Instead of answering, Brynn touched a finger to the amulet Kiva wore around her neck — a bold move on Kiva’s part, since the king had already expressed his displeasure regarding it. But he’d given her until their wedding to wear it, and she didn’t care if she was flaunting her true loyalties in his face.
“I’ve heard tales about the Vallentis crest,” Brynn said. “Claims that it can hold protective magic.”
“It can,” Kiva confirmed. “But it’s drained. There’s no power in it right now.”
Brynn’s face tightened. “Then to answer your question: all the warnings I gave you last night, and any others you can think of. Navok might look pretty, but he’s dangerous, and whatever he wants with you . . .” The maid shook her head. “Just be careful, Kiva. He won’t tolerate disobedience, not even from his betrothed.”
Seeing Brynn’s serious expression, Kiva’s stomach clenched.
“You’d better get in there,” the maid said, though she looked unhappy about leaving Kiva alone. “I’ll be waiting in your room when you’re done.”
While Kiva appreciated the solidarity, her mind jumped to the possibility of sneaking away between seeing Navok and returning to her quarters. Perhaps she could offer an excuse to her guard escort, and then —
Galdric, Kiva remembered, swearing inwardly. She still needed to visit the dungeons before she could leave.
Foiled for now, she turned from Brynn and walked toward the Gray Guards, who opened the doors at her gesture. Her insides fluttered as she strode down a scarlet carpet runner that covered black marble tiles and traveled the length of the room, all the way up to a raised obsidian dais holding a crimson-and-silver throne. Numerous banners hung from the ceiling, each with a red background and a black panther standing on its hind legs, claws striking and teeth snarling. On the wall behind the throne was the Kildarion crest: the same panther paired with its mirror opposite, both facing a shield with two swords crossed in the center. Large arched windows interrupted the other walls, all looking down the mountain toward the city. The view captured Kiva’s attention for the briefest of moments before her eyes locked with Navok’s, the king seated on his throne and watching her every move.
“You took your time,” he said when she halted in front of him.
She held his gaze — and didn’t curtsey. “I’m not late.”
Navok didn’t move, one elbow resting casually on the arm of the crimson velvet, his fist pressed to his cheek, his legs stretched out in front of him. Despite his relaxed posture, there was a tension about him, enough that Kiva instinctively backed up a step.
A smile curled his lips, as if her reaction pleased him.
“I want to see what you can do,” he said. “Show me.”
Kiva blinked. “Pardon?”
Navok waved a hand toward her. “Your magic,” he clarified. “I wish to see it. Now.”
A disbelieving laugh bubbled up from Kiva. “Just like that?”
The king’s brown eyes narrowed. “I won’t ask again.”
Kiva’s humor fled, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you injured? Sick?”
“No.”
“Then what, pray tell, would you have me heal?” Her voice revealed how foolish she thought his request was.
Navok’s expression darkened. “Last chance, my bride.”
Kiva scowled and couldn’t keep from snapping, “Don’t call me that. And I’m not going to use my magic for you. Even if I wanted to — which I don’t — that’s not how it works.”
The king rose and moved toward her so fast that she scrambled away, but he was quicker, grabbing her forearm and ending her retreat. His grip was like a steel band around her flesh, enough that she whimpered, feeling her bones crunch together.
“We don’t know each other well yet, so let me make something clear,” he said, leaning in close to hiss the words into her ear. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. You don’t argue — you obey. Is that understood?”
His fingers tightened enough that tears burned Kiva’s eyes, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to let him see her pain.
“I asked you a question.” His voice was low, menacing. “Answer me.”
Despite the fear flooding her, Kiva replied, “I thought I wasn’t supposed to argue?” She knew it was unwise, but she’d faced too much in her life to be bullied by a power-hungry king. Navok was to be her husband — regardless that she had no intention of going through with the marriage — and misguided or not, he’d already admitted to needing her for his inevitable confrontation with Zuleeka. That meant she should be safe from him, relatively speaking.
Hearing her response, the king released her, affording her a moment of smug satisfaction.
But then he raised his arm —
And backhanded her across the face.
There was so much power behind his blow that Kiva cried out and fell to her knees, her hand coming up to cover her cheek, her eyes watering all over again. Vaguely, she noticed the handprint-shaped bruise already blossoming on her forearm, but her more immediate concern was the throbbing beneath her eye, the skin over her cheekbone instantly beginning to stretch and swell.
“Get up,” Navok ordered, merciless.
Kiva bit her tongue to keep from saying something that would make her situation worse, and shakily stood.
“Now, heal yourself,” he commanded.
Kiva shook her head, not because she was denying him again — she wasn’t stupid — but because her magic wouldn’t work on her own body. “I can’t. It won’t —”
“You still refuse me?” Navok interrupted, incredulous. He didn’t wait for her reply before moving back to his throne. There, he rang a bell, then took his seat again, before saying, “It would seem you need more motivation.”
The look on his face told Kiva that he was past the point of listening even if she tried to explain. She wondered how far she would get if she attempted to flee the throne room. But before she could take a single step, the doors opened and a man walked through them, his skin and hair dark, his eyes like bottomless black pits.
“Tua Carem,” the man greeted the king in Mirravish, bowing deep. Like Navok, he wore black from head to toe, but unlike the king, whose outfit was formal and edged with crimson embroidery, the man’s attire was more like the leather armor Naari would wear, only without any visible weapons. “Geh nerro eh jakoweh ken darra?”
“Rise,” Navok told him in the common tongue. To Kiva, Navok said, his voice conversational enough that it was as if he’d forgotten that he’d just struck her, “This is Xuru. He has a particular skill set that I find valuable when it comes to my enemies. And, it would seem, my disobedient bride.”
Kiva swallowed, wondering again whether she should risk fleeing. But Navok anticipated her thoughts and called to his Gray Guards, summoning them into the room and ordering them to stand beside the inner doors, blocking her escape.
The king then spoke to Xuru in a string of Mirravish. The look of anticipation that filled the new man’s features caused a coil of apprehension to twist in Kiva’s middle.
Turning back to Kiva, Navok said, “My patience has run out. Show me your magic, or you’ll leave me no choice but to force it from you.”