To Bleed a Crystal Bloom by Sarah A. Parker

Atear darts down my cheek, and I bat it away with a swift hand, as if it doesn’t hold the weight of my fractured heart in that one tiny bead.

Another swiftly follows.

Rhordyn steps onto the dais, followed by a smiling Zali who’s dressed in a gown of swishing bronze that melts off her curves. The crowd turns their attention toward the High Master and High Mistress standing above everyone else like they were made to fit together. Made to rule and conquer and save the world together.

They wear no crowns or diadems of power. No need when they carry themselves with such regal poise that the very air seems to bow around them.

The skin on my left arm tingles, and I glance sidelong, seeing Cainon resting against the wall not a foot away, hands threaded deep in his pockets.

His hair is pulled back in a bun that shows off the fierce lines of his undercut, and his outfit is far more casual than anyone else’s; tight navy pants and a white, form-fitting button-down, sleeves rolled to reveal his thick, corded forearms. Unbuttoned at the top, his shirt offers a window to smooth slabs of golden muscle.

He’s a slant of sunlight cutting through the dim—the picture of casual elegance dressed in raw sex appeal with a dash of wild abandon.

“Why does the pretty flower cry?” he asks, rolling his head to the side, snagging me with a nonchalant stare.

But I sense a seed of sincerity beneath the hook of his rakish mouth, in the depth of those pale blue eyes. And the question, it’s so ... invasive. Like he’s gone fishing down my throat, trying to hook my heart on a line.

I’m not used to questions such as this from anyone but Kai.

His hand lifts, encroaching on the space between us, and I don’t have the air in my lungs to object before he sweeps the pad of his thumb along my jaw, smearing a tear across it like a bead of paint.

Despite my surprise, a toxic form of gravity is luring my eye toward that podium. No matter how much I fight it, I break.

His thumb falls the moment my eyes flick away.

“I see,” he murmurs. “The flower dug her roots in.”

“The flower was stupid.”

A ting-ting-ting splits apart the celebratory racket. The music stops, and a silence slips over the crowd, though to me, it doesn’t seem silent at all. It’s blaring, and not a single part of me wants to be here watching this story unfold.

I peel off the wall, determined to charge through the enchanted crowd and find a corner away from curious eyes. Somewhere I can compose myself into that resilient woman who’s strong and grounded ...

Cainon’s hand slips into mine and grips, anchoring me in place.

Anchoring me to him.

My stare stabs down at our twisted fingers, his skin so golden compared to the creamy tone of my own.

“Nope.” The word is thick and incriminating, leading my gaze to slice up and dive into the waveless pools of his own. “You stand right here and watch,” he whispers, pulling me back against the wall with a soft thud. “If you stay in this castle, this is what you’ll see every single day. Except it’ll be much, much worse.”

My brows collide as he shrugs a shoulder. “You’ll be able to smell her all over him. You’ll see her swell with his child, because that’s what will be expected of them to make this façade believable.”

My breaths become sharp and short—my imagination painting a clear, concise picture.

And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much.

“And eventually ...” his expression softens, “eventually, those feelings will turn to love. It doesn’t matter who you are, where you’ve come from; it’s in our nature to fall in love with the shackle that binds us.”

Another tear darts down my cheek, and again he catches it, sucking the residue off his thumb.

Something inside me twists at the intimate sight.

“And why the hell do you care?”

Cainon offers a consolation smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because there are other options that would benefit us both.”

Honesty.

Well, that’s something. I usually get nothing but corked answers.

“Tonight,” Rhordyn rumbles, his barreling voice filling the room, “I address not just the people of Ocruth, but the entire continent.”

My spine straightens, gaze coaxed to the podium by the deep tenure of his familiar voice threatening to undo me.

Rhordyn assesses the crowd for a long, haunting minute, capturing hundreds of breaths, tilting hundreds of chins, widening hundreds of pairs of eyes before he takes Zali’s hand in his own.

My blood chills.

He might as well have busted the same hand through my ribs and grabbed hold of my heart. Because right now, he’s controlling my beats, deciding whether to let the thing keep pumping or to yank it from my chest and toss it at the ground.

He doesn’t look at me. Not once. Just squares his shoulders and says, “I found love in the secure roots of a friendship I’ve treasured for a very long time, much the same way I treasure the protection of my lands. My people.”

The crowd cheers, filling the ballroom with a meal of merriment that starves me of breath.

He lifts Zali’s left hand, parading her bare wrist like it’s some sort of trophy.

It mocks me—makes me feel like my chest is caving.

Don’t do it, Rhordyn.

Please don’t ...

“Tonight, I make our most sacred promise to this woman beside me.”

I can’t breathe, can’t think. I’ve climbed to the tallest branch in the tallest tree, snapping them all in the process, and now the only way down is to fall.

“But I also make the same promise to our people. Because Zali and I will not just be uniting in love, but also in territory.”

Love.

The word tears a hole in my heart; brings a fresh wave of tears that threaten to spill.

“We will be smudging the border between our lands in an effort to make them safe again!”

This time when the crowd erupts, it’s deafening. A booming applause riddled with hoots and whistles and screams—the desperate pleas of people who have been living in fear for far too long. People who believe this coupling is the cure for their very worst nightmares.

And perhaps it is ... but it’s killing me. Plundering my heart and planting a shadow seed amongst the fleshy mess of my insides.

My foot darts forward as Rhordyn reaches for the cupla secured around his wrist, and the hand anchoring me grips tighter.

“Don’t,” Cainon growls.

“Screw you.”

I’m about to take another step when the bastard tugs my arm until it’s locked against his torso.

“You’re a dick,” I bite out, watching Rhordyn cinch that obsidian oath around Zali’s wrist, feeling part of me break away and wither at the sight.

“Undoubtedly. But you’ll thank me later.”

“Not likely.”

The catch is fastened, and the crowd erupts in a riot of cheers, toasting frothy glasses while I resist the urge to rip my arm right from the socket and dash back to Stony Stem where I can lick my wounds in peace.

He did it. He actually fucking did it.

I whip a glass off a passing tray and down the entire thing in one gulp.

“Impressive,” Cainon yells over the roar of the mob, and I murder him with a glare, my back to the dais ...

It’s customary to seal the gifting of a cupla with a kiss—something I have no interest in seeing. By the way the crowd explodes with another round of applause, I know exactly when it’s happened.

A few agonizing seconds pass before something deep inside me tugs, commanding my head to turn. I refuse, but the hook yanks harder, harder ... until I finally give in and steal a peek toward the dais.

Big mistake.

Rhordyn’s gaze flays me as I slam the empty glass against Cainon’s chest, and those wide, metallic eyes seem to harbor the buds of silver flames. I swear his presence expands—takes up more of the joyous vista, infecting it with an icy anger most people probably don’t recognize.

Music starts, the crowd churns, and a blanket of merriment severs me from his stare.

I breathe a serrated sigh, liquid ire surging through my veins.

He did it.

There’s nothing left to hold me back.

Baze emerges from the crowd, slaying Cainon with a rusty glare as he stabs a hand toward me. “Orlaith, may I have this dance?”

He’s not really giving me a choice. He’s giving me a command.

But I’m feeling untethered and brave—my stomach bubbling with liquid courage that’s licking its way through my veins, making me feel weightless and warm.

Strong, composed, resilient.

“No, thank you,” I answer, smiling sweetly, fluttering my lashes up at Cainon who lifts a tawny brow. “Cain has already asked.”

Cainon’s lips hook at the corner, the gesture sharpening when Baze makes a rumbling sound somehow audible over the wash of merriment.

I don’t dare look back at him as I’m led toward the large square of floor space, only a few dancers decorating its buffed obsidian surface.

My smile bleeds away the moment I’m spun into Cainon’s chest. “I have no idea how to dance,” I hiss, acutely aware of how confidently he moves with the music. There’s a casual certainty in the way he grips my hip and holds my hand aloft, directing me to make the right steps like a puppet on a string.

“You’re doing fine. Just keep following my lead.”

He spins me out, and I’m careful to plant twin seeds of love in my eyes—to wear a smile that’s lustful and convincing. I’m careful to show my feelings with long, lingering looks and in the way I posture myself toward him.

He spins me against his chest, and it shakes with a burrowed chuckle trying to break free. “You’re an interesting thing.” I’m spun out into another twirl. “And that dress ...” he purrs, watching the gush of red twist around my legs. “Exquisite.”

“Thank you,” is my tight-lipped response as I hold my counterfeit grin. When I’m tugged in with my back pressed against his muscular chest, I notice all eyes on us—including Rhordyn and Zali, who are standing side by side at the edge of the dancing square.

Rhordyn’s gaze grabs me from across the empty space, and there’s violence in his eyes.

Cold, merciless violence.

He asked for this. He wanted effort.

I look away.

“Everyone’s watching,” I mutter, focused on keeping my vicious heels to myself. I doubt wounding the man is any way to acquire the ships he apparently has control over.

Cainon’s lips brush the shell of my ear. “Indeed. And I’ve never seen a more convincing show.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re not fooling yourself into thinking this is something more,” I say without shifting my perfectly painted smile.

He twists me out, then whips me in so we’re chest to chest and I’m caged by the snare of his ocean eyes.

Eyes that are suddenly serious.

“I’m not too prideful to steal another man’s treasure, Orlaith.”

I paint an extra layer of love in my eyes, pretending there isn’t a frigid arrow protruding from my scorned heart. “I know.”

I’m tugged so tight against his body that my breasts ache. “Do you, though? How far are you willing to go to spite your wounded heart?”

Strong, composed ...

Resilient.

“As far as it takes,” I bite out with all the conviction I can muster.

As far as it takes to secure those ships; to save more little girls from living the same nightmares that ruined me.

His lips curl at the corner again, exposing a deep dimple on his right cheek. “We’ll see.”

And then his lips are on mine, moving with mine—a strike intended to capture, wound, and claim.

The room chills as his tongue digs in and sweeps across my own. As he probes and explores and steals the breath from my lungs.

It’s fierce and predatory, unveiling a fiery wash of masculine want I wasn’t prepared to withstand. It’s like he just sat down for a meal, and something about his ravenous hunger has my body heating. Spine arcing.

There’s fire in my veins but ice at my back, and the two are battling.

When he pulls away, I’m panting.

Scattered.

The crowd begins to murmur, the tips of my fingers grazing puffy lips tingling from his heated assault. Despite the restless onlookers, a sense of silence encroaches, and I peer out from the bubble of tension embracing us.

I realize we’re the only ones on the dance floor. That we have a dense boundary of onlookers—some throwing hushed words at their acquaintances, some open-mouthed and gawking, some stealing glances at Rhordyn ...

I dare a peek at the man himself, a shadow of seething brawn staring at Cainon with something much worse than death in his eyes.

Deep inside me, something throbs—sharp and painful, as though an internal wound is leaking vital fluids.

His attention drops and I follow his scathing trail to the dark blue and gold cupla now secured around my wrist ...

My heart leaps into my throat.

Barely able to draw breath into my encumbered lungs, I glance up, but Cainon’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Rhordyn with the same menacing glare laden with the same menacing message.

“This is what you wanted, yes?”

All I can do is nod.

“Good. Then don’t look so shocked. Stun the people with another one of those dazzling smiles.”

“How about I stun you with another kick to the kidney?” I bite out through a forged grin.

“Later, when there aren’t so many people watching. Shall I make a fancy speech, too? Declare my love with some ornamental verbiage?”

Gods, no ...

“That won’t be neces—”

“Silence,” he yells, buttoning a hundred pairs of gossiping lips with a single word.

Internally, my palm collides with my face.

He grips my hand and hoists it above my head, like he’s erecting a war flag. “And raise your glasses to the future High Mistress of the South.”

High Mis—

Wait.

The moment stretches, tension crackles, before a sea of flutes shoot skyward ...

Oh, shit.