All This Twisted Glory, page 23
He shouldn’t have gone.
He’d known better than to try to see her, but in the end he was a disappointment even to himself, only capable of so much self-restraint. Nearly a month he’d been kept from even seeing her face while she suffered, forced to remain at the farthest edge of the Diviners’ property while the others came and went at their leisure. It’d been hard enough to endure this separation when he knew she was safe and healing—but when he’d heard of the attempt on her life he’d nearly lost his head. All he could do was wait—wait for a signal that she was all right, wait for word that she was leaving the temple, wait at the door for her to arrive—
It was annihilating, the power she held over him.
He finally exhaled, his body shaking slightly. She’d been here once, had broken his door, shattered his things. All this had since been mended, but the echoes of that evening persisted. He blinked as he looked around the room, its details beginning to come into focus. The towering bookcases; the velvet couches; the prodigious fireplace. His desk was a disorganized mess of unbound manuscripts, uncapped wells of ink, and unsorted crystals, the chaos of which only heightened his anxiety. When he wasn’t being tortured by Iblees he often buried himself in work as a means to occupy his mind. Tulan was a small enough empire that he need not rule by committee, but he met weekly with the heads of his noble houses and took his responsibility to the people—from the soldiers to the farmers—very seriously. At the moment, they were all voicing the same concerns about the steadily growing masses, the increase in external threats.
The matter of his impending marriage.
Cyrus sat down blindly on the nearest sofa, disturbing a sheaf of papers as he sank into the cushions. There was a small, cut crystal bowl of apricots on the low table before him, which he focused his eyes upon now. He’d picked these apricots just this morning; there was a lone tree along the overgrown path that led to the Diviners Quarters; it had been growing there since he was a child, and he’d been pocketing its fruit for as long as he could remember, for it never stopped blooming.
He reached for one of the apricots now, closing its soft, small shape into his hand as his thoughts raged. His mind kept returning to Alizeh and Kamran, to images of their embrace in the back of the carriage. The way she’d looked at him; the way he’d held her. Cyrus relinquished the apricot, which rolled to the floor, then dropped his head in his hands, his chest caving as he exhaled.
They’d reconciled, then.
Doubtless the Ardunian had told her everything, had talked it all through. Any minute now Alizeh would be along to bring Cyrus the good news that she’d be accepting his offer of marriage. She’d likely spare him the rest—too merciful to announce that she’d be marrying him while being quietly betrothed to another, the two of them conspiring to kill him and combine their empires.
Cyrus knew he was unworthy of her—knew he had no right to hope for more than the terms he’d offered—and yet he could not calm the commotion in his chest, his heart thudding so hard he almost didn’t hear the gentle knock at his door.
He turned toward the sound like a stone unearthed. He stood slowly, as if soaked in water, and moved through room after room in a stupor, reaching the main door without remembering how.
He stood before the closed panel, his hand on the handle. He recoiled slightly when the knock came again.
“Cyrus?” she said softly. “Are you there?”
The sound of her voice nearly unhinged him.
For weeks he’d lived in dreams of her; he’d memorized her laughter, held her naked in his arms, had known her gasps and cries of pleasure. She’d healed him and loved him. Touched him. Tasted him.
Fuck. This was going to kill him.
He took a shaky breath and pulled open the door.
Twenty-Seven
ALIZEH LOST HER STRENGTH AT the sight of his face.
His golden skin and startling blue eyes, the sheen of his coppery hair, his luminous features juxtaposing harshly against his black attire. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how arresting. She couldn’t remember if she’d ever stared at him straight on like this, free to map the cut of his cheekbones, the sharp lines of his jaw. He looked better rested than she remembered; more radiant as a result.
Heavens, he was breathtaking.
She watched him take in her elaborate gown, lingering almost imperceptibly along the details of the sheer bodice, its artfully placed beading and appliqués. She’d left the crown and veil behind, and her hair, in its simple updo, had begun to come undone; he focused on one of these loose tendrils, his face gilded by the warm glow of nearby lamplight. His lips were soft, and they parted when he swallowed, the movement drawing her eyes to the column of his throat.
“Hello,” she said softly.
In response he only exhaled, turning his eyes to the doorjamb. She waited a moment for him to speak, and when he said nothing, she was surprised. She realized with creeping, prickling mortification that she’d expected Cyrus to convey great emotion at the sight of her. She’d expected him to ask after her health, to express pleasure at her recovery, to show concern about the recent attempt on her life. Instead, he radiated a tension that seemed to indicate only a growing impatience, which left her stunned. After his devastating confessions, his proprietary actions toward her; after he’d saved her life and all but painted the city with flowers in her honor—
“Was there something you needed?” he said quietly. “It’s rather late.”
“I— Forgive me,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
He glanced at something out of sight, then returned his eyes to the doorjamb. “I take it you’ve just arrived,” he said. “Whatever you require may be procured. You need only ask; the servants know to attend to you without limitations. If you’re in need of a lady’s maid—”
“No,” she said, unnerved. “No, it’s not that—”
“Very well. Please let me know if I can be of service.” He withdrew with a respectful nod, and Alizeh, her mind finally catching up to her body, threw out her hand to keep the door open.
“Cyrus,” she said, alarmed. “Will you not look at me?”
He froze briefly before meeting her eyes, and when he did it was with a politeness so detached it astonished her. “Yes?” he said. “Was there something else?”
She heard the scurry of passing snodas, and drew closer to the door. “May I come inside? And speak with you privately?”
Fear awoke in his gaze, so fleeting it was gone before she was convinced it had even existed. She searched for it again in his expression, but he only looked at her steadily, his composure cool as he said, “Of course.”
He stepped aside to let her pass.
Alizeh had once been worried about the impropriety of visiting Cyrus in his bedchamber, but now that she knew she would marry him, the potential gossip no longer bothered her. Glancing once more at a passing snoda, she crossed the threshold into his room. As soon as she heard the door snick shut behind her, her heart took flight.
She hadn’t been alone with him since that night. The night everything and nothing had happened between them.
Cyrus moved with ease, striding away from the door into the decadent antechamber. There was lush seating gathered around a pair of low tables, and Cyrus stood behind a chair while gesturing deferentially to another. He was waiting for her to take a seat before he sat down, and the attentive action was so unlike an imperious king it shocked her. Just earlier, Kamran had boarded the coach before she did, and Alizeh had thought nothing of it; expected nothing more. Always Cyrus was confusing her, and she was made so anxious by this simple gesture that she shook her head at him, too nervous to comply.
“You’d rather stand?” He seemed surprised. “I take it this will be brief, then.”
“I— Yes—” Her heart would not slow its pounding. She felt feverish in his presence, and it was destroying her capacity for calm. “Yes, I’ve come to tell you— That is, I just wanted you to know that I’ve decided to accept your proposal,” she said finally. “Of marriage.”
He looked at her, his eyes placid. “Excellent.”
“Is it?” she said, attempting a smile. She clasped her hands against her waist, not knowing where to look. “I thought you’d be more pleased to hear it.”
“I don’t mean to offend,” he said, lowering his head. “It’s only that I find it hard to celebrate the orders of the devil.”
Alizeh nearly winced; she felt so stupid. Of course he wouldn’t rejoice at the news; it was a terrible bargain for him, one that ended, theoretically, with his murder. She supposed she’d only hoped to see more of a reaction from him in general, for he’d been so passionate the last time they’d spoken, except—heavens, that felt unfair, too, for he owed her nothing of his emotions. She’d made it clear she wanted him only for his empire, and expecting him to fall apart at her feet was nothing short of sadistic.
Angels above, she was disappointed in herself.
“Forgive me,” she said, her eyes catching on the soft glow of a sconce. “That was a foolish thing to say.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” he said quietly. “Thank you for informing me of your decision.”
Alizeh nodded, even as she felt a disturbing desire to scream. She didn’t understand this coldness between them, for it had never been this way, not even when she’d hated him. She averted her eyes, knowing she should leave even when some part of her longed to stay. “I’ll bid you good night, then,” she said quietly, and headed for the door.
“When?”
She turned, stunned, for the single word was charged with more feeling than any she’d received from him tonight.
“I beg your pardon?” she said.
“When,” he said, “will you be ready to take your vows?”
Alizeh blanched. She’d never thought of it that way: that she would vow to marry this man. That she’d promise aloud to honor and love and care for him for the rest of her life. To all the world thereafter he’d be known as her husband.
She, his wife.
The idea should’ve been offensive to her—but she was drawn, inexorably, to the idea of being with him. He, who was unproven and untrustworthy. He, whose life was braided with the devil’s. She’d never thought of herself as someone with such poor instincts, but she could imagine no other explanation for the ineffable pull she felt in his presence, the soul-deep reach. It was dangerous, how her heart beat at the sight of him. She knew she shouldn’t allow herself to feel such things when their marriage was destined to end in murder. And yet. When had she ever been so heavy with want?
“As soon as possible,” she whispered.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes— No,” she corrected, trying to center herself. “The servants will need at least a couple of days to prepare, I think.”
He studied her with something that approached bewilderment. “Prepare for what? We need only a pair of witnesses and a Diviner to bind us.”
She hesitated. “Certainly some arrangements will need to be made. I realize it might be difficult to wed publicly—as I can’t imagine how we might secure such an event—but if at all possible, I wish for my people to bear witness. And maybe we could have a small cake? I think Omid would like that. And the staff, too, surely they’d enjoy—”
“No.”
She stared at him in surprise. “No? You don’t want cake?”
“No,” he said angrily. “I don’t want cake.”
“Very well,” she said, lowering her eyes. “I, myself, have never had cake. I don’t know whether it’s any good, but as it’s traditional in Clay weddings, I assumed—”
“You’ve never had cake?” he said, sounding suddenly bleak.
“My parents didn’t know how to cook or bake,” she said quietly. “And later, of course”—she looked away—“such luxuries were not within my reach.” She took a bracing breath, forcing herself to brighten as she met his eyes again. “Anyway, perhaps instead you might consent to wear something other than this black uniform—”
“No.”
“Cyrus—”
“No.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “This was your idea—you wanted to get married—”
“Are you trying to punish me?” he said, his voice rising in anguish. “Do you really think me capable of pretending our wedding day is the happiest day of my life?”
She tried to maintain her composure then, steeling herself as she said, “Would you instead disgrace me in front of the world, making it seem as if marrying me is a chore? Will you spend our wedding day in a foul mood and funereal clothes? Would you have your household believe you detest me by denying them so much as a bite of something sweet in my honor?”
She saw the fight leave his body then, heard his unsteady exhale.
“Fine,” he said, the word so soft it was hardly a whisper. “Do what you will.”
“Thank you.”
Again, he exhaled, this time turning away from her as he dragged his hands down his face. His self-control seemed to be crumbling, for he was almost visibly shaking now; but with each passing second Alizeh, too, felt herself grow weaker before him. There was an unmistakable heat between them, an electric pull she lacked the strength to resist. She didn’t even realize she’d drawn closer to him until he suddenly backed away, his eyes devouring her as she approached, darkening with a need so palpable she felt as if he’d stripped her bare.
Finally, she saw a shade of truth in his gaze, and she could hardly breathe in the face of it.
“Cyrus—”
“No,” he said sharply. “Don’t.”
She stopped in place, just inches separating them now. “Don’t what?”
“Alizeh,” he said. His chest was heaving, his body rigid with tension. “Be merciful.”
These words lit a dangerous fire within her.
She told herself to withdraw, but just then she couldn’t seem to move. She was in his orbit now, so close she could see the sharp wisps of his copper lashes, her head humid with sense memory. She wanted to touch him, to know the heat of his skin. She knew what his body was like under those clothes, how much power and passion he kept tightly leashed inside him. It was a revelation she’d been slow to unravel about Cyrus: that he possessed such careful control, such extraordinary discipline over his own body. Cyrus’s desire for her had been as scorching as a summer heat; she’d felt desperate under the weight of it, yet he’d not lifted a finger to her body. He’d never kissed her, never simply claimed what he wanted. Not the way Kamran once had.
This was a fascinating discovery indeed—for royals, so saturated in overindulgence, seldom knew how to deny themselves. Having worked in a number of prominent houses, Alizeh knew firsthand that the rich and titled were gluttons of the worst variety. Upon first engaging with Cyrus she’d been so distracted by his perceived monstrousness that she’d failed to notice the inconsistencies in his royal character. His modest presence was perplexing enough: his plain clothes, his conspicuous lack of jewels or adornment—even the common way he’d tended to his own dragon. More interesting was that he had no attendants, no entourage trailing him, no snodas supplicating at his heels. But perhaps most unaccountable was that the servants did not quaver around him; they didn’t fall to their knees in his presence.
She marveled at these realizations now, and very carefully, she stepped back, putting at least two feet between them.
This distance seemed to accomplish nothing.
A dam had broken, and there was no repairing it. Gone was his cool exterior, his eyes bright now with the fire of pain and hunger. The longer she looked at him the more unsteady she felt, and soon the fever between them reached a dangerous pitch, her own torment growing so acute she felt desperate to sit down. She wanted relief she didn’t understand, wanted something from him she couldn’t name. Her every feeling was so heightened she worried she might cry out if he so much as walked toward her.
“Cyrus—”
“We should perform the blood oath tonight,” he said, turning his body away.
“What?” She blinked; her head was swimming.
“If we’re to be married so soon, we should not delay.” His voice was rough, and he paused to clear it. “I’d prefer to have a couple of days to recover before the ceremony.”
This shocking statement produced precisely the cooling effect Alizeh required. It was an ice bath of reality, one she’d nearly overlooked.
Blood oaths were morally reprehensible, and yet she could not see a way around such a provision in this circumstance. It was the only way to be certain Cyrus would uphold his end of the bargain.
“I’ve never seen it done before,” she said, sobered. “I’ve only heard stories. Will it be very bad for you?”
He kept his eyes on the ground when he said, softly, “It is my understanding that, in the beginning, there will be a great deal of pain.”
“Will it get better?”
“It depends.”
“On what?”
He shook his head, still avoiding her eyes. “These details are of little importance. If it’s amenable to you, I’d like to perform the oath tonight.”
She tried to adjust to the idea. “We’ll need a Diviner, won’t we? Is it too late?”
