The Kept

The Groom

Nerys's proposal had sent a bright flush across Trgyve's cheeks, but he did not refuse her. It was in his best interest not to. Now that his end of the arrangement was upheld and Dadien and Amparo were together once more, it was time for Nerys to follow through with hers.

She felt apprehensive and slightly ill as she was ushered into her suite. The bridal bed was strewn with fragrant flower petals, and a single lantern made the suite feel warm and romantic—despite the fact that her groom stood in the center of it regarding everything with absolute disdain.

"Go back to your captain and tell her that I am not interested in this sort of distraction."

Gereon appraised her veiled form with a utter disgust. A bandage covered most of his torso and right shoulder. His face was marred with multiple cuts and bruises—though the dark shadows beneath his eyes seemed more from exhaustion than injury—and his hair was anxiously disheveled.

"I just need to see my wife! Or at least proof she is still alive as your people claim."

Nerys pulled back the veil and hoped she didn't look as unsteady as she felt.

"I am."

Gereon stepped forward then halted as his eyes traveled from her face to the rest of her body. She was clad in sheer, pale blue material that could only be considered a dress by the very loosest of definitions. His expression quickly evolved from surprise and relief to anger.

"What is this? They refused every request to see you and now they bring you to my chamber dressed like some sort of concubine!"

The word stung with shame, but she brushed it aside and moved toward him with determined stride.

"I came to you like this by choice," Nerys said. "As your bride."

The sedative Trygve had forced on her was still coursing through her veins and the floor seemed to tilt sickeningly beneath her, causing her to stumble and catch herself on the edge of the bed. She sat down to recover and hoped the motion seemed mostly intentional.

"You have never chosen me," Gereon said. He remained where he stood, watching her skeptically.

"It should always have been you..." Nerys replied.

She truly meant it. If Trygve had never interfered and turned them against each other—and toward their darkest impulses—Gereon might easily have won her heart. But even when her heart faltered, there had never been a doubt in her mind that the cold, calculating prince who had ordered Kalea's murder fully deserved a slow, painful entrance to an afterlife of suffering.

"But the gods made us enemies before we had a chance to be lovers," she concluded.

"The gods?"

Gereon pushed his sleeve back revealing the Kept-cloak arm band that Enzo had gifted Nerys. She hadn't noticed it had been lost in all the chaos. He began unlacing the band and slowly approached Nerys as he spoke.

"The gods placed you in my kingdom and guided your steps to my Esidiem. They bound our fates together and made you mine to keep long before we ever crossed paths."

He knelt beside her and his proximity stirred every memory of his touch, good and ill. She was so overwhelmed by the desire to retreat from her own thoughts that, in retrospect, the threat to drug Nerys out of her senses seemed more like an offer of mercy—though she now suspected that it was Trygve who had fed Calliste the idea.

Gereon reached for her. Nerys stiffened and started to pull away from him, ever so slightly. She corrected herself but the small movement did not go unnoticed. He seemed disappointed, though not surprised.