. Take your fucking pick."

Something mischievous crossed his face like a passing shadow. He smiled. "Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death's Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth, nearly queen to the Silbath throne, future wife of King Icharius Fern, would you mind moving your right knee just a hair? Otherwise, we may never have children."

"If you do not live to see the sunrise, there will also be no children."

"Ah. Yes, I can see how that would pose a problem."

Despite my better judgment, I shuffled backward, letting him up before crossing my arms over my chest, still gripping Chaos in a tight fist as I waited. Those eyes scanned my silk nightgown, starting at my feet, lingering over the lace on my breasts, and stopping only when he met my unamused glare.

"Get your fill, King?"

"Sorry," he snapped, whipping around.

"Only a fool would turn their back on the Death Maiden, knowing she holds a blade."

"Did you want me to face you? I am a man standing before a stunning creature in her… unmentionables. I cannot be held to proprietary standards."

"You're a scoundrel and nothing more if you can't keep your eyes from my body."

"A test, then," he said, slowly turning. "Should I look anywhere but your face, Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death's Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth, you may take your dagger and plunge it into my heart with no protest from me."

The way he held my gaze unnerved me.

"Why are you here?"

He ran his fingers through a crown of thick hair, nearly the shade of mine, but those careful eyes didn't falter. "I'm… well, you see… tomorrow isn't about us. It's about them and their will for the kingdoms and whatever else they have planned for our future. Does that make sense?"

"If any of this is a shock to you, Icky, you have a lot to learn about being a royal. Where the hell did they find you?"

Despite the obvious desire to hold back his smile, he grinned, and something deep in my soul flinched when he perked an eyebrow. "Icky?"

"I guarantee that's the least tame option running through my mind. I was going to make fun of the last name, but Icky feels right, considering the present circumstances."

He took a step forward, stealing my breath as his fingers intentionally held my bare arms. Aside from Ro, no one touched me. Ever. I could hardly think beyond the way he continued to hold my gaze fearlessly.

"Marry me, Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death's Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth. Tomorrow for the crowds and the kingdoms, but tonight, for us. They will never know, but we can take the choice away from them. We'll marry on our terms and not theirs."

Every muscle in my face slackened until my jaw hung open.

He slid careful fingers up to my shoulders, never breaking contact. "In twelve hours, you will be mine anyway. You'll wear the dress, and the people will cheer, and we'll leave this castle behind. I'm sure that's not a fate you wished upon yourself, but in this moment, you can choose me without them."

"I don't… Why would…" I shook my head, trying to clear the fog that'd settled over me, starting the moment he'd pinned me with that unwavering stare. "I am Death's Maiden. I am the harbinger, the king slayer, the only true person to fear in this world. Why aren't you cowering? Why would you choose this?"

"Because…" He forced me to turn until we stared into Ro's mirror. "I'm standing before the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on, and somehow, the gods have blessed me again this week. First, I'm told I'm the distant relative of a fallen king, and I'm crowned the next day. But then"—his palm moved to the small of my back, pushing me forward until we stood so close to the mirror, we filled the frame—"they told me I'm to take a wife of their choosing. You could have been anyone. Any age, any beauty. You could have been a nightmare. And yet, it was as if the heavens conspired, and fate itself intervened to grant me this privilege."

His words resonated deep within my being, their sincerity and passion igniting a flame within my heart. I allowed myself to be drawn closer, my eyes still holding his in the reflection of the mirror. The weight of his grip on me, both commanding and tender, sent shivers down my spine, awakening a whirlwind of emotions I had never experienced before.

He leaned over until his voice was no more than a deep whisper in my ear. "The choice of our hearts should never be dictated by the whims of kingdoms or the expectations of others. We shouldn't be forced into the confines of tradition. Let me prove to you, future wife, that I am worthy and willing without the order from my council."

There was a gravity to his words. An ethereal silence. A plea and desperate wish. The room seemed to hold its breath, the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains casting a soft glow upon our faces as he waited.

I couldn't deny the urge to defy my father for the sake of having a choice. And this man, this conundrum of a person, had put it all on the line and still agreed to marry me, not only without a fight, but he was fighting for it. For us. Here and now. Still, my mind told me this was a bad idea.

"Pretty words and a man's conviction rarely end in bliss."

"I'll make you a deal. You can pick any challenge you want, and I will best you. If you lose, you agree to marry me tonight."

"And if you lose?"

"Then I will refuse to marry you tomorrow, and you can walk away, free of the obligation."

"I can assure you, neither of us is walking away tomorrow. We will be married no matter what."

"Pick your challenge. Let me prove that I'm worthy of you."

I walked away, shaking my head. "You're persistent. I'll give you that. At least let me dress, and then I'll be happy to kick your ass for a while. We can consider it a warmup for our marriage."

He rubbed his hands together, flashing a knee-buckling smile, that chiseled jawline somehow growing more defined. "I might surprise you."

"I highly doubt it," I called over my shoulder, heading into the bathing room for privacy.

I dressed in my usual black leathers, arming myself with every weapon I kept hidden in the small room as an idea formed in my mind. Nothing would truly make him worthy, but perhaps instilling a little fear would be a good life lesson.

He stood on the balcony with his back to me, staring out over Perth with his hands clasped behind his back. The second I moved toward him, he turned, though his eyes still never left my face.

"If you want to impress me, Icky"—I flipped my blade in my hand for show—"disarm me."

He pushed aside the sheer curtain. "With my charm or wit?"

"With your hands, King. But… if I remove your weapons first, I win."

"Who says I'm wearing any weapons?"

"You've got a knife strapped onto your back, and there's a holster beneath your shirt. I'd wager it holds another blade, but it could be your diary, I suppose. I'd bet my last coin you've got at least one weapon in your right boot. Your left is likely clear since it's injured."

He sauntered back into the room, his eyes finally dropping to survey me before rubbing his face. "Okay. I'm ready. I'll be gentle… mostly."

"I make no such promises," I countered, planting my feet shoulder-width apart.

He dove as expected, and I spun with ease, avoiding his grip but managing to hook a finger into his belt and engage the blade on my wrist.

"I believe you missed," he said, seconds before his pants fell to his ankles.

"Rule number one, Icky. I never miss."

Fighting the urge to look down, I laughed, letting him pull his pants back up with a huff.

"Don't worry, I left enough of your belt to be of use. You'll just have to cinch a little tighter. I'm sure you can manage."

"How considerate."

I didn't bother getting into position this time. He was sloppy, and I was highly trained and always ready. He lunged for me again, snagging my wrist and stealing the little knife I'd used before I ever saw his hand move.

"That's one for me and none for you."

"Good boy," I chided. "Again."

He moved without fear, looking directly into my eyes with solid composure. I'd never felt so bare before another. This time, he didn't charge me. Instead, he feigned left and spun right, and when I caught his arm, shoving him away from my ribs, the look of surprise on his face was a victory I didn't know I needed.

The king didn't hesitate, hitting the ground to sweep his leg below me, knocking me down. Springing into action, he flipped over me, swiping the tiny throwing knives on my rib cage.

Rolling, I crashed into him, throwing a punch to his ribs before stealing, not one, but two of his blades, which were exactly where I'd predicted they were. I grabbed his right foot and cranked it sideways until he twisted enough for me to yank the boot free and dump the third blade.

"At least you were smart enough to come armed, Icky."

"I'm beginning to hate that nickname," he growled, moving into position once more, something far darker passing across his face. "What's the score?"

"Three for me, three for you."

He tsked, opening his fist to reveal the serrated arrowhead I had sewn into the inside liner of my sleeve. Raising my arm, I cursed, studying the fresh slice into my favorite shirt. That clever asshole.

"I hate you more now than I did five seconds ago."

He inched forward. "Which of us are you trying to convince you're not having fun?"

He was right, and that pissed me off, too. My world had been a constant rotation of disappointing people for as long as I could remember. This was foreign. And enjoyable. And for just a second, I let myself wish there could be a sliver of hope and light in my future.

The new king moved closer again, a dare in his eyes as he reached for Chaos.

I hesitated for only a second before bringing a swift fist down on his forearm. "You'll have to pry that one from my cold, dead fingers."

"And this one?" he asked, pointing to the throwing knife still in place at my shoulder.

I twisted my lips into a smirk. "Try, King."

He matched my smile, and something sparked between us. Something I felt so strongly that I could barely hide the tiny gasp.

My back collided with the wall. He'd been stalking, and I'd been inching away without realizing, too consumed by his effortless distractions. He pressed his chest into me, and I shoved him, but his muscled body didn't budge an inch. That cocky smile returned, lighting his eyes. There were probably a hundred things I could have done to escape the arms that caged me in. But this was supposed to be a test.

"You're making me uncomfortable."

He searched my eyes before simply dropping his hands and stepping away. "I'm sorry."

My heart thundered in my chest, betraying all my emotions. He'd passed. And I think I wanted him to. Not because I was thrilled to marry a perfect stranger, but because tomorrow I would stand beside a man that didn't tremble at the thought of marrying me. If I never laid in his bed or shared a meal with him, that was fine. If he didn't come for advice on running his kingdom or share secrets with me, if we didn't walk the gardens hand in hand or spend a night in front of a fire telling stories, I could live with that. As long as he could look me in the eye when we passed in the halls, as long as he wasn't my enemy from the second we became bonded, I could handle it.

"Take the blade," I whispered.

He pulled the weapon at my shoulder in slow motion. Our gazes locked. The clatter to the floor didn't break the spell, nor did his bare knuckles brushing my arm where my shirt had been ripped. "I will replace your shirt. You have my word."

"After I marry you," I said, letting the moon-bathed world around us fade away.

"If you'll marry me," he corrected, lowering his voice.

"You haven't fully disarmed me, King," I said with no conviction whatsoever. Because in truth, he'd been flawlessly chipping away at my armor the whole time.

Ro's words echoed in my mind.

It doesn't matter who you marry, you get to start over. Fall in love.

I didn't know love. I'd hardly known kindness. But here, my future stood before me, wishing only for me, despite our titles and circumstances. How could I deny him tonight and marry him tomorrow when he'd so readily offered me something I was secretly desperate for?

"Tell me what is happening in that pretty head of yours, Princess Deyanira Sariah Hark, Death's Maiden, heir to the throne of Perth."

"I don't trust you enough to share my thoughts."

"I am definitely a scoundrel," he said, handing me the little arrowhead. "I wouldn't trust me either."

I bit my bottom lip, holding out one of his knives. "You're also hideous to look at."

"And I chew with my mouth open," he countered.

"I bet you snore."

"I should really see a doctor for that. And the morning breath is atrocious."

"Because you're a mouth breather?"

"Helps with the snoring."

"Makes sense. And what are you doing for that balding patch on the back of your head?"

He threw his palms up. "Whoa, whoa, Princess. It's all fun and games until you cross the line. This hair is and always will be perfect."

"Well, that's the deal-breaker. I can't marry someone with fragile masculinity."

He wanted to move forward so badly, to reenter my space, to overwhelm me. But the foot he'd lifted to take a step with replanted itself, showing his restraint as he clasped his hands behind his back.

Still, he practically growled at me, his eyes darkening. "If you crave masculinity, I'm certain I can deliver."

"That's an awfully bold statement for someone that just had their pants around their ankles."

He softened. "Don't pretend you didn't want to look."

"Don't pretend you didn't want me to… So, let's say I agree to marry you twelve hours early. What's your plan? We just stand here and initiate the binding? Is that what you want?"

"What do you want, Deyanira?"

The way he spoke my name, the way his voice tumbled down my spine, enraptured me. For a second, I felt weak, but the way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me, made me feel more. Stronger. Enough.

"I'll marry you anywhere but in my father's castle. If we're taking our future into our own hands, it should be on our terms. No traditions. Just our solemn vows and the binding. But should I wear the veil?"

He picked his weapons off the floor, stowing them into their rightful places before coming to stand before me and taking my hands. Intentionally touching me once again. "No. Save the veil for tomorrow. I think I'd prefer to watch you make the biggest mistake of your life."

"At least we can agree on one thing."

"Most women tend to find me very agreeable."

"Perfect statement to tell your future wife the day you meet."

He locked his fingers with mine, tugging me toward the window. "Come on, fearsome, king-slaying Death Maiden with thirty-two titles. Let's ruin everyone's plans."