My palms slick with sweat.
All I know for sure is he’s about to appear on the giant wall monitor before me, and my heart is about to pound right through my chest.
“Citizens of Karm.” King Hart’s gravelly voice echoes through the hall. “I am honored to be here on this joyous day.”
Waves of static wash over his pale face. The monitor’s blue-gray hue doesn’t disguise his pallid color, but rather emphasizes it. His skin is unnaturally smooth, with what looks like strategically-placed wrinkles around his mouth, eyes, and forehead. It shines as if it’s stretched too tight, made of something other than flesh. But it’s his unearthly gray eyes—as if illuminated from within—that unnerve me.
I force my eyes away from the screen and look to Sebastian as a shiver crawls up my spine. He’s watching his father with a look of awe on his face, and I wonder how King Hart appears to him.
My gaze finds Devlan, the only one in the hall besides me not watching the flickering monitor. His eyes are on me. They seem to zero in on my fear, making me feel exposed. He holds my stare a moment longer before angling his face toward the screen.
“Today is a momentous occasion,” King Hart continues, and I look up at him. “Today my son, Prince Sebastian Hart, becomes betrothed.” His eyes seem to peer down at me. A sharp spasm of fear stabs my chest. “Zara Dane. Now Princess Zara to all of Karm, and Prince Sebastian, confirm their engagement and intention to wed.” His eyes scan the crowd. “And in taking a wife, the prince begins his ascent toward becoming King. Our hope for the prosperity of our future.”
There’s a hesitant pause, then the hall erupts into cheers and applause. Sebastian’s hands squeeze mine, and I look at him. Pride wells in his eyes. Not the arrogance or vanity that he first showed when I met him, but a dignified pride. A twinge of regard for his station and duties rises within me, despite my reluctance to marry him.
“Sebastian.” King Hart draws our attention back to him. His mouth creases into a thin smile. “I bless this day and your future marriage to Zara.” He bows, and we see the top of his glossy, silver hair.
Sebastian bows his head and the screen goes black. Silence thrums the hall like a plucked string that’s been strung too tightly.
The friar steps up to the altar, and my heart hammers. I remind myself that I’m not leaving here married. This is just the betrothal, but King Hart’s piercing gray eyes stare at me in my mind’s eye. I feel defeated, as if this is only the beginning of a lifetime imprisonment. I clamp my eyes shut.
When I open them, Sebastian is smiling. “Relax,” he says. “This part is nearly over.”
He thinks I’m merely nervous to be in front of the crowd. Which I am, but there’s so much more. I can’t do this. I can’t commit myself to someone I don’t love. I can’t commit my life to serving and enforcing the laws that my father was punished for breaking. Or condoning “questioning procedures.” I’m seconds away from hyperventilating when Devlan moves closer to us, holding out Sebastian’s commitment gift.
Sebastian takes his gift as Devlan watches me. Again, it’s as if he’s urging me to continue—to go through with it. He steps back, and my vision fills with the line of crimson and black-clad knights stretching across the back of the ceremonial hall. The Force stands at attention, their eyes seeming to bore right though me. There’s no getting through that barricade.
The little boy comes forward. He’s the same height as me in my kneeling position. I take the locket from him. Drops of water sprinkle my hair as the friar blesses us. His murmured chant barely reaches my ears. He pauses, looking out to the crowd. “Should anyone here know of a reason why these two may not be united, let them speak.”
The tightening in my chest forces all the air from my lungs. I’m desperate to seek each pair of eyes in the hall, implore someone to commiserate with me, but I keep my gaze steady on Sebastian.
My heart sinks as the friar continues. “You may exchange your commitment gifts and solidify your engagement.”
My hands shake as I clip the locket to Sebastian’s vest. “With this, I will commit myself to being your wife. Body, mind, and soul.” Inside, I cringe. It’s only words. The vow will never be consummated.
I stare at the floor as I await Sebastian’s gift. He reaches out and slides his fingers along my jawline as he tilts my face up to look at him. His golden eyes shimmer in the candlelight.
“With this,” he says, undoing the clasp of a silver chain. “I will commit myself to being your husband. Body, mind, and soul.” He separates his hands, expanding the chain, then drapes it around my neck. His hands press against my neck as he clasps the necklace, and my skin tingles at the feel of his soft skin on mine.
A heart-shaped silver locket rests against my breastbone. It weighs on my skin, cold and heavy. His hands linger, cupping my neck just below my jawline; his thumbs rest against my cheeks. I hold my breath as I wait for Sebastian’s lips to touch mine.
His gaze traps mine, and a rare flash of concern registers on his face. He draws me to him as he moves forward, closer. The hand facing the crowd shields my lips as he places a kiss next to my mouth, on my cheek.
“I can be patient,” he whispers in my ear. “Just don’t make me wait too long.”
My clenched muscles relax, and my lips release a breath. The crowd cheers, but I barely hear them over the whooshing in my ears.
Sebastian takes my hands and pulls me up beside him as he rises. He doesn’t seem to be too disappointed over the missed opportunity to kiss me. His face is lit with excitement. “Ready for the celebration?”
SEVEN
The slow, earthy music from mandolins and flutes echoes off the stone walls of the great hall. I’m seated upon a dais at the head of the room, at a table laden with every kind of dish imaginable. The smells of vanilla and roasted meat perfume the air. Roast beef, cutlets of chicken, and racks of lamb are presented on massive porcelain serving platters. Silver trays and baked rolls fill the few open areas of the tablecloth.
The high walls are swathed with blue and silver velvet. Iron vines holding lit votives wrap the high pillars. Their small flames twinkle, blanketing the air with jasmine and spice.
Sebastian rests his chin in his hand as he watches the room bounce and sway, the citizens dancing in celebration of his betrothal. He’s not spoken of my outburst in the arcade, and I’m reluctant to press him on the subject. I know Mr. Levine is dead. I don’t need his confirmation. No one could survive that much torture.
And it’s my fault.