“I understand that you have much to think about,” Montaigne said, pretending to ignore Raisa’s small army. “But you of all people should understand that I am not endlessly patient. When your mother became an obstacle, you removed her. Just as I will not hesitate to remove anyone who gets in my way.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “I offer you a role and a voice in a greater kingdom of Arden—an offer that may be withdrawn at any time. I suggest that you choose carefully and render me an answer sooner rather than later.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, without even a suggestion of a bow.

“Montaigne!” Raisa called after him, her voice ringing out above the music and clamor of voices.

He swung around to face her. “Yes?”

“No need to wait and wonder. I’ll give you my answer now,” she said.

Montaigne turned and stood waiting, his lips forming a faint smile.

He expects me to give in, Raisa realized, astonished. He expects me to say yes.

He is used to bullying women into doing what he wants, she thought. He’s never bothered to learn to read them.

Maybe it was Raisa’s imagination, but it seemed the ballroom went silent around them, waiting to hear her answer.

“The answer is no,” Raisa said, in a loud, carrying voice. “I would rather marry the Demon King himself than marry you. I suggest you look elsewhere for a bride. And heaven help the one you choose.”

Two spots of color appeared on Montaigne’s pale cheeks—whether fury or embarrassment at this public rejection, Raisa couldn’t tell.

Now he inclined his head a fraction, his blue eyes as pale and cold as wind-roughened ice. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for being so direct with me. Good evening.”

Raisa watched him walk away with mingled feelings of relief and dread. It was a relief to put an end to the charade that she would ever consider a marriage with Montaigne. But she knew he would find a way to make her pay for his public humiliation.

I should have let Cat kill him, she thought.

C H A P T E R  T H I R T Y - S E V E N

CORONATION

The coronation ball had been for the nobility, wizards, and military officers—bluebloods, Han would call them. Valefolk of all ranks were invited to the Coronation Day party. And there would be a feast and dancing in the Spirits for clanfolk.

Even in celebration, her people were divided.

First to temple. Magret helped Raisa into her temple robes, draping the elaborately embroidered clanwork coronation garment over her shoulders. It was studded with jewels, and so heavy Raisa nearly staggered under the weight.

It seemed symbolic of the load of responsibility settling onto her shoulders.