Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
A hush fell over the crowd. Her father, Kivrin, stood in the front row. It was customary for him to walk her down the aisle, and though he had offered, she had declined. She wouldn’t bring him into this sham.
She stepped forward in the heeled slipper and tried to forget that she was entering an arranged marriage. That she hated her future husband. That there was nothing she could do to stop this.
That … there was only one person who could do anything about this.
And he’d left.
Her heart panged as her thoughts veered to Ford. Today was the last day she should think of him. Not as Prince Fordham Ollivier of the House of Shadows, but as her Ford. The male she had fallen in love with. The male who had flown off into the distance to break the curse that kept them apart. He wasn’t going to barge in today and demand her to be released from this bargain.
Still, her heart hoped. The traitorous thing.
She stopped before the dais, and finally, she lifted her gaze to March.
He was no longer the cherub-faced youth who had skinned squirrels alive to see what they looked like on the inside or the dangerous person he’d been who knew how to give her bruises where no one would see them. She’d hoped he would be ugly, but of course, full-blooded Fae were rarely unattractive. And he was devastatingly attractive. All sharp angles, hard jawline, dark features, and imperious blue eyes. He was tall and arrogant and charming. The bachelor of the season. And her worst nightmare.
His smile was as deadly as his anger. He thought he had fallen for her, that he understood love. But all he knew was that she was like him. She had been successful on the battlefield, a sight to behold atop her dragon, Tieran, and he had seen himself in that and suddenly wanted her.
“My lady,” March said, offering her his hand.
She glanced over her shoulder. Just one time with hope that Fordham would save her from this, but the doors were barred. No one would be getting through them. Though Fordham had his shadow magic and could jump inside this room anytime he wanted, he hadn’t made his appearance. She knew what that meant. She’d always known.
Love meant despair and defeat and death to Prince Fordham.
Love would never be enough.
“Kerrigan,” March said. His voice a note sharper. As if he knew precisely what she was thinking.
She turned her gaze back to him. Let him see the fury in her emerald eyes. Fury at him for forcing this upon her. For thinking that taming her unruly red curls into a delicate crown, hiding her softly pointed ears that revealed her half-Fae heritage, and draping her in frippery would change who she was or how she felt about him. She held that gaze for a beat and watched the shock appear on his face.
He had thought she had come around. That she could ever want this or him. She had let him think that while she planned a way out. Now that there was no way out, she could let him see precisely who he was marrying.
His face hardened, and he took her hand in a crushing grip. “Shall we?”
She stepped up onto the dais before the entire Bryonican court.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today for the marriage of Lord Ashby Hallinger March, First of the House of Medallion, to Lady Felicity Kerrigan Argon, First of the House of Cruse.”
The rest of the words disappeared in a haze. She was committed now. There was no turning back. Nothing could stop this. No cloud of black smoke to tilt her world back onto its axis. This was a nightmare that she couldn’t escape.
“You may now kiss the bride.”
And at the first touch of March’s hard lips against her own, she started screaming.
* * *
Kerrigan rocketed upright. Her screams tapered off as her gaze shifted around the dimly lit classroom inside Draco Mountain. The other two newest Society members, Audria and Roake, stared at her in horror. The current government instructor, Master Hayes, shot her a steely look.
“Is my instruction that horrifying, Mistress Kerrigan?”
She opened her mouth and then promptly closed it. It had been a dream. A literal nightmare. She wasn’t marrying March … yet. She still had months before that day came. Months before she had to walk down the aisle at Belcourt Palace. She didn’t even have a dress yet. They hadn’t even officially announced their intent to marry. That wouldn’t be happening until tomorrow at the final Season event of the year.
“My apologies, Master Hayes,” she croaked out.
She had been burning the candle at both ends ever since her return from the battlefield. Most nights were spent in nightmares that woke her, crying into her pillow. Her days were filled with catching up on studies, her new apprenticeship, and the current influx of half-Fae and human refugees from the House of Shadows. Now, apparently, her mind had taken her anxiety about seeing March again and forced their literal wedding into her nightmares.