Chapter 8 · The Greenfire Writ

"Step away from him, Sula. By royal order, you are no longer Varan Gault's bride."

Aileen's voice cut through the keep's great hall, sharp enough to turn every head.

She stood beneath the iron banners in a white fur cloak, a gold crown pinned into her dark hair. Behind her, six royal guards raised their spears. Two carried the red-sealed scroll of the capital.

Varan was on one knee beside the long table.

His hand gripped the edge so hard the wood cracked under his fingers. Black lines crawled from his collar to his jaw. His breath came rough and hot, but the cold coming off his body still made the nearest candles gutter.

I had one palm pressed to his chest.

His heart slammed against it.

"You walked into my keep with armed men," I said. "And your first order is to steal my husband?"

Aileen's mouth tightened. "That man is not your husband. Your contract was never recognized by the Crown."

"Funny. The Crown recognized it when your family needed my marrow."

A few lords shifted along the walls. No one looked at Aileen now. They looked at Varan. At the black cracks splitting his skin.