"Be my bride."
The words felt like they were suffocating everyone in the room. Delphine stayed on her knees for a second too long, her brain trying to process the absolute absurdity of the situation.
The silence in the throne room was so heavy she could hear the wax dripping from the Elders' candles.
Then, she laughed.
And it wasn't a pretty one. It was a sharp, jagged sound of pure disbelief that echoed off the high stone walls.
"You can't be serious," she said, her voice dry.
A collective gasp went up from the crowd. It was like she'd just slapped a god. The noblewomen in their fancy silks pulled back, their eyes wide with horror. Nobody talked to the King like that. You either bowed or you died. Those were the rules.
He didn't look angry, though. That was the problem. He looked... fascinated. Like she was a rare bug he was about to pin to a board.
"I have never been more serious, Delphine."
She didn't wait for him to give her permission to stand. She pushed herself up, her legs feeling like they were made of jelly. She had to lock her knees to keep from shaking visibly. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her tremble. Not today.
"I'd rather rot in your dungeon," she snapped.
"Oh!" a noblewoman nearby squeaked, clutching her throat.
One of the Elders, a man who looked like he was made of old, dry wood, dropped to one knee instantly. "Your Majesty, forgive her! She's insolent—she doesn't know her place—"
The King didn't even turn his head. He just lifted a hand, a lazy gesture, and the Elder suddenly grabbed his own throat. The man made a wet, choking sound and coughed blood onto the floor before falling silent.
The King didn't care. He only had eyes for her.
"Run."
The word was so soft she almost missed it.
Delphine frowned, her heart thudding a weird rhythm against her ribs. "What?"
He stepped closer. The court stiffened as one, everyone holding their breath. He reached out and tilted her chin up with two fingers. The touch wasn't what she expected. It was far from rough. It was almost... gentle. And that was way more terrifying.
"Run," he murmured, his voice sounding almost tender in a way that made her skin crawl. "I like it when you run. Isn't that what you're good at?"
Heat spread from his fingers, a weird, pulsing warmth that made her pulse jump. She refused to blink, staring straight into those dark, bottomless eyes.
"And I like it when you bleed, loser," she spat.
The insult felt like a physical blow to the room. A massive, collective inhale. Guards shifted their weight, hands moving to the hilts of their swords. She could hear someone whispering, "She's dead, she's sooo dead."
But he didn't strike her. Instead, a slow, dark smile curved his mouth. It didn't look nice, though. It was the smile of a man who had just won a bet he shouldn't have.
The Elders were whispering now, moving uneasily behind him. They were looking at each other like they were seeing a ghost.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping so low it was just for her. "You will be my bride, Firefly."
Her stomach dropped. That name again. "Over my dead body."
"Exactly," he whispered.
His thumb brushed against her wrist, right over the small, faint mark she'd had since birth. The skin flared. It didn't glow—at least, not so the others could see—but she felt it. A hot, thudding pulse. It felt like a hook sinking into her skin.
She jerked her wrist back, breathing hard. "What did you do to me?"
He looked at her like she was a miracle. "Nothing. I didn't have to."
One of the Elders stumbled forward, his voice trembling. "Your Majesty... the blood-mark... it reacted. It hasn't awakened for centuries."
"She is mine," the King said. The finality in his voice was enough to make the doors of the chamber slam shut on their own.
Bam!
The sound made her jump. The candles in the Elders' hands flared violently, the flames turning a weird, deep orange. The air in the room got thick, like trying to breathe underwater.
"You did this," some noble in the back accused, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You're a witch! You've cursed the King!"
Delphine backed up a step, her hands out. "I don't even know what this is! I was just hauling water ten minutes ago!"
The King turned away from her, addressing the room with a cold, terrifying authority. "Prepare the east wing."
The murmurs exploded. "The east wing? The bridal wing?" someone breathed.
Delphine's head snapped toward him. "I'm not staying here. I'm not staying in any wing. I want to go back."
He looked back at her, his expression amused, like she was a kitten trying to roar. "Oh, you will stay, Firefly."
The guards moved, and she braced herself for chains, for the rough grip of soldiers dragging her away. But they didn't touch her. They moved around her, forming a solid wall of steel and muscle between her and the rest of the court.
It almost felt like they were guarding her like a prize.
It was way worse than chains.
The King stepped close one last time. He smelled like winter and something metallic. "If you wish to run," he murmured, "do it now. I'll give you a head start."
She searched his face, looking for the joke. For the mockery. She found nothing but anticipation. He wasn't teasing her. He was waiting.
He actually believed she would choose to stay. He believed that eventually, she'd walk to him on her own.
Delphine felt a wave of pure, cold dread wash over her. He wasn't forcing her because he didn't feel like he had to. He was patient. He was a hunter who knew the trap was already set.
She decided to stay where she was, not really because she wanted to, but because she was pretty sure if she turned around, her head might actually explode from the sheer pressure of his gaze.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I know," he said, and he sounded like he loved that most of all.
As the guards began to lead her toward the heavy doors, Delphine looked back one last time. The King was still standing there, his crown catching the flickering orange light.
He looked like the devil himself, and she realized with a sick feeling in her gut that she was well and truly doomed.
She didn't need a pope to read the room for her. He wasn't going to break her. He was going to wait for her to break herself.
And she wasn't sure which was worse.