Throne of Power (Throne Duet #1) by Rina Kent

Vladimir is in my face in a fraction of a second. “Where the fuck have you been?”

I shake the box in front of him. “Getting the rings. I almost forgot about them.”

He narrows his eyes on me but says nothing, so I push past him and head inside, pretending to be flustered that I’m late.

Sergei’s and Igor’s faces ease at my presence. If I hadn’t shown up, it wouldn’t only have been an insult to Rai, but also to the entire brotherhood. I might have been forgiven before, but if I abandoned Sergei’s grandniece at the altar, he’d chop my head off with his own hands—or he’d probably let Rai do it.

There’s no forgiving disgrace.

While the church calms down upon my entry, Damien, the fucker who needs a bullet in his skull, glares at me, obviously displeased that I showed up.

He must’ve been waiting, biding his time, planning to take Rai away, but he doesn’t know who he’s up against. He has no idea that I’ll be his worst nightmare.

Rai’s expression doesn’t change, neither in relief nor in apprehension, but that spark doesn’t leave her eyes. My future wife looks ready to rip me a new one. I smile at the thought of what I’m going to do to her tonight.

After the show I prepared, she’ll have nowhere to go but to me.

Only to me.

As I walk toward her, I can’t help but notice how her simple white dress molds to her tits at the top. The décolletage, although partly camouflaged by lace, hints at enough cleavage to leave me salivating for more. The cloth hugs her curves and falls to her feet. It’s simple, elegant, like everything about her.

Who knew someone who looks so much like an angel could harbor a devil inside? And I’m very glad to make its acquaintance. After all, I’ve been raised among devils since I was five.

Some would argue I became one myself, but I digress.

When I reach Rai, she huffs under her breath and turns away from me. It’s Sergei who places her hand in mine.

“Take care of her,” he tells me in a low tone only I can hear.

I’ll do more than take care of her, old man. I’ll ruin your entire empire through her.

“It’ll be a miracle if he takes care of himself,” she mutters under her breath.

Sergei clears his throat, kisses her head, and then offers her his hand. She kisses it, then I’m forced to do the same to show respect and blah fucking blah.

As soon as he leaves our side, Rai faces the priest, her expression closed, but there’s something she can’t control—her eyes. They’re darkening and glimmering with the promise of a battle brewing in the distance.

I lean over to whisper in her ear, “What’s made my beautiful wife mad?”

She elbows me with the strength of a warrior. Fuck, it’s hard enough that she nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. “Your existence.”

“You wound me, Princess,” I joke.

“You deserve more than a wound.” She meets my eyes for the first time today, and I don’t like what I see there. It’s not about the anger she wears as armor, or the frustration that accompanies her inability to inflict violence. It’s everything else, from the slight tremble in her chin to the tears shining in her eyes. No matter how much she tries to chalk those up to anger, they’re not. Far from it.

“You weren’t planning on showing up, so why did you? Are you taking pity on me?”

I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her close to my side. I spent a long time away from this woman, so long it’s become blasphemy to put even more distance between us. “I came because you’re becoming my wife.” She tries to pull away, but I keep her pinned in place as I smile at the old priest. “Please proceed.”

He clears his throat and speaks in English, but with the signature Russian accent. “We’re gathered here today for the holy union between Kyle Hunter and Rai Sokolov.”

He goes on and on about the importance of marriage and God and his lovely angels and everything in between. His words filter in through my ears but never really register. My entire attention is on Rai, who’s concentrating way too hard on the priest’s nonsense.

Her brows draw together when she’s in focus mode and her lips part a little, revealing the slight teardrop at the top lip.

She can look so delicate and soft—breakable, even—that is until she speaks or takes action. That’s when people know they have a feisty, take-no-nonsense type of person on their hands, the kind it’s almost impossible to win against because they were trained to never lose. Either they win or they destroy.

“What are you looking at?” she snaps through gritted teeth without cutting off her concentration on the priest.

“You, Princess.”

“Focus.”

“I will do the focusing thing later when we consummate our marriage.”

“Kyle!” she hisses.

“What? You’re the one who’s tempting me.”

“You’ll be far from tempted when I kick you in the balls.”

“Kinky—I love it.” I lower my voice. “Does this mean I get to use toys?”

“Toys to choke the life out of you, maybe.”

“I had other types in mind. You know, the ones that make you scream for more.” The priest clears his throat, and I motion at him to continue. “Never mind us, Father. We’re laying the grounds for our future ‘holy’ union.”