“Get back in your room and sit down at your dressing table right now!” He pointed toward my tower.
“No.”
The Hawk Lord lifted his hand toward my throat. I stared him down. He lowered it with an exhale.
“If you don't adorn yourself, the whole court will think that you have not accepted me. That I've chosen you, but you're undecided. Do you understand? Every randy fae there will be pawing at you, trying to get in your pants and take you away from me. You will disrespect and humiliate me in front of the entire court. Is that what you want?”
“I...” My arms fell to my sides. “No, I don't want to do that.”
“I'm sorry that you think this is demeaning,” he said gently as he edged closer. “It's meant to be an honor, I swear. An honor to both of us. It will not make you look effeminate. It will just make you look like the Valorian and”—he slid a hand up my face and into my hair, where he gripped a handful tightly—“mine. It will mark you as mine.”
“I love you too,” I whispered.
Dalsharan yanked me into a brutal kiss, his hand going to my crotch to rub the bulge there roughly. I groaned and pushed into him, but again, he eased back, giving me one last nip before shoving me toward my tower.
“I'll send Marla to you,” he said.
I sighed and headed back to my tower so I could be adorned.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The makeup wasn't that bad. Marla had outlined my eyes in black kohl and then painted a golden design on my forehead—a triangle pointing down between my eyes, connected by stylized wings that arched over my eyebrows. Then, along the height of each cheekbone, she'd painted a claw, tip downward. The forehead piece was to show my status as the Hawk Kingdom Valorian and the claws were to display my status as the Hawk Lord's consort. They kind of looked badass, to be honest.
“You like them,” Dal said with a smirk.
“Like what?” I played innocent.
We were in his carriage again, headed to the royal palace.
“The markings.” He waved a hand at my face. “You like them, don't you?”
I grinned. “Yeah, okay. They're sexy.”
“Yes,” Dal purred as he looked me over, “they are.”
I bit my lip and let my gaze wander down his body.
Dalsharan's gaze, however, wandered out the window. “We're here.”
Again, we went through a grand set of gates but these were grander than Dal's and had more guards posted around them. The palace itself stretched out three times wider and taller than the Hawk Lord's residence. The soaring walls were pale gold stone but the sunset painted them rose in sections, making it look as if the castle were blushing. Fae Hawks flew around the sleek towers, keeping a close watch on everyone below. And there were a lot of people to watch.
“Is it normally like this?” I asked as I shrank away from the window. I didn't like crowds unless they were soldiers. Soldiers could be relied upon to act like soldiers. Civilians were unpredictable; they could behave any damn way they wanted to.
Dalsharan scowled at the people milling about. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“No, it isn't usually like this.” He sat back and sighed. “He's invited the other kingdoms.”
“What?” I squeaked. “How would the other fae even get up here?”
“There are other ways up the mountain, Ravyn,” he said with a little grin. “We transport visitors in carry cages.”
“Carry cages?”
“Huge cages with seats inside them and handles on top. They're wide enough for two hawks to carry one together.”
“Oh. Okay. So, I'm meeting more than one king tonight?”
“You're likely meeting all the kings and all the queens of Varalorre,” he grumbled. “Damn Avamael and his pride. He wants to show you off.”
“Avamael?”
“Our king,” he whispered as our carriage stopped. “Do not call him by his given name.”
“I know that,” I huffed as the door opened.
Dal gave me a little grin before he climbed out. He waited for me this time, and we strode up a long set of stairs to the palace doors together. They were open, but men stood beside them anyway, bowing to those who passed by.
“Don't acknowledge the footmen,” he whispered to me when I started to nod to one.
“Why not?”
“It's not appropriate here. Just follow my lead.”
“Fine.”
I strode through a long corridor beside the Hawk Lord and when people stopped to bow or curtsy to us, I ignored them. I felt like a fucking asshole, but I guess that's expected of rich people. Dal led me deep into the palace, passing a huge room full of dancing, laughing people.
“The ballroom,” he said, nodding to it. “We'll be heading there after speaking with the King.”
We got in another of those elevator rooms and went to the 30th floor. This place had 30 floors! Something chimed and the door slid open to reveal a guard in armor, standing at attention, directly in front of the elevator.
He bowed when he saw us and stepped aside. “The King is in his library, Hawk Lord. He's expecting you.”
Dalsharan nodded to the guard and led me down a corridor to the right. I guess when someone speaks directly to you, you could nod. Or maybe guards were above footmen on the rudeness ladder.
We entered a vast room of books, golden fae light, and polished hardwood. There were no windows, only shelves of books covering every wall, and the walls were so high that a gallery bisected them. A curved column of stairs hid in one corner, leading up to the gallery. In the center of all this knowledge sat a man with messy blond hair, a skewed tunic, and a scowl. He wasn't scowling at anyone in particular but at a book that lay before him. He leaned over the tome on his forearms as if he might conquer it with sheer will.
We stepped up to him, and Dalsharan bowed. “Your Majesty.”
“Ah, Dalsharan!” The man's face changed abruptly, a grin spreading across it and turning him into something profoundly beautiful.
I tried not to gape at the Hawk King. He stood up, the light catching him fully, and his hair turned molten. He was slim, with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper jaw, but sleek muscles nudged at the lines of his tunic and his golden-brown skin hinted at time spent outdoors. He shook back his mane of gold, flinging it carelessly over his shoulders as if it annoyed him, and stepped forward to hug Dalsharan.