Damon

I was being groomed for a deal. Prince Daemon was absent from the dinner party—only an empty chair. I slipped out and, in the candlelight, crashed into a figure out of nowhere. I fell, then looked up. Gray eyes bored into me with icy calm.

• Oh, I'm sorry... I didn't mean to.
  He was silent. The silence rang dangerously. I rushed away, feeling his gaze on my back. It was Prince Daemon.

Two days later he came to our castle. Father summoned me to the throne room.

— Daughter. From now on, Prince Damon is your husband.

• What?! I don't want to!
  "You should have thought about it before throwing yourself at the heir's feet. The alliance is signed. You will accept it."

The wedding was like a funeral. For six months we lived as shadows: at balls our fingers intertwined for prying eyes, behind bedroom doors they parted. One day, I tugged at his sleeve.

— Let's go dance. Otherwise I'll be glued to the floor.
His gaze slid over her face, neck, and neckline.
"I don't like dancing, my dear. This is your rightful place—next to me, as an ornament."

The young heir extended his hand:

• My lady, may I steal you away for a dance?
  I took a step. Someone else's arm wrapped around my waist, pressing my back into his chest. Damon pressed me so tightly that the scent of leather and menace filled me.

"You've taken your paws off my wife. She's mine alone. Go away before I take your fingers as a souvenir."