2

"Hmm, I'm not sure I've yet earned your gratitude," he replied, leading me down the marbled floor of the corridor. Suit-clad guards knelt at the presence of the greatest power in the Underworld, their shivers rivaling my own.

How would Necros react to seeing me on Salter's arm?

How would the people of Winsorer react?

"With fear," Salter whispered, clearly reading my thoughts. "Which is your right, my child. You'll see."

"I… I'm not sure what to say."

"No, I imagine not. Soon, my Olga. Soon." He pressed his lips to my temple as we arrived at the great hall doors, the walk somehow far faster than I ever remembered it, as if time had played tricks on my mind. And in the presence of Salter, that was entirely possible. "Stay strong, my sweet girl. The trials ahead, while daunting, are meant to strengthen you, not weaken you."

"I don't understand."

He smiled, saying, "I know," and escorted me through the doors into the ceremony.

My father—who should be the one to walk me down the aisle—stood off to the side with my pale-faced mother.

Everyone bowed.

Except for Necros, King of Winsorer.

He merely seemed amused as he stood waiting at the altar ahead.

"Ready?" Salter asked.

He didn't wait for my response. Didn't care that I screamed a resounding No! in my head. Just began the walk, leading me to my fate, to the powerful male waiting for my forced hand.

My future husband was over twenty years older than me, not that his features showed it. His handsome face boasted a youthful appearance, only belied by the auburn beard shrouding his square jaw. Tattoos decorated his exposed skin, granting him the symbols of authority and defining him as the King of Winsorer.

"My Lord," he greeted, nodding only slightly.

"King Necros," Salter replied. "Your bride is exquisite."

"I know." His forest-green eyes locked on mine. "You're stunning, Olga."

"You're looking handsome, too, My King." It wasn't a lie. In his all-black suit, he looked nice, distinguished, and full of command. But I wouldn't call him sexy. Maybe because of the age gap, or more likely a result of him raising me almost as a little sister all these years. I'd always seen him as more of a friend than a husband.

"You've taken excellent care of her," Salter said, releasing my arm. "I expect that to continue."

Why would he care? I wondered. This was the first time we'd even met.

"Of course, My Lord." Necros cupped my cheek, his smile fond. "And she'll take care of me."

Salter's responding chuckle sent a chill down my spine.

Why did I sense a double meaning in that phrase? Something important I was clearly missing?

"She certainly will," Salter agreed. "Let's begin."

Necros guided me to kneel with him before the room, excitement bright in his gaze. It was the kind of look most women wanted to see from their betrothed on their wedding day, but I suspected something sinister lay beneath. It had always been there between us, some hidden desire for more than just my hand in marriage.

Of course, I knew what would follow.

How he would take my body.

But I had a feeling there was just something more. Only, I had no idea what. Aside from being bred and brought up to serve as his wife, I offered very little. No power. No otherworldly qualities. Just a well-educated Daughter of Morima with an affinity for justice.

The ceremony began, Salter's ancient words flowing around us in a series of vows and promises that tied my soul to Necros—until death do us part.