Lysander Bellrose The first time my father told me I was getting married, I laughed. The second time, I laughed harder. By the third time, I realized he wasn't joking, and I seriously considered throwing myself out of the breakfast room window. Unfortunately, we lived on the second floor, and I wasn't particularly interested in breaking my legs before breakfast. "You want me to marry WHO?" My father pressed his fingers against his forehead. "The Serpent King, Lysander." I stared at him. Then I stared at my mother, who suddenly seemed fascinated by her teacup. Then I looked back at my father. "The immortal Serpent King?" "Yes." "The ruler of Nagaeon?" "Yes." "The one whose subjects supposedly eat humans for breakfast?" "Lysander, they do not eat humans for breakfast!" "Oh, wonderful. So I'm marrying a man whose people might eat me for lunch instead." My mother sighed, and I considered that a victory. For twenty-three years, I had endured lectures about manners, responsibility, family honor, and the importance of marrying someone respectable. Apparently, my family's definition of respectable had finally expanded to include a terrifying supernatural monarch. I leaned back in my chair. "Father, I have a question." "What?" "Have you lost your mind, or has someone stolen it?" His expression darkened. "Lysander!" "What? I'm concerned about your health." "You will marry King Sylas Nocthar." There it was again, that ridiculous name. Sylas Nocthar. It sounded like the name of a villain who murdered entire villages before breakfast and complained when the blood stained his expensive boots. I picked up my cup and took a sip of tea. It was cold. Naturally. Apparently, even my tea had decided to abandon me. "Why me?" I asked. My father hesitated, and that hesitation told me everything. Our family was broke. Not the charming sort of broke where one sells an unnecessary carriage and complains about having only three servants. No. We were the sort of broke where my father had started counting coins in his study and pretending not to notice when the servants reused candles. Our estate had debts. Our lands had been sold. Our family name, once respected throughout Valedria, was losing its shine. And now my father had apparently decided that selling his second son to a serpent was an excellent financial strategy. "The ancient treaty requires a human consort from a recognized noble family," he explained. "The king has requested one, and our family has been selected." "Selected?" "Yes." "Like a particularly unfortunate vegetable at the market?" My father slammed his palm against the table. I flinched. Not because I was afraid of him, but because the table had survived three generations of Bellroses, and I would hate to be responsible for its premature death. "This is a serious matter!" "So is my future, Father. Yet nobody seems interested in discussing it with me." My mother finally looked up. "Lysander, darling, please understand. This marriage will protect our family." "And what will it do to me?" Neither of them answered. I laughed softly, because for once, I couldn't think of anything funny to say. My father had already agreed. He had made the decision, signed whatever documents needed signing, and arranged my marriage without asking whether I wanted it. I was twenty-three years old, and apparently, that was old enough to be sacrificed but not old enough to decide whom I married. "When do I leave?" I asked. "Tomorrow morning." I stared at him. "Tomorrow?" "Yes." "Wonderful. Should I pack my belongings, or would the king prefer them delivered separately with a ribbon?" "Lysander, enough." I stood. "Of course, Father. Heaven forbid I complain about being sent to marry a man I've never met." I left the breakfast room before he could respond. Behind me, my mother called my name, and I pretended not to hear her. If I stayed another minute, I might actually cry, and I would rather swallow a spoon than give my father the satisfaction of seeing me break. Besides, I had more important things to worry about. Such as whether serpents had teeth. And whether their king had scales beneath his clothes. And whether I would be expected to share a bed with a creature that could swallow me whole. Honestly, my prospects were looking terrible. By the following morning, my belongings had been packed into four trunks. Four. I stood in my bedroom, staring at them. "Am I getting married or being exiled?" My personal attendant, Thomas, folded another shirt. "Your father wants you to make a good impression, my lord." "On the king or his dinner guests?" Thomas paused. I sighed. "That was a joke." "I know, my lord." "You look frightened." "I'm not frightened." "Thomas, you look like you're attending my funeral." He lowered his head. I patted his shoulder. "Cheer up. If I die, you can have my blue coat." "Please don't say that." "Fine. You can have the black one instead." He looked even more miserable, so I decided to stop helping. After breakfast, I spent several minutes examining myself in the mirror. Dark brown hair. Green eyes. A face my mother described as handsome and my older relatives described as wasted potential. Personally, I thought I looked perfectly acceptable. I wasn't a prince, a warrior, or a magical prodigy. I was simply Lysander Bellrose, a nobleman with an unfortunate mouth and a family that had apparently decided I was expendable. I adjusted my collar. "Well, Lysander," I told my reflection, "today you become someone's husband." I paused. "God, that sounds awful." Then I grabbed my coat and left. The journey to Nagaeon took two days. Two miserable, uncomfortable, soul-destroying days. The carriage bounced over rocky roads, my back hurt, and the food provided by the traveling attendants tasted like someone had boiled a shoe. By the third morning, I was ready to declare war on the entire mountain range. Then the carriage stopped. I leaned toward the window. "Why have we stopped?" The driver opened the door. "We've arrived, my lord." I stepped outside and immediately forgot every complaint I had prepared. The palace was enormous. Dark towers rose against the cloudy sky, connected by black bridges that stretched over a seemingly bottomless ravine. Silver serpents were carved into the stone walls, their mouths open around crowns. The gates were tall enough to accommodate a giant, and beyond them, strange figures moved through the courtyard. Some looked human. Others had scales along their necks, slit pupils, horns, or long tails. I stared. One of the guards turned toward me, revealing golden eyes with narrow, reptilian pupils, and I stared harder. Then I leaned toward Thomas. "Are you absolutely certain my father couldn't have sent someone else?" Thomas swallowed. "Yes, my lord." "Terrible. Absolutely terrible." The palace gates opened, and every person in the courtyard immediately bowed their head. I looked around. Then I looked at the enormous doors. "Oh, no." Thomas glanced at me. "What is it?" "Someone important is coming." "That's the king, my lord." "Yes, Thomas. I gathered that from the sudden appearance of a hundred people who look as though they've forgotten how to breathe." Footsteps echoed across the stone. I turned, and there he was. King Sylas Nocthar. My future husband. My first thought was that my father had neglected to mention something rather important. The Serpent King was ridiculously handsome. He appeared to be in his late twenties, with long black hair, pale skin, sharp features, and golden eyes that reminded me of sunlight trapped inside amber. He wore black robes embroidered with silver serpents. He was tall, elegant, and terrifyingly beautiful. My second thought was considerably less dignified. Oh, no. He's a man. Of course, I knew that already. My father had explicitly told me I was marrying a male serpent king. But knowing something and actually standing in front of the man you were expected to marry were two entirely different experiences. Was I gay now? Was that how this worked? Did one royal decree automatically change a person's entire romantic life? I glanced at Sylas again. Well. At least he was handsome. Then I mentally slapped myself. Absolutely not. I was not going to develop a crush on a man who could probably have me executed before lunch. Besides, I had no idea whether I even liked men. I had never imagined marrying one, and I certainly hadn't imagined marrying an immortal serpent king who looked as though he could ruin someone's life with a single glance. Sylas stopped in front of me. His golden eyes swept over my face. "You are the human consort?" I glanced behind myself. There was nobody else near the carriage. "Unless my father secretly arranged for a second victim, yes." The silence that followed was extraordinary. I almost admired it. The king tilted his head. "You have a remarkable mouth." "Thank you. I've had it my entire life." Someone behind him made a strange choking sound. I suspected it was a guard trying not to laugh. Sylas didn't smile. Perhaps the man had never heard a joke in his entire immortal life, which was a tragic condition. "You know who I am?" he asked. "Judging by everyone's reaction, I'm guessing you're the king." "And if I am?" "Then I would like to complain about the journey." His gaze sharpened. I swallowed. Perhaps I should have kept that particular thought inside my head, but it was too late now. "You have been brought here to become my consort," he said. "I gathered that from the four trunks my father packed." "You will obey the laws of my kingdom." "Naturally." "You will not enter restricted chambers without permission." "Understandable." "You will not interfere in matters of state." "Unless matters of state interfere with my breakfast?" The courtyard fell silent. I stared at him, and he stared back. I began to suspect that my future husband was not particularly fond of me, which was an unfortunate development, considering we had known each other for approximately thirty seconds. "You are either very brave or very foolish," he said. "I've been accused of both." He stepped closer. I caught a strange scent in the air, something cold and dark, like rain on stone, and the back of my neck prickled. For one brief moment, I felt the overwhelming urge to step away. I refused. I had already been dragged across two days of miserable roads to marry this man, and I would not begin our relationship by allowing his perfume to intimidate me. "Do you object to marrying me?" Sylas asked. I blinked. Was he serious? "Your Majesty, I object to marrying a man I met approximately three minutes ago." "And yet you came." "My father has a regrettable habit of making decisions for other people." "Then perhaps you should learn to obey him." I smiled. "Perhaps you should learn that not everyone is your subject." The guards looked ready to dig my grave. Sylas studied me with an expression I couldn't quite understand, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he was deciding whether I was amusing enough to keep alive. Finally, he straightened. "Take him to the east wing. The wedding will take place soon." I frowned. "Excuse me?" He turned his head. "Did I speak unclearly?" "You said wedding. I was under the impression that the treaty required a consort, not a husband who gets delivered like a parcel." His eyes narrowed. "Do you object to marrying me?" "Yes." The word escaped before I could stop it. Wonderful. I had just rejected the most powerful man in the kingdom. Perhaps I should have asked Thomas to pack a shovel. Sylas stepped closer. "You are standing in my kingdom, human." "I noticed." "You will follow my rules." "And you will follow mine." A dangerous silence settled between us. Then the king's mouth curved ever so slightly. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was the sort of smile a predator might wear when it discovered that its prey had teeth. "Interesting." He turned away. "Bring him to me tomorrow." And just like that, my future husband walked back into his enormous palace, leaving me standing in the courtyard with a rapidly deteriorating sense of self-preservation. I watched him disappear, then turned to Thomas. "Well." Thomas looked pale. "My lord, you cannot speak to the king like that." "Apparently, I can." "He could have you imprisoned." "Then I hope the prison has comfortable beds." Thomas looked ready to cry. I sighed and followed the attendants inside. The palace was even more impressive from within. Marble floors stretched beneath towering ceilings, and silver serpents decorated the pillars. Strange paintings lined the walls, depicting ancient battles between humans and creatures I couldn't identify. I tried not to stare at everything. I failed. A servant led me through several corridors before opening the doors to a spacious bedroom. The bed was enormous. The curtains were black. The windows overlooked a garden filled with silver-leaved trees. I stepped inside. "Is this my room?" "Yes, my lord." "Wonderful. Does it come with an escape route?" The servant stared at me. "That was another joke," I explained. Nobody in this kingdom seemed to appreciate my sense of humor. Perhaps they needed time. Or perhaps they were all born without functioning personalities. Once the servants left, I closed the door and leaned against it. For the first time since arriving, I allowed myself to breathe. I was in Nagaeon. I was going to marry a man. A very handsome man. A terrifyingly handsome man who looked no older than twenty-eight despite supposedly having lived for centuries. And I had already managed to insult him repeatedly. I pressed both hands against my face. "What have I done?" Nothing, technically. My father had done it. But that was hardly comforting. I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Tomorrow, I would see Sylas again. Soon, I would become his husband. I had no idea what that marriage would mean, what the king expected from me, or whether I would survive long enough to regret it properly. But I knew one thing. If Sylas Nocthar expected me to become a silent, obedient consort who bowed whenever he entered a room, he was going to have a very unpleasant surprise. I might be an ordinary human. I might have no magic, no army, and no powerful relatives willing to rescue me. But I still had my mouth, and I intended to use it. After all, if I was going to be trapped in a marriage with the most terrifying king in the supernatural world, I might as well make his life as miserable as he was about to make mine.

Lysander Bellrose I woke up married to a serpent. Technically, I had gone to sleep married to a serpent, too, but the distinction did little to improve my situation. The first thing I noticed was the enormous bed. The second was the unfamiliar ceiling decorated with silver serpents. The third was the absolute silence surrounding me. I lay there for several seconds, staring upward. Then I remembered everything. My father. The treaty. The journey to Nagaeon. The terrifyingly handsome king with cold eyes and a personality that could make a funeral seem cheerful. Sylas Nocthar. My husband. I pulled the blanket over my face. "I want a refund." Unfortunately, the universe had never been particularly generous toward me, and apparently, it wasn't about to start now. A knock sounded at the door. "Your Highness?" I lowered the blanket. Your Highness. That was me. How unfortunate. "Come in," I called. The door opened, and a woman entered carrying a silver tray. She wore a dark uniform, her black hair neatly arranged in a bun. Her expression was perfectly composed, which immediately made me suspicious. People who looked that calm in a palace full of supernatural creatures were either exceptionally brave or exceptionally good at hiding their desire to scream. "Good morning, Your Highness. I am Mara, the royal attendant assigned to your chambers." "Wonderful. Does your job description include helping unfortunate humans escape through windows?" Her expression didn't change. "I am afraid not, Your Highness." "Shame. You could have earned a very generous tip." "I shall inform the head attendant of your disappointment." I stared at her, and she stared back. Oh, I was going to like this woman. Or she was going to have me thrown into a dungeon. Either possibility seemed equally likely. Mara placed the tray on a nearby table. "His Majesty requests your presence at breakfast." "Requests?" "Yes, Your Highness." "How polite of him." "He also expects you to be ready within half an hour." I looked down at myself. I was wearing a loose sleeping shirt that definitely hadn't belonged to me before yesterday. My hair probably looked like a bird had attempted to build a nest on my head, and I hadn't even brushed my teeth. "Tell His Majesty that his husband is currently negotiating with his bed." Mara blinked. For the first time, her composed expression cracked. Only slightly, but I saw it. "His Majesty may not appreciate that response." "Then perhaps His Majesty should have married someone who appreciates being ordered around." Mara pressed her lips together. I suspected she was fighting a smile, but unfortunately, she recovered quickly. "I shall prepare your clothes, Your Highness." And just like that, I had lost my first battle of the morning. Half an hour later, I stood in front of a mirror while two attendants adjusted the ridiculous amount of fabric wrapped around my body. The outfit was black, embroidered with silver thread along the collar and sleeves. A silver serpent clasp held the cloak over my shoulders, its tiny jeweled eyes gleaming whenever I moved. I looked expensive. I also looked like I had been kidnapped by a very wealthy cult. "Is all this necessary?" I asked. "Royal tradition, Your Highness," one attendant replied. "Does royal tradition require me to wear enough fabric to smother a small village?" Neither woman answered. I sighed. Fine. If I had to live in this palace, I would at least make sure the servants remembered me as the most irritating consort Nagaeon had ever acquired. When Mara finally led me out, I discovered that the palace was even larger than I had imagined. Black marble floors stretched beneath towering pillars. Silver lanterns floated near the ceiling without chains or visible support. Enormous windows overlooked gardens filled with flowers that glowed faintly in the morning light. Everywhere I looked, there were serpents. Carved into the walls. Woven into tapestries. Embroidered onto curtains. I was beginning to suspect the king had a serious obsession. Then again, if I had been born with scales instead of common sense, perhaps I would decorate everything with pictures of myself, too. We passed several servants, who immediately bowed. "Your Highness." "Your Highness." "Your Highness." I smiled at them. "Good morning. Lovely weather for a kingdom ruled by reptiles." Mara made a strangled noise beside me. I continued walking as though I hadn't said anything unusual. By the time we reached the dining hall, I had decided that if I survived the next month, I deserved a medal. Preferably one made of gold. The dining hall doors opened, and there he was. Sylas Nocthar sat at the head of a long black table, dressed in a fitted black shirt with silver buttons. His dark hair was neatly arranged, and his expression suggested that the entire world had personally disappointed him before breakfast. A cup rested beside his right hand. He didn't look up when I entered. I stopped at the doorway. "Good morning to you, too, dear husband." His fingers paused around the cup. Slowly, he raised his eyes. Those cold, unnervingly golden eyes settled on me. "You're late." I glanced at the enormous windows. The sun had barely risen. "Am I? I must have missed the royal announcement declaring that breakfast begins before the birds wake up." "Sit down, Lysander." "Please, after you, Your Majesty. Oh, wait. You're already sitting." His gaze sharpened. I smiled sweetly. It was a terrible habit of mine, smiling at people who could have me executed. Perhaps I needed a hobby. Sylas gestured toward the chair on his right. I took my time walking over and pulled it out. The moment I sat down, a servant placed a plate in front of me. There was bread, fruit, eggs, and something that looked suspiciously like a tiny roasted animal. I pointed at it. "What is that?" "Spiced river serpent, Your Highness," the servant answered. I slowly lowered my fork. "Of course it is." Sylas continued drinking his tea. I turned toward him. "Do you eat your relatives often, or is this a special occasion?" The room became so quiet I could hear the faint crackle of the lanterns. Sylas lowered his cup. "Are you always this irritating?" "Only when I'm hungry." "Then eat." "Gladly. As long as you promise not to serve me your cousin next." The servant looked as though she wanted to disappear into the floor. Sylas, however, merely studied me. For one uncomfortable moment, I thought he might actually smile. He didn't. Instead, he returned his attention to his tea. "You're a strange human." "And you're a strange husband. I suppose we're both learning." "I don't intend to learn anything from you." "Excellent. That saves us both the trouble." I reached for the bread. Breakfast was going wonderfully. I had barely finished eating when Sylas dismissed the servants. That was never a good sign. I watched the last attendant leave before turning back to my husband. "Should I be concerned?" "That depends." "On what?" "Whether you intend to behave yourself." I leaned back in my chair. "Define behave." His expression remained unchanged. "You will not leave the palace grounds without permission. You will not enter the eastern wing. You will not interfere with royal affairs. And you will not approach the royal council unless summoned." I counted the rules on my fingers. "Anything else? Should I stop breathing without permission, too?" "If necessary." I stared at him, and he stared back. Then I laughed. Not because he was funny, but because if I didn't laugh, I might start wondering whether I had made the worst decision of my life by not throwing myself off the carriage somewhere along the journey. "You're serious." "Entirely." "Wonderful. I've married a tyrant." "You married the Serpent King." "Same thing, apparently." Sylas rose from his chair. Even sitting down, he had seemed intimidating. Standing, he was worse. He approached me with the measured confidence of someone who had never once considered that another person might refuse him. I refused to move. He stopped beside my chair. "You will remember your position in this palace, Lysander." I tilted my head back to look at him. "And you will remember mine, Sylas." Something shifted in his expression. Perhaps it was surprise. Perhaps it was irritation. I couldn't tell, and I wasn't particularly interested in finding out. "I am your consort," I continued. "Not your prisoner, not your servant, and certainly not one of your decorative little statues. If you expect me to live here, then you can at least treat me like a person." His gaze turned colder. "Be careful." "Or what?" The words escaped before common sense could tackle them to the ground. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then Sylas leaned closer. "Do you truly believe you understand the danger of provoking me?" "No," I answered honestly. "But I'm beginning to understand why you eat breakfast alone." Silence. Absolute, magnificent silence. I was going to die. I was definitely going to die. And the worst part was that I would deserve it. Sylas straightened. "Your rooms are on the western side of the palace. You will remain there until I decide otherwise." "How generous." "Do not mistake my restraint for kindness." "I wouldn't dream of it." He turned toward the door. I watched him leave, my heart pounding far more violently than I wanted to admit. The doors closed behind him. I remained in my chair, then slowly lowered my head onto the table. "Father," I whispered to the empty room, "I hope the money was worth it." I was beginning to understand the rules of Nagaeon. The servants feared the king. The guards obeyed the king. The council feared disappointing the king. And the king appeared to hate absolutely everyone. It was an impressive achievement, really. By midday, Mara had shown me the gardens, the library, and several corridors I had already forgotten. She had also warned me three times not to approach the eastern wing. Naturally, that was the only place I wanted to see. "What is in the eastern wing?" I asked. "Private royal chambers and restricted rooms." "That sounds suspiciously like a place where someone keeps a terrible secret." "Your Highness." "What? I'm only curious." "Curiosity can be dangerous here." I glanced at her. For the first time since arriving, she looked genuinely serious. I decided not to push her. Not because I was obedient, but because I preferred discovering secrets while alive. We returned to my chambers shortly before dusk. Mara helped me remove the heavy cloak, then bowed. "His Majesty may not dine with you tonight." I looked up from the book I had been pretending to read. "May not?" "He has other obligations." "Royal obligations?" "Yes, Your Highness." I narrowed my eyes. There was something peculiar about the way she answered. "What sort of obligations?" Mara hesitated. Only for a second, but it was enough. "The king's private affairs are not for me to discuss." Ah. I understood. Or at least, I suspected I did. The Serpent King had married me yesterday, ordered me around this morning, and now had no intention of spending the evening with his new husband. How romantic. Truly, poets would weep. "Don't worry," I told her. "I'm not expecting him to serenade me beneath the moonlight." Mara's expression softened. "His Majesty has always lived according to his own rules." "Then he should be delighted to learn that I do the same." She bowed and left. I waited until the door closed before tossing the book aside. I wasn't jealous. Absolutely not. I had known Sylas for approximately one day. I didn't love him, I didn't trust him, and I certainly wasn't going to develop feelings for a man who regarded me like an inconvenient piece of furniture. Besides, I wasn't even sure what I wanted romantically. I had never planned to marry a man, let alone one who looked as though he had stepped out of a painter's most expensive fantasy. But finding someone handsome didn't mean I wanted to spend my life with him. And being married didn't mean I had to pretend everything was perfect. I walked to the window. The gardens below were bathed in silver moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, bells rang, their haunting notes drifting across the palace grounds. Then I noticed movement near the opposite courtyard. A group of servants hurried through a side entrance. One carried a tray covered with a black cloth. Another held a bottle of dark glass. A third walked ahead of them, checking the corridor before allowing them to proceed. They were heading toward the private wing. The eastern wing. I watched them disappear behind the towering doors. My curiosity stirred. I knew I had been warned not to go there. I also knew that Sylas Nocthar was keeping something from me. And if there was one thing I disliked more than being ordered around, it was being left in the dark. I stepped away from the window. "No," I muttered to myself. "Absolutely not. I am not stupid enough to investigate a forbidden wing in a palace full of supernatural murderers." I returned to my bed. Sat down. Stared at the wall. Stood up again. "Damn it." Ten minutes later, I was standing in the corridor wearing a dark robe and carrying a candle. I wasn't investigating anything. I was simply taking a walk. A completely innocent walk. In the direction of the eastern wing. If anyone asked, I was looking for the bathroom. A very distant bathroom. I reached the corner and stopped. Voices drifted through the corridor ahead. One belonged to a servant. The other was unmistakably Sylas's. "Has the preparation been completed?" the king asked. "Yes, Your Majesty." "And the partner?" "Waiting in your private chamber." My fingers tightened around the candle. Partner? I stared at the darkness ahead. "Will you require anything else tonight?" the servant asked. "No. Leave us." Footsteps approached, and I immediately ducked behind a pillar. The servant passed without noticing me. I waited until the footsteps faded before peering around the corner. Sylas stood before a set of tall black doors. He had changed out of his morning clothes. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his silver hair ornament had been removed, leaving his dark hair slightly disheveled. He looked different. Not kinder. Not warmer. Just less like a king attending a public execution. He opened the doors, and before entering, he paused. For one absurd second, I thought he might turn toward my hiding place. Instead, he stepped inside, and the doors closed. I stood perfectly still. My husband had a partner waiting in his private chamber. On the second night of our marriage. I should have felt angry. I should have felt betrayed. Instead, I felt a strange, cold amusement settle in my chest. So that was how it would be. Sylas Nocthar could have his private chambers, his secrets, and his mysterious partners. And I could have my freedom. I turned away from the forbidden wing. "Fine," I whispered. "Have your fun, Your Majesty." I walked back toward my rooms, lifting my chin. "If my husband wants to behave like a stranger, I'll treat him like one." I had no intention of chasing him. No intention of begging for his attention. And absolutely no intention of crying over a man who had never promised me love. But as I reached my door, one thought followed me inside. If Sylas Nocthar believed I would quietly accept whatever he did simply because he was king, he had made a terrible mistake. I was Lysander Bellrose. And I had never been particularly good at obeying rules.

Lysander Bellrose Something woke me before sunrise. It wasn't a sound. It was the cold. A thin, creeping chill had slipped into the bedroom, the kind that settles over a graveyard at dawn, and the scent of rain on stone drifted through the dark. I lay still beneath the blankets with my eyes barely open. The curtains had been drawn back, and gray moonlight spilled across the floor. A tall figure stood at the window with his back to me. My first thought was that an assassin had arrived with terrible timing. My second was that if he intended to murder me, he had at least let me die comfortably in a very expensive bed. Then the figure shifted, and I recognized the long black hair and the silver embroidery on the collar. Sylas. He had one hand braced against the window frame, and his shoulders rose and fell too quickly, as though he had run up every staircase in the palace. His shirt hung open at the throat. In the moonlight, I could see something dark crawling along the side of his neck and down to his forearm, a pattern of fine, glossy scales that rippled and receded like a tide. He pressed his palm flat against the glass, and the scales slowly drew back beneath his skin. He exhaled, long and unsteady. I did the only sensible thing available to me. I stayed perfectly still and pretended to be asleep. He turned. I felt his gaze before I dared to look, and I kept my breathing slow and even, which was far harder than it sounds when your heart is hammering against your ribs. He crossed the room without a sound. The mattress did not move, but I sensed him standing beside the bed, close enough that the cold of him prickled along my arm. He stayed there for a long moment, long enough that I began to wonder whether he could hear my pulse. Then he reached down and drew the blanket higher over my shoulder. I had kicked it half off in my sleep, apparently. His fingers did not touch me, but they hovered over the edge of the fabric a moment longer than necessary. "Sleep," he said, so quietly that I almost believed I had dreamed it. By the time I dared to open my eyes, the window was closed, the curtains were drawn, and the room was empty. I had reached three conclusions by the time I woke up properly that morning. First, the bed in the Serpent King's palace was offensively comfortable. Second, the breakfast was excellent, provided nobody informed me what I was eating. And third, my husband was an absolute menace. A handsome menace, unfortunately. That last detail was particularly irritating because it meant I couldn't even insult his appearance to make myself feel better. I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and glanced toward the window. Sunlight spilled across the floor. Sylas Nocthar was gone, and the room held no trace that he had ever been there. I might have convinced myself that I had dreamed the whole thing, if not for the blanket tucked neatly over my shoulder and the faint scent of rain on stone that still clung to the curtains. Not that I had expected him to come at all. We had been married for approximately two days, and he had already established that our marriage was about as romantic as a tax declaration. Still, I found myself wondering about something. Who was the person waiting for him in the eastern wing? A lover? A companion? Someone he had been seeing before our marriage? I groaned and dropped backward onto the pillows. "Stop thinking about it, Lysander. You have more important problems. Like the fact that you live in a kingdom where the furniture probably has better legal rights than you do." A knock sounded. "Your Highness?" Mara. My savior. Or my jailer. I hadn't decided yet. "Come in." She entered carrying my morning clothes. "His Majesty requests your presence in the royal breakfast chamber." I stared at her. "Again?" "Yes, Your Highness." "Has he developed a sudden interest in my company?" "I wouldn't know, Your Highness." "Of course not. That would be too convenient." Mara laid the clothes across the bed. "His Majesty also wishes to remind you that the eastern wing is forbidden." My hand froze halfway toward the clothes. I slowly turned to face her. "Interesting." "Your Highness?" "Did His Majesty mention why he felt the need to remind me?" "No." I narrowed my eyes. Last night, I had stood at the corner of that corridor without ever stepping through those doors. Unless the palace possessed some sort of magical surveillance system, Sylas shouldn't have known. Then again, he was an immortal serpent king. Perhaps the walls whispered to him. I looked at the nearest wall. "Good morning," I said cautiously. Mara closed her eyes. I smiled. "Just checking." Sylas was already seated when I entered the breakfast chamber. This time, he wasn't alone. A man stood beside the windows, dressed in a dark blue coat embroidered with silver. He had pale skin, neatly styled blond hair, and an elegant face that seemed almost too perfect to be real. He looked human. Unlike Sylas, who carried an unsettling stillness that made every room feel smaller, this man appeared approachable. Until his eyes settled on me. They were a striking shade of violet. His smile was warm. His gaze was not. "Ah," he said. "The new consort." I stopped beside the table. "And you are?" The man placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "Aldric Valemont." The name meant nothing to me. At least, not yet. "Sylas's old friend," he added. Something about the way he said old made me wonder how old their friendship actually was. Sylas lifted his cup. "Aldric has returned to Nagaeon after a long absence." "How lovely for him." Aldric chuckled. "You're quite direct." "I find it saves time." "Then I shall be direct as well." He extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lysander." I shook it. His hand was cool. Not cold enough to be alarming, but cool enough for me to notice. "Likewise." His gaze moved briefly to the silver serpent clasp at my collar. "Marriage suits you." I looked down at myself. "Does it? I was hoping the outfit would make me look like a wealthy widow." Aldric laughed. Actually laughed. For a moment, I liked him. Then he glanced toward Sylas, and something changed. It was subtle, a fraction of a second perhaps. His smile softened, and his eyes lingered on the king with a familiarity that made me feel as though I had accidentally walked into a private conversation. Sylas met his gaze. Neither spoke. I looked between them. Oh. Oh, this was going to be interesting. I pulled out my chair and sat down. "So," I said brightly, "how long have you known my husband?" "Five hundred years." I nearly choked on my tea. I coughed into my napkin and stared at him. "Excuse me?" "Approximately five centuries," Aldric repeated. I slowly turned toward Sylas. "Your friend is five hundred years old?" "Yes." "And he looks like that?" Sylas's eyes narrowed. "Like what?" "Like someone who has never had to worry about wrinkles." Aldric smiled. "You're kind." "No, I'm jealous. I've been worrying about my hairline since I was nineteen." "You're twenty-three," Sylas said flatly. I turned toward him. "Thank you for that deeply unnecessary contribution." Aldric laughed again. Sylas did not. I was beginning to suspect that making my husband laugh would require either a miracle or a small natural disaster. Perhaps both. Breakfast proceeded with Aldric telling us about his return to Nagaeon. He spoke of distant cities, old friendships, and the changes that had taken place during his absence. Sylas listened. Actually listened. He didn't interrupt. He didn't issue orders. He didn't look as though he wanted to execute the person speaking. For the first time, I saw a different side of my husband. Not a kind side, exactly, but a familiar one. Aldric mentioned an old palace garden, and Sylas's expression changed. "You remember the white roses?" Aldric asked. "Of course." "You said they would never survive the winter." "They didn't." Aldric smiled. "No. They didn't. They shared a quiet look. I lowered my fork. There it was again, that invisible thread connecting them. Whatever their relationship had been, it was not an ordinary friendship. And suddenly, I understood something unpleasant. I wasn't the first person to sit beside Sylas Nocthar. I was simply the person who had been given a marriage certificate. How reassuring. "So," I said, breaking the silence, "does every old friend receive a private breakfast with the king, or are you two special?" Aldric turned toward me. Sylas set down his cup. "What are you implying?" "Nothing. I'm admiring your hospitality." "You sound suspicious." "I've been married to you for two days. Suspicion is practically a survival skill." Aldric pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. Sylas stared at me. "Finish your breakfast, Lysander." I smiled. "Yes, Your Majesty." I took another bite and decided that if my husband wanted to keep secrets, he should at least learn to stop looking at his old friend like a man remembering a life he had lost. After breakfast, Aldric offered to show me the palace gardens, and I accepted immediately. Not because I was interested in spending time with him. Well, not entirely. I wanted to understand the strange relationship between him and Sylas, and Aldric seemed like the sort of person who knew far more than he admitted. Besides, he was considerably less unpleasant than my husband. That wasn't a particularly high standard, but it was something. We walked beneath an archway covered in flowering vines. The garden stretched across the grounds, filled with silver-leaved trees and dark roses that seemed to absorb the sunlight. Aldric walked beside me with his hands clasped behind his back. "May I ask you something, Lysander?" "That depends. Will the answer get me executed?" "I sincerely hope not." "Then proceed." He glanced at me. "Did you choose to marry Sylas?" I laughed. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sound. "Of course. I woke up one morning and thought, 'You know what would improve my life? Marrying an immortal king who looks at me as though I'm a particularly troublesome mosquito.'" Aldric's smile faded slightly. "So you were compelled." "My family had debts. There was a treaty. Apparently, my life was an acceptable payment." He said nothing for a moment. Then he asked, "Does Sylas treat you well?" I considered lying. It seemed like the polite thing to do. Unfortunately, I had never been particularly talented at politeness. "He treats me like a political obligation." Aldric lowered his gaze. "I see." There was something in his voice that made me study him more carefully. "You don't seem surprised." "I'm not." "That sounds suspiciously like a confession." He gave a faint smile. "Sylas has never been particularly skilled at giving people what they need." "Then what is he skilled at?" "Surviving." The answer was so immediate that I fell silent. Aldric continued walking. "He has lived for centuries, Lysander. You should understand that immortality does not necessarily make someone wise. Sometimes, it merely gives a person more time to become very good at avoiding pain." I looked at him. For the first time, his pleasant expression seemed tired. "Are you saying my husband is emotionally constipated?" Aldric stopped. Then he laughed so suddenly that a nearby bird flew out of a tree. "I suppose you could describe it that way." "Excellent. At least someone understands the situation." We continued through the garden. I was beginning to enjoy Aldric's company, and that was probably a mistake. People who knew Sylas too well were likely to be dangerous. And Aldric Valemont, with his five-hundred-year history and his knowing smiles, was beginning to seem like the most dangerous person I had met so far. When I returned to my chambers that afternoon, Mara was waiting beside my dressing table. She looked concerned. "Your Highness, there is something you should know." I closed the door behind me. "That sounds ominous." "His Majesty has invited Lord Valemont to remain at the palace." "For how long?" Mara hesitated. "Indefinitely." I stared at her. Then I laughed. Of course. Of course, my husband would bring his ancient friend into the palace and keep him here indefinitely. Why not? Perhaps we could all share a carriage to misery. "Wonderful," I said. "Perhaps we can celebrate by inviting the entire kingdom." "Your Highness-" "Don't worry, Mara. I'm perfectly fine." I wasn't sure why I said it. Perhaps because I didn't want to admit that Aldric's presence unsettled me. Not because I was afraid of losing Sylas, since I had never possessed him in the first place. But there was something unbearable about realizing that my husband could be cold and distant with me, yet warm in ways I hadn't known he was capable of being with someone else. It made me wonder whether I had been brought here merely to occupy an empty position. A title. A body beside the king's name. Nothing more. I crossed the room and sat beside the window. Outside, the palace gardens shimmered beneath the afternoon sun. Aldric was there. He stood beneath the white rose archway, speaking to a servant. Then he turned toward the palace. Toward the windows. Toward me. For one brief moment, our eyes met. He smiled. I returned the gesture. But when I turned away, the smile slipped from my face. Something was wrong. I couldn't explain it yet, but I could feel it. Aldric hadn't returned to Nagaeon simply because he missed an old friend. And Sylas hadn't looked at him like that because of an ordinary friendship. Whatever had happened between them five hundred years ago, it wasn't over. Not even close. And somehow, I had been placed directly in the middle of it. I leaned my forehead against the cool windowpane. "Father," I whispered, "next time you decide to sacrifice your son for the family, could you at least choose a kingdom without centuries of romantic baggage?" Nobody answered. Naturally. I was beginning to think the universe had a personal grudge against me. Then the door opened. I turned. Sylas stood in the doorway. Alone. His expression was unreadable. "We need to discuss your behavior today," he said. I blinked. "My behavior?" "Your questions at breakfast. Your remarks. Your conduct with Aldric." I stared at him for several seconds. Then I smiled slowly. "Oh." I stood. "Let me understand this correctly. You spend your nights with whoever you please, you barely acknowledge your own husband, and now you're upset because I spoke to your old friend?" His jaw tightened. "That is not what I said." "Then what exactly are you saying, Sylas?" He stepped farther into the room. For once, I didn't move backward. "Be careful about becoming involved in matters you don't understand." I folded my arms. "Then perhaps you should stop bringing those matters into my life." His eyes locked onto mine. The air between us seemed to grow colder. For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Then Sylas turned toward the door. "Stay away from Aldric." I stared at his retreating figure. "Excuse me?" He stopped but didn't turn around. "You heard me." I laughed once, disbelievingly. "No, I don't think I did. Are you forbidding me from speaking to your friend?" "I'm warning you." "About what?" His silence was answer enough. I took a step forward. "You know what, Sylas? I think you should decide what you want from me before you start issuing more orders. You cannot treat me like a stranger whenever it suits you and expect me to behave like a devoted husband whenever you feel threatened." He finally turned. For a moment, something flashed in his eyes. Anger, perhaps. Or something far less familiar. "You know nothing about my marriage," he said quietly. I held his gaze. "You're right. I know nothing about your marriage." My voice softened, but only slightly. "Because you haven't given me a reason to believe there's anything worth knowing." The words hung between us. Sylas stared at me. Then he left. The door closed with a quiet click. I stood alone in the middle of my room, my heart beating far too quickly. I had won nothing. I hadn't learned what had happened between Sylas and Aldric. I hadn't discovered the secret behind the eastern wing. And I certainly hadn't made my marriage any easier. But I had discovered one thing. For all his coldness, Sylas Nocthar cared very much about where Aldric Valemont went and whom he spoke to. And if my husband thought I would remain obedient while he dragged me through the ruins of his unfinished love story, he had underestimated me. I walked to my dressing table and picked up the silver serpent clasp from my collar. Its jeweled eyes caught the light. I turned it over in my palm. "All right, Your Majesty," I whispered. "If you want me to stay away from Aldric, you should probably start by explaining why." I set the clasp down. Because now I was curious. And in Nagaeon, curiosity was apparently the most dangerous habit a human could have.