Page 90 of The Royal Art of Revenge

Shock.

Anger.

Hatred.

It emanates off them in waves, thick and stomach-twisting, a bitter ripple I can almost taste in the air.

But me?

I feel only one thing.

Euphoria.

It’s the only way to describe this… this… this.

The rush hits me like a drug. A sweet, heady, dangerous hit of delight that hurtles through my body, touching places I didn’t know could feel so good.

It’s satisfaction.

Pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

The ultimate ‘fuck you.’

Everything I’ve ever dreamt and more.

Finn leans in, bringing his lips close to my ear. “Well?” he murmurs, his voice rough. “How does it feel?”

I turn my face towards his, meeting his apprehensive gaze, and let my lips curve into a full smile. “Better than I ever dreamt it could.”

“Good.” He takes my hand from his arm, then wraps his fingers around mine and raises my hand to his mouth. He takes a step back as he presses his lips to my knuckles, bowing his head to me.

Warmth blooms in my chest, edging out the sick satisfaction wedged firmly in my heart. It’s an act—I know this. Nothing more than a show for the benefit of the onlookers.

A performance for the entire country.

“What are you—” I whisper.

He smiles up at me. “There’s only one person in this country I must bow to, but I choose to bow to you. It’s a declaration so there can be no mistake that I chose you to be my wife, Hattie. That I will always choose you.”

Ah.

There’s a weird lump in my throat.

Finn takes a step closer to me, still holding my hand. “Now nobody can argue with my decision.”

He’s protecting me.

By coming out swinging, he’s saying that this was his decision, and his decision only. He wasn’t forced or manipulated into it.

That, like he said, he chooses me.

How… strange.

To be chosen.

To be wanted.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, still smiling, still bright-eyed, like he hasn’t just displayed a quiet yet grand gesture of affection just for me.