He chose the red for her. The most valued of all, the signal that she would be the favored amongst all his females.

The queen.

And that honor should have been enough. Except as she envisioned the many he would take, pain struck in her chest.

As he came back toward her, he must have sensed her sadness. “What ails you, leelan?”

Anha shook her head, and told herself that sharing him was not something she had any right to mourn. She—

The King shook his head. “No. There shall only be you.”

Anha recoiled. “My lord, that is not tradition—”

“Am I not the ruler of all? Can I not decree life and death o’er my subjects?” When she nodded, a hard cast came upon his face—and made her pity any who would try to deny him. “So I shall determine what is and is not tradition. And there shall only be you for me.”

Tears sprang anew to Anha’s eyes. She wanted to believe him, and yet that seemed impossible—even as he wrapped her still-clad form with the blood-colored silk.

“You honor me,” she said, staring into his face.

“Not enough.” With a quick turn, he stalked across to a table that had been laid with gems.

The largesse of jewels had been the last thing on her mind as he had lifted her hood, but now her eyes widened at the display of wealth. Surely, she did not deserve such things. Not until she gave him an heir.

Which abruptly seemed not a chore, a’tall.

As he returned unto her, she inhaled sharply. Rubies, so many she couldn’t count them—indeed, a whole tray … including the Saturnine ring which she had been told had always graced the hand of the queen.

“Accept these and know my truth,” he said as he once again lowered himself at her feet.

Anha felt her head shake. “No, no, these are for the ceremony—”

“Which we shall have here and the now.” He put out his palm. “Give me your hand.”

Anha’s every bone was shaking as she obeyed him, and she let out a gasp as the Saturnine stone went onto her middle finger on the right. As she looked into the gem, candlelight refracted amongst its facets, flaring with beauty sure as true love lit the heart from within.

“Anha, do you accept me as your King and mate, until the door unto the Fade is offered afore you?”

“Yes,” she heard herself say with surprising strength.

“Then I, Wrath, son of Wrath, do take you as my shellan, to watch over and care for you and any begotten young we may have, sure as I would and will my kingdom, and its citizenry. You shall be mine fore’ermore—your enemies are mine own, your bloodline to mix with mine own, your dusks and your dawns to share only with me. This bond shall ne’er be torn asunder by forces within or without—and”—here he paused—“there shall be one and only one female for all mine days, and you shall be that only queen.”

With that, he brought up his other hand and laced all their fingers together. “None shall part us. Ever.”

Although Anha did not have knowledge of it currently, in future years, as destiny continued to roll forward, transforming this present moment into past history, she would return to this instant over and over again. Later, she would reflect that they had both been lost that night, and the sight of the other had given them the solid ground they had required.

Later, when sleeping close to her mate in their bedding and hearing him gently snore, she would know that what had seemed like a dream was in reality a living, breathing miracle.

Later, on the night that she and her beloved were slaughtered, when her eyes latched onto the crawl space where she had hidden their heir, their future, the only thing that was greater than the two of them … she would have as her last dying thought that it was all meant to be. Whether the tragedy or the luck, all of it had been predetermined, and it had started here, in this instant, as the King’s fingers intertwined with her own and the two of them became locked one into the other, for eternity.

“Who shall attend you this night and this day afore the public ceremony?” he asked.

She hated to leave him. “I should return to my quarters.”

He frowned deeply. But then he released her and took his sweet time adorning her with the rubies until they hung from her ears and her neck and both of her wrists.

The King touched the largest of the stones, the one that hung over her heart. As his lids lowered, she believed that he had gone somewhere carnal in his mind—mayhap he was imagining her without benefit of clothing, nothing but her skin to frame the heavy golden settings with their diamond accents and those incredible red gems.

The last of the suite was the crown itself, and he lifted the circlet from the velvet tray, placing it on her head and then sitting back to survey her.

“You outshine it all,” he said.

Anha looked down at herself. Red, red, everywhere, the color of blood, the color of life itself. Indeed, she could not imagine the value in the gems, but that was not what touched her. The honor he was paying her in this moment was legendary—and as she considered that, she wished this could have been private between them fore’ermore.

That would not be, however. And the courtiers were not going to like this, she thought.

“I shall take you to your quarters.”

“Oh, my lord, you should not bother yourself—”

“There is naught else to consume me this night, I assure you.”

She could not stop her smile. “As you wish, my lord.”

Except she was not sure she could stand with all the—

Anha didn’t make it all the way onto her feet. The King swept in and gathered her in his arms, holding her up from the floor as if she weighed naught more than a field dove.

And with that, he marched across, kicked open the closed door and strode out into the corridor: They were all there, the hallway full of aristocrats and members of the Black Dagger Brotherhood—and instinctively she turned her head into Wrath’s neck.

Whilst being raised for the King’s purpose, she had always felt like an object, and yet, that had gone away when she was alone with the male. Now, exposed to the invasive gazes of the others, she was once again in that role, relegated to a possession rather than an equal.

“Wherever goest thou?” one of the aristocrats demanded as the King strode by without acknowledging them.

Wrath kept walking—but clearly this one courtier would not be denied that which was not his due.

The male placed himself in their path. “My lord, it is customary for—”

“I shall attend her in mine own quarters this night and all others.”

Surprise flared in a thin, pinched face. “My lord, that is the queen’s honor only, and even if you have had the female, it is not official until—”

“We are duly mated. I performed the ceremony myself. She is mine own and I am hers, and surely you do not wish to be in the path of a bonded male with his female—much less the King with his queen. Do you.”

There was a clapping sound of teeth meeting teeth, as if someone’s jaw had fallen open and then been closed with alacrity.

Looking past Wrath’s shoulder, she saw smiles on the Brotherhood’s faces, as if the fighters approved of the aggression. The others in the robes? ’Twas not approval on their visages. Impotence. Supplication. Subtle anger.

They knew who held the power, and it was not theirs.

“You should be accompanied, my lord,” one of the Brothers said. “Not out of custom, but in deference to the times. Even in this stronghold, it is appropriate for the First Family to be guarded.”

The King nodded after a moment. “Fine enough. Follow me, but”—his voice dropped to a growl—“you do not touch her in any way or I shall rip from you the appendage that offends her physical form.”

True respect and some kind of affection warmed the Brother’s voice: “As you wish, my lord. Brotherhood, fall in!”

All at once, daggers were ripped out of chest holsters, black blades glinting in the torches that lined the hall. As Anha’s fingers dug into her King’s precious vestments, the Brothers let out a whooping battle cry, those weapons going over their heads.