Kingdom of the Cursed (Kingdom of the Wicked, #2) (48)

“Emilia.” His voice was quiet, but held a commanding edge. “Say something.”

“You said to avoid speaking in absolutes. They have a tendency to never stick, remember?”

“Do you recall anything I said the night you were attacked by the Viperidae?”

Wrath moved nearer, watching me carefully with each of his measured steps. I imagined he sensed how close I was to bolting and was doing his best to not make any sudden movements and spook me. His attention strayed to his Mark.

Unconsciously, I reached up to touch the place on my neck where the nearly invisible symbol marred my skin. I’d been in too much pain to absorb anything he’d said that night, and then we were in the bath together and the nightmares had begun soon after.

And before I awoke he’d said…

“I told you to live long enough to hate me. And I meant it.” He reached out and traced the side of my throat, his touch featherlight. “That was the night I Marked you. But that’s not all.”

Panic fluttered inside my rib cage like a trapped bird.

I had a terrible feeling I knew where this was going and I wanted no part in it. I swore my betrothal tattoo started tingling, reminding me it was there. As if I’d forgotten.

I forced my feet to stay firmly planted on the ground, though a large part of me wanted to take flight and race up to my rooms, lock the door, and never emerge.

“Stop.” I turned and started walking away. The new fear was growing. I didn’t want to hear any more of his confession. “Take me back to my chamber.”

“Not until you know the whole truth.”

Wrath now stood before me, his gaze fused to mine. I really despised his supernatural speed. He didn’t reach for me again, didn’t bar my path or crowd me into a corner, but his expression was laced with the promise of staying close to me until I was ready to hear his full confession. I knew he’d wait for an eternity if he had to, he’d wait until the sun burned out and the last star faded from the heavens. And I didn’t have that sort of time to waste.

I finally nodded, granting him permission to continue. To uproot my world once more.

“The magic I used that you’d mistaken for a rebirth spell? It was the Mark. It tethered us, flesh to flesh, in a way that allowed my powers to heal you. You only walked away from that attack because I took the venom into my body through that magical bond.”

His immortal body. A body that would not be cut down or ended by poison or venom or anything else that would have killed me. I swallowed hard. Wrath bonded himself to a sworn enemy just so I would live. The gravity of what he’d done. What he’d sacrificed to save me the night I’d gone after my sister’s amulet, fought the snakelike Viperidae demon, and had almost died, crashed into me. No wonder he’d been furious I’d been so cavalier about it.

His price had been steeper than I’d ever imagined. But then again, so was mine.

“The Mark was more than a way to summon me, or save you. Because of another magical bond we share, it was also part acceptance. I believe you understand where this story is headed, but would you like me to continue?”

My heart was now beating very fast at his choice of words. Acceptance. We weren’t talking about his summoning Mark and the magic he used to take the venom anymore. We were talking about my fear, the one that kept growing even now. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “I broke the spell after that.”

“You don’t sound certain. Yet the truth has always been there for you to see.”

I looked down at the traitorous ink on his bare arm; the magical tattoos that hadn’t disappeared. I’d suspected my spell reversal hadn’t worked but had pushed those worries aside. He was correct. I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge what it meant. I still didn’t.

“May I?” Wrath reached for my hand but stopped short of touching me. I nodded and he gently took my arm and rolled up the sleeve of my nightdress. He held his forearm to mine, waiting until the truth stopped fluttering around like a frightened bird and settled into me.

There was no denying they matched perfectly. And I knew why.

I dragged my attention from our tattoos up to his face. His beautiful, cold, royal face. The face that belonged to a fallen god. And my destroyer. Anticipation prickled my skin.

“You seek the truth? Allow me to give it freely. Pride has not summoned you to his court, nor will he ever attempt to. At least not for the reason you believe.”

“Because…”

I knew, oh goddess, I knew. Still, I needed him to say the words.

“You are not his intended, Emilia.” The world beneath me tilted. Wrath’s gaze was steady enough to keep both my knees and the realm from quaking. “You are mine.”





THIRTEEN


You are mine. Everything outside of those three words faded. My shock, denial, and utter confusion were simply gone. It was as if I’d stepped from Wrath’s library back into the nothingness of the void. My pulse pounded in every one of my cells. The phrase echoed softly, drummed against each of my nerves, embedded themselves into my heart.

It felt like the magic that bonded us fully came awake. Wrath’s admission somehow wrenched it from its slumber and gave it permission to stretch its arms wide.

This mighty warrior prince, brimming with immortal vitality and power, death and rage made flesh… suddenly, I was drawn into a vision.