“I, Alban Charleroi Deslionne, offer you a Daughter of Ryrn,” my father intones.
My heart pounds, waiting for my groom’s reply. “I,” a silky voice purrs from in front of me. I feel weak at the knees, relieved to hear a normal voice. Kane’s voice is deep, without grating on my ears; an addictive sound. “I, Kane Enfer of the line of the Gods, accept this Daughter of Ryrn.”
“She is yours, lest the Gods strike me down,” my father says, his voice booming through the throne room.
The ceremony is complete now, but grooms may offer a final proclamation if they wish. So, I wait, knees quaking, as I face my groom in complete darkness. I hear a soft breath in front of me, and I know it’s him. My stomach does an odd, little flip at the sound.
"She is mine, the token of a debt now paid, lest the Gods strike you down," Kane says. I shiver at the sound of his voice, at the dangerous implications of his words.
Soft footsteps as my father steps backward, leaving me alone before Death himself. I fix my eyes forward, praying to the Goddess of Peace that he can't hear my heart pounding in my chest. I hear the soft rustling of fabric as Kane closes the distance between us. The shadows around me grow deeper and I wonder if he himself is nothing more than darkness.
But then I feel the firm touch of his hand on the small of my back. He’s cold; even through the veil I can feel the chill emanating from him. He guides me forward, fingers digging into me. I don’t feel any claws. I try to breathe regularly, to convince him that I have no fear. But I can’t help the gasp that slips from my lips when my world tips upside down.
I’m going to the Underworld.
Chapter 2
Kane
The slip of a woman at my side shuffles in complete silence. I can hear her heart beating rapidly, like a frightened rabbit in the clutches of a hawk. I grin and finger one of the jewels on her veil. Mortals are such shallow creatures, to think I would be impressed by the precious stones they adorned my bride with.
I lead her through the darkened halls, lit only by intricately detailed candelabras. The halls glow red in the light and I’m sure her feet are chilled by the dark wooden floors. I feel her shiver beneath my hand, and I wonder if her skin is as silky as this veil. The door to my suite looms ahead, black wood carved with details of flowers and vines curling around it. I push the door open, guiding Princess Rose into my chambers.
Red wallpaper and dark wood accents keep the room dim and brooding. Heavy curtains block the stained-glass windows that overlook the gardens and buttresses of the castle. I position Rose in the center of the sitting room and prowl around her. I've heard all of Alban's daughters are great beauties, though I never had the pleasure of seeing them before the Day of Collection.
I'm looking forward to this very much. A growl rumbles from my chest as I finger the veil. I mustn't rush, each step in collecting a bride requires care and custom.
“Daughter of Ryrn,” I murmur, fingers drifting over the veil. “I welcome you to my home, to my care.”
“Lord of Death, I put myself in your care,” Rose says shakily. Her voice is high and soft, like a songbird.
I grip the veil, preparing to tug it off of her. “Princess Rose, my bride, these three months I offer you to determine my worthiness.”
She stiffens, a soft gasp echoing from behind the veil. I tear it off of her, the crown holding it in place clatters to the floor. A young woman, looking no more than twenty, trembles in front of me. Her alabaster skin is milky white and wholly tempting. I drink her in, eyes lingering on her full breasts, framed perfectly by the thin, elegant gown she wears. Her hands instinctively move to hide her chest, but I snatch her wrists, holding them away from her body.
She gasps, and the sound sends a thrill of pleasure through me. There’s a flash of fear in her grey eyes but then they grow hard and determined. She straightens her shoulders and moves her hands slowly to the buttons on the back of her gown. It loosens slowly, no longer clinging to her graceful curves. My smile broadens and I contemplate whether I should lounge back in a chair to enjoy the show.
Her eyes flit up to meet mine. “My Lord,” she whispers. Her heart beats faster. “My name, it isn’t Rose. It’s Briar.”
I go still, hand frozen in the space between us where I was reaching for her. I had intended to speed up the process by tearing her gown off myself. But no longer. Cold fury runs in my veins and my eyes narrow at the beautiful girl in front of me. Her hands freeze behind her, and her eyes stretch wide. I scowl, stalking towards her. She leans back, trying to escape but I drive her into a chair.
She collapses into the cushions with a soft cry of fear. Her knees curl up against her chest and she shrinks back, eyes watery. “What?” I growl.
“My name is Briar,” she whimpers. “My oldest sister, that’s Rose.”
“And you are?” I loom over her.
Her tongue flicks out over her lips, wetting them nervously. “The youngest.”
I chuckle, though there’s no humor in the sound. I’m almost amused by Alban’s scheming. A mortal outsmarted me. It’s enough to make me furious. Briar turns her cheek, as if she can avoid my wrath. I lean closer, inhaling her sweet scent. She shudders, but I can smell the desire on her skin.
“And
