Theron looked at her, his eyes widening with surprise for only a fleeting moment.
He should have seen it coming sooner.
This, then, was what he had promised. And the court had not even granted him a single night to breathe before placing this pampered, ornamental woman in his hands.
He wanted to turn away.
But before he could, his mother caught his hand.
"Come now," Margrethe murmured, her voice light with insistence. "Do not be shy. Hold out your hand and let her stand beside you, where everyone can see."
Theron looked at his mother.
Then at the woman waiting below.
Golden-blonde hair, twisted into an elaborate knot that seemed almost too perfect to have been touched by a human hand. Amber eyes, bright and unmistakable, carrying the proud color of House Caelvaris. Full cheeks. Poised shoulders. A smile composed of confidence and lineage, the kind of smile that had never once needed permission to exist.
So this is the woman I am meant to spend the rest of my life with?
