3His eyes are chains of gold, icy and unforgiving against my body. He sits like my kingdom is already his, as if he doesn't need to marry me in order to reign it.
Father occupies the space beside me, and oddly, his presence calms and angers me to no end. Though, the anger does tend to surge and subside, surge and subside, every time he opens in his mouth.
"I do think this will be a beneficial arrangement, for the good of both of our kingdoms. Am I wrong, Stephen? Celine?" father boasts, speaking like he cares about the good of the Herondale's kingdom. Those who aren't familiar with Valentine Morgenstern's cunning tactics would swoon at the first word uttered from his clever mouth.
Stephen Herondale's face shapes itself into a smile. It's akin to watching someone open a book that hasn't been touched in centuries. My only conclusion is that the Herondales do not know how to display happiness, and therefore never outrightly show any emotion.
I'm blown away; I'm marrying an emotionless piece of flesh.
"Valentine," Celine's voice is soft, almost deceivingly so. I can feel it reach out to me, console me, and I hate it. It makes me want to gouge the skin from my face and scream. "We're honoured to accept Clarissa into our kingdom, our home—beyond delighted, frankly. Our Jonathan has needed a counterpart, and I'm sure Clarissa has needed one, too." What I need is a way to get out of here. But I know I'm trapped in something like a cement box with no entrance or exit.
Celine smiles like she's done it before. I assume she's not been a true Herondale.
"Yes, it's true. And imagine the feats we could achieve with the union of our districts," Stephen wonders. I don't like his wondering. My district has been doing fine; it has no need of these outsiders, these threats. "I can't help but express my hope of this extending into something great." He's expressing nothing.
Father chuckles. I pray that it's not sincere, that he sees the Herondales as I do. Sensing Jonathan Herondale's pressing gaze on my arms, my neck, my face—my everywhere—and knowing that I am strong enough to not be intimidated by it, I lead my eyes to father's expression.
It holds sincerity.
There is dread in the air, and my features soak it all up.
"How lucky we are, Stephen," he says. My breath comes out jagged. "How lucky we are."
A/N: 🌚🌚🌚 oh hello there. didnt see you.
okay lol well, i know i need to update two to three of my other stories but i found this one on a hard drive from years ago and i wanna do a bit of a fixer-upper on it, make the plot and writing and dialogue better and all.
idk what to say, so bye ily all so much :)))
-RWMS