Lightning flashed across the night sky as Tensley stood in front of the Temple of Solonios, his slain mountain lion in his bloody hands. A gift to the gods, to the court, to the crown, and to his oath tomorrow.
The temple of stone, sculpted with marble pillars holding up a canopy. Sheer fabric draped over the building, used to protect the outside forces.
Thin, tall candles lit along each column, fluttering in the coming storm. Brutal and vicious.
Like him.
The men—suited in furs and golden armor—chanted and cheered with ale and mirth. With a garland of dead rosebuds on their heads, they hunted the strongest mountain lion and struck him down with an arrow.
Now the mountain lion gripped in Tensley’s hands was presented to the god of the sun. A statue of the god, seated on his marble throne, the surface of his knuckles and his features peeled from years of wear and weather.
Tensley laid the dead mountain lion, its dark fur thick and wet from his blood, and bowed to the statue.
Fallen clapped his hands, summoning servants with bowls of fruit and bread, fresh and warm. Tensley sat down at a wooden table along with the other men.
Loud laughter and chatter filled the temple as the men conversed about politics and old tales.
Tensely swished his ale, glaring at the murky substance. All day, within the forest, surrounded by riotous men, he thought of only one woman. He was marrying her tomorrow. Tomorrow.
She wouldn’t be his fiancée or his bride.
She’d be his wife, her stomach round with his child, and her neck bearing his sacred mark.
Completely his.
But under Fallen’s eyes.
Tensley glanced up to see Fallen watching him from the other side of the table, his cheek resting on his hand, a smile of threat.
A few seats down sat the prince, his hair combed loosely back into a ponytail, and with one single glance, Tensley’s fist clenched.
Give him the king’s head.
He needed to make it through the next twenty-four hours without an issue, and then he’d be able to protect Molly with his name and power.
Molly Knight.
The carrier of his vicious heart.
“A toast,” the prince said, raising his goblet toward Tensley—a dangerous gleam in his eyes. The rest of the men raised their goblets. “May Solonios ward off the darkness, may your bed be filled with pleasure, and her thighs be opened wide.”
Tensley gnashed his teeth, calming himself before he smashed the prince’s face to the table.
The men chuckled at the sexual joke.
“May she bore you sons of strength and skill and daughters of beauty and grace,” the prince continued, a memorized poem of sorts. “May she lick your wounds, among other things of pleasure.”
Again, a hoot of laughter erupted in the men.
Tensley let his thumb rub along his goblet, focusing on the ridges rather than how good it would feel for his knuckles to hit the prince’s crushing bones.
Tensley cleared his throat and stood, raising his goblet. “She will bear me sons and daughters, powerful with those vivid eyes, and she will kiss my wounds only to strengthen me beyond my threshold, and I will please her—with my mouth, with my tongue, with my teeth,” he said, his teeth flashing as a warning.
The prince sat back, his features darkened.
“The daemon is a worthy mate—a precious bride, and a powerful wife,” Tensley said, raised his goblet and downed the ale, the smoothness fueling his anger. Then he lifted his goblet higher and roared. “A goddess.”
The men cheered, throwing back their ales and chattering loudly, wildly.
But as Tensley fell back into his seat, he felt the eyes of two powerful men—the prince and the king.
Tensley was a threat to them, and if Fallen had not been so traditional and set on respecting his own laws, either of them would have eagerly found a way to shackle her to them.
But Molly was his.
The drinking ensued, the laughter too loud, too chaotic.
The prince claimed the seat beside him, lounging with his toned legs far apart.
He grinned at Tensley. “Your last night as a cruel bachelor. Will you be a cruel husband?”
Tensley licked at his teeth, refusing to meet his gaze. “Cruelty is a demon’s nature, is it not?”
The prince cupped his chin and hummed. “I believe you’re crueler than most of us but weak for one blonde.” Tensley tensed, his muscles tightening to balls of fire. “I let you marry your daemon, but don't you forget our bargain. I want the throne, and you will get it for me. Wife and children or not.”
“Servant!” Fallen snapped, silencing every single man in the room.
A servant rushed over and bowed, leaning into him. Fallen whispered, and then the servant vanished.
“Entertainment for the evening,” Fallen said, taking a large gulp of his drink. He grinned at Tensley.
Tensley scowled, and a moment later, several women clothed in sheer gowns strolled into the temple, their hips rolling, their breasts visible under the thin, transparent fabric.
Tensley fisted his hands on his thighs.
“There is the groom, ladies,” Fallen said, gesturing to Tensley. “He’s too sour for his bride. Make him sweet for her. Remove the tension from his loins.”
The women giggled, their luscious hair long and wild, helping to cover their nipples.
“Since I’m bringing you your father’s head, do me a favor,” Tensley hissed lowly so only the prince heard him.
The prince cocked a brow and then took in the ladies making their way over to them. “With pleasure,” he said, a smirk warming his wicked lips. The prince stood, raising his arms slightly as if to welcome them. “Ladies, join me.”
The women paused, glancing at each other, but soon smiled, moving to the prince and bypassing Tensley.
The prince looked back at Tensley, a grin of mischievousness, of corruption. The prince had taken the attention from him.
Tensley stood violently, pushing back his chair, and left, with the rest of the men, including Fallen, too invested in their new toys. Lightning flashed across the darkened sky, no stars visible, and he walked down the grassy path to the dark pond.
Shredding his high-court clothes of high waist black trousers and a white shirt tucked in, he walked into the cool water.
The smooth current calmed his raging beast, and he looked up at the sky, standing naked in the water.
Tomorrow, he repeated to himself.
Tomorrow, his vicious heart belonged to his beauty.
Not the court, not the crown, not himself.
But to the woman with the vivid, powerful eyes of storm and ice.
His blessing and his curse.
Damned he was.
MOLLY GASPED as the cool water touched her skin, jolting upward.
“Sit down,” Lilith commanded.
Molly, completely naked, sat back down into the large bath, surrounded by strange women cloaked in white robes of silk.
Each woman held a towel or a perfume bottle. Each had sprayed her nude body from head to toe of the different fragrances, each saying a blessing in an unknown language.
Being woken up at the crack of dawn by a room full of strange women she had never set eyes on wasn’t the best introduction to her preparation before the wedding that day.
At least, as she bathed in the water, her mind wasn’t on the fact she was getting married today.
From such a young age, she thought of her wedding day. Her dress, her venue, her father walking her down the aisle, to see the rugged, handsome face of the love her life.
Childish, naïve, and not at all like the wedding of her five-year-old mind.
“To cleanse your body before you are reborn in your marriage,” Lilith said, standing by the bath, her head held high.
Molly gave her a long look but stopped herself. She could burn the queen to ashes. Today, though, she had to stay obedient and patient.
With a long breath, she ducked her head under the water, eyes squeezed shut, and let the perfume, the purified waters consume her—before she walked down the aisle to meet the demon.
Fully dried, clothed in a white gown of lace and sheer, exposing far too much of her naked skin beneath, tight to her breasts and her hips, flowing out to a long train. The women worked hours on her hair, curling it to loose ringlets, her cheeks rosy and cheekbones highlighted, and her lips swollen and colored with berries as a deep dark red.
Lilith watched every single touch, commanding the ladies when the dress wasn’t tight enough or a curl too tight or too loose. She barked, she snapped, and Molly seethed silently.
Her nerves were getting the best of her. She fidgeted with a piece of lace on her thigh, twisting the black trimmed engagement ring on her finger. Soon to be joined by another more important ring. Palms sweaty, the room too hot, filled with too many women touching her and picking at each detail on her body, of her dress.
She bit back a hiss when a woman pinched her waist, tightening the dress even further.
A few more hours, then you’ll be his, and this will be over.
Soon, the women stood back, each one admiring their work over the course of three painful hours.
Molly gazed at herself in the mirror.
An ethereal glow took to her ivory skin. The white flowed off her limbs, the lace a beautifully simple design of chaos. Her hair smoothed down her back in gorgeous waves of silk and ringlets, so glossy and with lily of the valley as a crown upon her head.
Her fingers ran along her berry-stained lips—a violent red of blood against her porcelain skin.
A violent reckoning.
A violent kiss of death.
Lilith’s clapping hands jolted Molly from her thoughts, and she turned to see the ladies rushing out.
Once they had left, Lilith strolled up, a lacy veil in her hands. She draped the veil of lace with tiny diamonds sewn in over Molly’s crown of hair, fitting it, hiding most of her features.
“A veil was said to protect brides from evil spirits,” Lilith whispered, her eyes tracing Molly’s thin frame of white and lace. Then her eyes lifted, a fierce glint there now. She smirked, and Molly’s heart grew wild against her ribcage. “But that won’t protect you from your groom.”
Molly took in a shuddering breath and straightened, gazing down at the queen of demons. A soft smile took to her red lips. “I’m not afraid of his venom.”
The queen’s mouth twisted ruefully, but she held her tongue, focusing on the veil and Molly’s gown.
“It is time, my queen,” one of the girls announced to her.
Molly swallowed thickly and nodded.
Another girl took Molly’s hand and helped her through the bedchamber and into the hallway. Lilith walked beside her, their shoes clicking and their dresses swishing through the gleaming gold and white halls.
Molly ran her sweaty palms down her sides carefully, her heart battling in her chest.
The paintings of Fallen, of Lilith and the prince, of each drapery of battles and victories, sent her closer and closer to the hall where the court waited, where Fallen waited, and where Tensley stood.
Music of flutes drifted off the walls, growing louder with each step.
The golden bronze doors were closed to the hall, and Molly paused before them, taking a deep breath to ease her nerves.
But she couldn’t stop shaking.
Lilith stepped close, smoothing down her dress, and fixing anything else, but only to say one final word.
“You may be the daemon,” Lilith hissed into Molly’s ear, her fingers biting into her bicep. “But I am the queen.”
Molly gritted her teeth, glaring under the veil.
Lilith let go and nodded to the guards as they opened the bronze door, sliding into the hall of music and chatter.
Molly, left alone, placed a hand on her pounding chest.
Her heart wouldn’t calm, and she feared everyone would hear it.
She breathed through her nose and steeled herself.
“Ready, my lady?” a guard asked.
Molly swallowed thickly, eyeing the golden trim of the blue bronze door and nodded.
The doors opened, the brightness of the pure white and gold blinding her, and with one stuttering breath, Molly stepped into the heart of the beasts.