The Midwinter Mail-Order Bride: A Fantasy Holiday Romance

by Kati Wilde

  “Princess Anja is willing, my liege, but currently—”

  Willing. In an instant, Kael leapt from the prison of his throne, striding purposefully through the crowd. “Where is she?”

  Scurrying after him, Minam replied, “Perhaps you should first visit your chambers to choose finer raiment, your majesty.”

  Kael didn’t bother with an answer to that. They would truss him up like a roasted goose, then paste on the feathers. He preferred the easy movement of his loose tunic and leather breeches.

  The chamberlain sighed. “Perhaps the princess will think you were too eager to meet her to dress properly.”

  Then the princess would think rightly. “Where is she?” Kael asked again, this time not so patiently.

  “In the warded quarters, but—”

  “Where are the warded quarters?” The ancient king who built this mountain stronghold had included so many chambers, corridors, and stairs that any invader who managed to breach the battlements would be fated to wander, lost and despairing, until they succumbed to slow starvation. Only now it was Kael who might become lost within the maze of his fortress. Knowing a thousand unimportant words would precede the chamberlain’s answer, however, Kael pointed to a serving girl who was waiting on the courtiers, tray in hand. “You there! Show me the way to my bride!”

  The tray clattered to the floor. The girl moved with such haste that even Kael was forced to quicken his long strides to keep her in sight.

  The chamberlain puffed along beside him. “Your majesty—”

  “From Ivermere, you said?” And a powerful sorceress if she hailed from the royal family, but she would soon learn the four kingdoms had little use for her corrupt magics. “Did you intend to strengthen the ties between our kingdoms? That is well done.”

  “I cannot take such credit, my king,” Minam huffed as they raced up a stairwell, “for I didn’t know who would come in answer to our royal missives proclaiming that we had a king in need of a queen.”

  “Whose royal missives?” Kael had not put his seal to any such missives.

  “Letters were sent under my seal to every kingdom in every direction, my liege.”

  “And this princess arrived first because she is nearest?” Only a forest separated Ivermere from Dryloch, his northernmost kingdom.

  “No, my liege. We sent the first letters last summer, shortly after your abstinence began.” The red still had not left Minam’s face, but whether it was the effort of keeping up with the servant girl or the effort of conveying this information, Kael didn’t know. “I feared for your health, for a man with a constitution as, er…a constitution as…”

  “Primitive?”

  “With a constitution as passionate as yours to go so long without, er—”

  “Fucking?”

  “—without companionship, my king. But when our inquiries within the four kingdoms received no response, we posted to the four winds and to all the outward kingdoms.”

  “You never thought to inform me that a bride might arrive?”

  “I feared raising your hopes, sir. In truth, I despaired there would never be an answer, for many are frightened by your reputation—”

  “As a ruthless butcherer?” A well-earned reputation.

  The chamberlain appeared offended. “People within the other kingdoms do not know your heart as I do. And, as I know you have no great love for spellcasters, I initially sent no message to Ivermere at all. But when there was no answer from the rest of the world…”

  He had been desperate enough to risk his king’s wrath.

  But Kael felt no anger. The chamberlain clearly believed that Kael’s sullen frustration stemmed from his abstinence, not his irritation with the duties of a king. Or perhaps Minam well knew the truth of the matter, and of Kael’s ill-content. Whether to serve Kael or serve the people, Minam meant to ease his king’s unhappiness.

  And taking a bride was not such a terrible thought. A princess would be familiar with Kael’s royal duties and share in them—and Kael might have warm arms and a warmer cunt to look forward to at the end of the tedious parade of meetings each day.

  Ahead, the girl was still running down the stone corridor, passing beneath an archway marked by a faintly glowing rune—

  “Halt!” Kael bellowed and the girl skidded to a stop, looking fearfully back. He reached her side and said, “If a spellcaster resides within, do not pass the wards without first announcing yourself. Just as in a healer’s square. You understand?”

  Eyes wide, the girl nodded.

  “Begone, then,” he told her gently, and as she raced away, he said to Minam, “Every servant and courtier within the fortress will need to be reminded of this. Put a sentry at this spot to warn everyone who passes this way.”

  “It will be done.”

  Kael frowned as the chamberlain continued with him. “You should also remain behind.”

  “If you will risk her magic, sir, then so will I,” Minam replied bravely, then added, “Each of the chambers and walls within this wing are also warded.”

  Providing layers of shielding until they reached the same room as the princess—or any other of her party. Everyone born in Ivermere was a spellcaster, though of varying talents. Kael thought it better that they didn’t use magic at all while in his kingdoms, but he had never known anyone from Ivermere who did not resort to a spell for the most trivial of matters. In all likelihood, his bride could not even get undressed without magic.

  It didn’t matter if she couldn’t. He would undress her, instead.

  The warded quarters were similar to the king’s private quarters, though not as great in scope. There were dining chambers and sitting rooms and parlors aplenty—all of which he expected to be filled with courtiers and attendants, as surely befitted a princess’s wedding party.

  But perhaps he was mistaken. For certain he had never seen a princess’s wedding party. But as he could not even visit the nearby city without half the fortress’s residents accompanying him—for that was what a king did—Kael assumed the same was true of a princess. He frowned as they passed through yet another empty chamber. “How many from the Ivermere court accompanied her?”

  “Only Lord Eafen, who is their Minister of Foreign Concerns, and three dozen soldiers.” Minam cleared his throat. “Lord Eafen has requested that we provide ladies-in-waiting to attend to the princess, which we have.”

  So that she could ready herself? “Is that the complication? Her hair is undone?”

  Minam hesitated before answering, “Not precisely, my king.”

  Not precisely, because as they entered the next chamber and discovered a cluster of ladies hovering outside the entrance to a sitting chamber, it was apparent that they had not ventured beyond the next ward to help the princess fix her hair. It was not the princess’s magic they feared, however.

  It was her sword.

  Kael’s steps slowed as the ladies barring his path scrambled out of the way, allowing him a full view into the next chamber.

  For the barest moment he thought the figure standing atop the lounging sofa could not be the princess, for her hair was not only undone, but as white as a crone’s—not a pale blonde, for there wasn’t a hint of gold, but a snowy white that tumbled down her back in thick waves. She faced away from Kael, her sword gripped in both hands and the blade angled out in front of her. Slowly she turned—following the slow path of a tall, dark-haired man wearing a finely embroidered tunic and a cajoling expression that matched the voice he was using to urge her down. Surrounding them in a wide circle were soldiers—though none of them with weapons drawn, and all of them looking helpless.

  She was keeping the Ivermeren minister and soldiers at bay, Kael realized. Not attacking them, but defending herself—like a cat that had climbed atop a safe perch and swiped at anything that came too near.

  Abruptly she shook her head and shouted at the minister, “Listen to me, you dogbrained fool! You will return me home now!”

  Grimly, Kael said to Minam, “Will
ing, you say?”

  “I swear it, my king! She has told me herself that she wishes to marry you. This is regarding another matter—she believes her mother is in danger.” The chamberlain barely paused for a breath before adding, “See how fierce she is? Does she not suit you? A man of your past cannot be content with a woman who easily submits. You surely long for a woman who must be conquered.”

  A man of his past knew that a body could be conquered—but that a heart must be won.

  But winning that fiery heart would be a challenge. And winning the body would be a pleasure, Kael decided, particularly now that he could see more of it.

  Everyone could see more of it. Not only was her hair unbound, but she was clad in a white sleeping robe, its belt hanging open and the collar sliding down one pale shoulder. Beneath the robe was a silken red nightgown that clung to the swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist. As the princess turned, she weaved unsteadily, and when she suddenly shook her head again, it was not in denial as he’d thought before—but as if attempting to clear her mind.

  Had she just risen from bed, though the sun was high overhead? And was she drunk?

  Already Kael liked this bride. Very much.

  His gaze never leaving the princess, he told Minam, “If any other brides answer the summons, send them away. I will take this one.”

  In a voice faint with relief, Minam answered, “Yes, my king.”

  “Stay behind the ward,” he warned the chamberlain before striding forward in the sitting chamber. Some of the soldiers were gesturing uncertainly at each other, as if half-heartedly developing some idiotic plan to knock the princess from her perch and take her sword—and cover her mouth to prevent her from chanting any spells, which would make her far more dangerous than her blade, even against these other spellcasters.

  Strange that she wielded a sword at all. Sorcerers rarely did, preferring instead to attack with spells.

  Let her. Kael did not fear magic. “Princess Anja.”

  Her robe flared around her legs as she spun to face him.

  He ought not be surprised that she was beautiful. Every spellcaster he’d ever met used their magic to reshape their appearance. Yet the current trend among sorcerers was a high forehead and large, rounded eyes set amidst thin and delicate features. But he was surprised, because she had not adhered to the current fashion, and her beauty was not only in her features but the way she looked upon him, proud and fearless. It seemed that every aspect of her face was designed to strike at his senses, to please and defy and arouse him—from the wide fullness of her lips to the imperious lift of her chin and the dark eyebrows arched above her narrowed, challenging stare.

  Entranced by her bold beauty, Kael did not halt until the point of her blade met his chest—and then pressed closer. Immediately she relaxed her wrists, as he’d assumed she would, because if she had wished to harm anyone she would have been chanting a spell. But she had already told the minister what she wanted.

  Listen to me.

  She abruptly frowned, then wavered again on her feet before steadying herself, blade held between them. “It is you!”

  “It is me,” Kael agreed, carefully watching her swaying frame. “Though you have come to marry me, you seem unhappy to see me. What upsets you, princess? Am I not handsome enough?”

  “You are more handsome than you should be, brute. But I do not like that you are even bigger than is rumored,” she told him, and the waft of her breath was not laden with mead or wine, but another scent that reminded him of a mulled cider—cinnamon and cloves and apple. Yet whatever she’d imbibed must have been potent, for he could see the flush in her cheeks and hear the slurring of her tongue. She drew the blade away, keeping hold of the hilt with one hand and reaching toward him with the other. Her assessing gaze ran down his length, and her fingers gripped his biceps, squeezing the thick muscle through his linen sleeve. “Stronger, too, I think.”

  By the gods, he prayed that she would be willing tonight. Such fire spread from her touch that he was instantly aflame.

  “You are tall enough to take me,” he rasped softly. Standing atop the lounging sofa gave her additional height, yet she would have been tall without it. Her long legs would wrap around his waist and hold him tight as he pumped between her thighs. “Strong enough, too.”

  For although she was slender, her arms were finely muscled—and she had no difficulty holding a heavy longsword one-handed. Again, unusual for a sorceress. Some of the Ivermeren soldiers appeared softer than she did.

  “Perhaps I am.” She tilted her head, her full lower lip jutting out. Disappointment filled her voice as she said, “But you will not be easy to kill.”

  He grinned. “Did you hope I would be?”

  “I did,” she said, swaying toward him before catching herself. Gaze drawn to the luscious pout of her mouth, Kael ignored the agitated denials bursting from the Ivermeren minister. Her forefinger jabbed into his chest. “You are a ravening monster. Your sword hungers for blood and you rapaciously seek new kingdoms to conquer. Such a man cannot be long for this life. So I was certain that within a year you would be dead.”

  Laughing now, Kael asked, “You would give me a year of marriage, though?”

  He would take it.

  She fisted her hand in his tunic and dragged him close enough to kiss. Instead of touching her lips to his, she said fiercely, “After a year, surely you would torture and kill me when I do not use sorcery to further your bloody campaigns.”

  He would cherish her all the more for her refusal. And she was a powerful sorceress, indeed. No enchantment could bind a heart to another, yet she was already weaving a spell around his. Laughter fading, he told her softly, “I have no thought of killing you.”

  Torturing her was another matter. But it would be sweet torture, he could promise her that.

  “Because I will kill you first,” she vowed and pushed away, lifting her chin. “Perhaps while we are in bed and your throat vulnerable to a knife.”

  Kael would welcome her attempt. Her blood clearly burned as hot as his. They would battle between the furs and find their pleasure at the same time. “Will this attack come on our wedding night?”

  Her brow creased as she contemplated her answer. Finally she decided, “After we have made an heir, so I never have to marry again.” She swayed and this time the sword fell from her grip. For balance she clutched at his shoulders and leaned closer, her dark eyes locked with his. “But before I marry at all, I must return to Ivermere.”

  Kael could hardly tear his mind away from a vision of his bride with swollen belly, carrying their heir. So much seed would he spill within her, it would not be long before her knife was at this throat. A delay seemed intolerable. “Why must you return?”

  “To kill a spider in the queen’s bedchamber.”

  “A spider?”

  “A big spider,” she told him, and the mulled spices upon her breath heated every remaining inch of his skin that was not already burning. “As big as a cat. It has woven a web in the corner of the ceiling, high above her bed.”

  An exasperated sigh came from his right. “Your majesty, please understand that we have already found an errant spider in the queen’s quarters and smashed—”

  A single quelling glance from Kael halted the minister’s words. “Your princess believes otherwise.”

  She drew his gaze again. “Because they do not see it. Only I do. Yet they thought it was only a virgin’s nerves and sent me here. But I had no doubts. I have every intention of marrying you and killing you.”

  So he could see. But even the boldest sorceress would not announce her plans as she had. He might have thought it a joke…but for that spiced fragrance upon her breath. A grim suspicion of what it was began to enter Kael’s mind.

  Her imploring gaze searched his face. “Will you help me return to Ivermere and save my mother?”

  With another sharp glance, Kael silenced the minister’s protestations that started in response to her plea. To her, he vowe
d, “I will.”

  Her eyes narrowed again. “Should I trust Kael the Conqueror’s word? Do you swear it?”

  “I do.” He caught her waist when she swayed again. “Now tell me what it was you most recently drank.”

  She blinked. “Only water. I was so very thirsty when I awoke.”

  And hungry. Her stomach gave a low growl that rumbled against the fingers spanning her waist.

  Immediately he swept her into his arms and swung to face Ivermere’s minister. As if dizzied by the movement, Anja clung to his neck, resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

  Unlike his princess, Lord Eafen had reshaped his face. He wore a nose so thin and a mouth so small that it appeared as if they were sinking into his skull and pushing out his rounded eyes to make room for themselves.

  But there must be plenty of room in that head, because for certain there was no brain in it.

  “You gave her the kissing potion,” Kael said flatly.

  Which had earned its name because the potion caused such a deep sleep that, for days or weeks, the sleeper did not eat or drink. So another person would give them sustenance by placing their lips together, filling the sleeper’s mouth with water or broth, and coaxing them to swallow. But there were darker reasons for the name—that sometimes when women awoke, they were with a child they had no memory of conceiving.

  “The queen gave it to her,” the minister explained. “The princess announced that she was leaving to marry you, and almost immediately began making claims about this spider. Our queen believed her delay betrayed a bride’s doubts and gave Princess Anja the potion, so that she might undergo the journey in a calm manner.”

  Kael thought Queen Dena deserved whatever the spider in her room might do to her. “Was the princess touched while sleeping?”

  Nervously the minister wrung his thin hands. “She is still a virgin—”

  “I don’t care if she is!” Kael roared. If he had not been cradling his bride against his chest, then his sword would have been cleaving through the minister’s and soldiers’ necks. “Was she touched without her knowing?”