Chapter 47
He suddenly stops, turning me to face him by my shoulders. He leans in and I cringe away. His hands tighten on my shoulders until they ache, and my body stills in pain.
Then his lips are on mine. Hard and demanding. My eyes squeeze shut at the rising vomit coming up my throat. His face tilts, wanting more than I will give. My hands clench at my sides, vibrating with anger at this violation. When I feel wetness touch my lip, I push against his chest. He barely moves, but it’s enough for me to bring my hand up and wipe the back of it across my mouth.
His lips, the black paint from my mouth smeared on them, stretch in an evil grin, and he laughs. Laughs. The sound of it filling the hall as my hatred for him grows. He leans in again and I lean back as far as I can before just turning my face away from him.
“Get used to it wife,” he spits the word. “We’ll be doing much more than kissing tonight. Fight if you want then. It’ll make it more entertaining.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He trails his finger down my cheek. “You won’t be saying that come morning.”
He grabs my hand again, using the other to wipe the paint from his lips, and pulls me behind him, making sure I follow him to the dining hall. We enter to rapturous applause. Maryam looks at me, and her eyes narrow on my lips. I realize then how it must look. The color of my lips surely showing now that some of the paint has clearly been taken off. Her top lip curls up when we pass the table she sits at. I mouth, I’m okay, before I turn to take my seat beside Azar. He even has the audacity to pull my chair out like a respectful man.
I sit and suffer through course after course, avoiding the eyes of those who know my plan, too afraid our look will give something away. Pushing the food around on my plate, appetite gone, I try to figure out what happened to my magic during the ceremony. No answers come.
Azar’s hand drifts to my knee more than once through the feast, no matter how many times I push it away under the table. This time when I try to move his hand away from me, he tightens it on my knee, squeezing until the bones feel like they’re going to crack. I move my hand away and his begins moving, slowly up my thigh. I turn my head to the side and find him watching me, his lips curved up in a cruel smirk.
“Can’t a husband touch his wife?” he asks low.
“When she wants him to,” I snap.
“I simply cannot wait until we…retire.”
I’m the one who leans in closer now. “Does that make you feel good? Get you excited? To threaten your wife? To make her fear what you’ll do once you get her behind closed doors?”
“It does. So very much. Are you, Ameera? Scared? Are your legs shaking the way your hands were during the ceremony?”
“I will never fear you.”
Lie.
“I will never quake from the threats you make.”
Lie.
“If you want some terrified wife, then you should have chosen another as your bride.”
Truth.
He simply grins. “We will see, won’t we?”
Cake is brought out then, the crowd cheering, in awe of its beauty. And it is stunning, but any appreciation for it flees when Azar takes hold of my hand. I stand out of my seat and walk around the table with him. Whereas any other time in Nur, the husband and wife cut the cake together, Azar grabs the knife, his large hand covering the entire handle, and cuts into the cake. There’s a muffled gasp when he slices through the cake, then polite applause as he puts the knife back down.
He takes the piece in his hand and brings the tip of it to my mouth. I tighten my mouth, refusing to allow him this. His eyes narrow and he persists, pressing the cake to my lips until I can feel it begin to smear. So I open my mouth…and snap at his hand. He pulls back just in time, his laugh bellowing in the hall.
He brings me close to him, his mouth nuzzling my ear. “Just keep that fight up, my dear wife. You’ll need it.”
And my lie is never more apparent than when I do indeed quake, a shiver raking through me as he turns away from me. I find my father standing behind the table, staring at with me with anger in his eyes. I no longer care. What can he do now? He can’t even punish me if he wanted to. I am now Queen of Sameer, as much as I hate to even think of that meaning I’m truly married to Azar.
Azar walks away from the cake over to where some of his nobles are gathered. I take the moment alone and return to the table. I’ve not even fully sat in my seat when I feel a sharp pain travel through my body. I know this pain. I felt it last night. I crumble into the chair and, trying to catch my breath, lift my eyes to Widad. Her own are black with the spell she does. Unbinding my magic once again.
The spell Widad does takes just as much out of me as it did last night, but I struggle to hide it, realizing Widad waited until Azar was away from me to cast this spell. My eyes dart around the room, finding my father talking to Hunyan, but Maryam close enough to overhear their conversation. Azar still in conversation with a noble, and Arwa glaring at Widad but too weak to do much else. I’m sure she can tell Widad is doing a spell, but I pray she doesn’t know which one, that Widad is undoing what she did.
Gripping the arms of my chair, I desperately try to steel myself against the pain of my power rising in me. I bite down hard on my lip to keep the gasp clawing its way up my throat from leaving my mouth. And then my magic blossoms in me again, flowing through my body. I press my back into the seat to keep it from arching forward, then, finally, my body sags, and my shaking hands unclench the chair just as I see Azar turn towards me. He begins walking back to our table, and I fight to even my breathing before he reaches me. But he suspects something. His eyes dart all over my face, narrowing after a few seconds.
“You look…flustered,” he says.
“Just…overwhelmed by it all. Perhaps you would allow me to retire for the night.”
His laughter fills the hall, making the heads of our guests turn to us. “Not a chance wife. Neither of us will sleep for quite some time.”
Snarling, I look away from him, back to the table Widad and Arwa sit at. I begin to give Widad a thankful nod, but then think better of it. I study Arwa instead. She sits slumped over in her seat, still weakened from the ceremony. A thrill shoots through me at seeing her, at wondering just how much of her power she lost doing the spell that ties me to Azar. If the shock from Widad’s spell that she did in the dungeon to tie me and my father to our promises and the explosion I felt inside me from Arwa’s spell at the wedding are anything to go by, she expelled much more of her power than Widad did. And now I know it’s because she did a binding spell as well, further expending herself.
“Are you well?” Maryam whispers in my ear, making me turn to look at her.
“As I can be. All is the same?”
She nods, and I straighten my shoulders.
“Then I will find the strength to make sure everything goes as planned.”
“You do not need to find strength Ameera. You already have it.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You just forget every now and then that you do.”
“Then I’m thankful I have you to remind me.” I smile, and it’s easier this time because I know she’s right.
That strength begins to fill me anew, flowing to every part of my body, hardening my heart for what comes next. And when my father steps down, his eyes full of malice as they settle on me, I realize, what comes next…is now.
“It is time for the bedding ceremony,” he announces. “Queen Ameera will retire to the queen’s quarters to prepare herself for King Azar.”
My eyes widen at that. The queen’s quarters? I had assumed we would return to my bedroom, or even the room Azar is staying in. I had prepared for both. Not this room. My heart sinks, but Maryam reaches for my hand, linking it tightly with hers. I look at her, trying to keep my bottom lip from quivering.
“You don’t need to become what you already are, Ameera. Be fierce,” she reminds me.
I take a deep breath and nod, steeling myself for what needs to be done. For what needs to happen now, whether I prepared for this exact situation or not. The time is now. And now is all I have. Tonight. I squeeze her hand before walking away. She holds on until I’m too far away for her to any longer. The one show of how afraid she is as well.
I quickly share a glance with Widad, and she nods. Good. It’s time. She rises from the table and walks towards the doors. Her head down, she passes by Azar and the guards there unnoticed. And then my eyes move from her retreating form to the man, the monster, standing in the doorframe.
Azar waits for me, a wolfish smile on his face, his scars pulling with his expression. He extends his arm so I can walk past him, to the guard who will take me to where nightmares continue. The people in the room behind me begin to cheer and in this moment, I hate every last one of them. For condoning this, for applauding this, for seeing the misery I’m clearly in and being willing to sacrifice me to Azar anyway.
Even though I tell myself not to, I turn around and look at the one person I’m sure isn’t clapping. Maryam watches me, anguish clear on her face. She mouths two words and although they’re silent, their meaning fills me with every bit of drive, and the motivation I need to do what I must next. There is no other option. I won’t let there be.
“Free yourself.”