by Ruby Dixon
Eventually I retire to my chambers and send a lady out with a note for my guard, asking him to find Mathior and invite him to dinner in my quarters this evening. I don’t know if he’ll show up, but it seems worth a try. I have a table set out with food and drink and wait patiently in my chair. The chamber I’m in is my old one from so many years ago, though the furniture is new and so are the rugs. I try not to dwell on the past, but it is difficult.
Mathior arrives a short time after dark, and I’m surprised to see that he is not alone. Three warriors have accompanied him, and as he enters my chambers and takes off his white fur cloak, the men line up against the wall and wait by the door.
“Is there a problem?” I ask as Mathior thumps down into the chair across from mine at the table.
“Problem?” he asks, filling a cup with wine and taking a large gulp of it. He drinks deeply and then leans back, sighing, as if he’s had a long day. I notice he’s a little sweaty, his long hair damp on the one side, and I feel suddenly nervous. My palms grow moist and my heart pounds because when he drinks again, he watches me over the brim of his cup.
“You have armed guards with you. Do you expect trouble?” I arch a brow. “Or do you expect me to assassinate you?”
He throws his head back and laughs. “I think you could not harm a flea, my lovely Halla.”
“Then what is it?”
Mathior sets down his cup and leans forward, giving me a sly grin. “We are not yet wedded. They are here to chaperone us, as is custom. Until I have claimed you as my wife, we cannot be alone together.”
Heat scalds my cheeks. “I see.” I pick up my own cup and take a long drink, because I need a bit of courage after hearing that. His words—and the sexy tone he says them in—make me think of the upcoming wedding. I force myself to relax, to keep my tone neutral as I set down my cup. “I’ve let the housekeepers know that there will be a wedding ceremony. Just let me know when you would like to—”
“Tomorrow.” His one eye gleams with a possessive light as he takes another drink. “We begin tomorrow with the Revealing of the Bride.”
“Very well,” I say faintly. Tomorrow I will be stripped naked before the court and offered to him like a barbarian slave girl. I’m both horrified and aroused at the thought. Shifting in my seat to ease the throbbing between my thighs, I toy with my cup. “How long will you remain in Yshrem after the ceremony?”
His gaze narrows. “What do you mean?”
I fear I’ve offended him. The eve before my wedding is not the time to anger my conquering bridegroom, and I feel a shiver of worry skitter down my spine. I lick my lips and compose myself. “Your father did not remain in Yshrem. Your people are a nomadic one, are they not? The hunting lands are not impressive here. We are a cultivated country with fields and not forests. I am merely curious how long you will remain in Yshrem for the wedding before you and your men leave to return to your homelands.”
Mathior gets to his feet. Everything inside me clenches, and I worry I’ve said or done something so offensive that he’s going to leave. I open my mouth to protest, but as I watch, he heads toward the shuttered window instead, and my fears die in my throat. He pushes open the casement shutters and then looks over at me, gesturing out. “Come and tell me what you see.”
I rise and move to his side, my skirts swishing over the stone floors. “It’s dark outside.”
“Not so very dark,” he tells me. “Come and look anyhow.”
I do, peering out the window. My chambers are high up in the keep itself, so I have a good view of the castle surroundings. The courtyard below has the usual shuffle of servants and guards heading back and forth on their tasks, the stables full this time of night. Torches flicker on the battlements. I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, so I look farther. Outside of the castle walls themselves, I see dark shapes dotting the ground, and campfires. Horses wander between the shapes and I realize the triangular dark shapes are tents. The cyclops warriors have chosen to stay outside of the castle walls. “What does this mean?”
“Mean?” he asks, brow furrowing.
“They do not stay within the gates of Castle Yshrem? Is that what you wished for me to see?”
Mathior chuckles. “They do not stay within because they choose to be near their horses, nothing more. No, I wished for you to see that they set up tents.” He gives me an amused look, as if this explains everything.
I’m even more confused than before, though. “And?”
“And a cyclops does not set up a home unless he is staying for a time. He will sleep under the stars if he will journey onward shortly.” He reaches out and touches the long singular braid I have over my shoulder. My hair is so long and thick that I don’t want to leave it loose like the cyclops do, but one of the ornate braids of my people seems uncompromising. So I tied it into a simple, loose braid over one shoulder. As he touches it, I’m oddly glad that I did such a small thing. He likes my hair, and it fills me with pleasure at such a small realization. It takes me a moment to realize he is still speaking, even as he touches my braid. “My men and I are staying.”
“You are?” I cannot help but be surprised. “In Yshrem?”
“For a time, yes.” He doesn’t let go of my braid, thoughtfully rubbing the tail of it between his thumb and forefinger as he gazes out the window. “It’s clear to me that my father was wrong in many of his choices. I will not say he was wrong to conquer this place”—and he flashes me a grin—“but he was wrong to ignore it in favor of his own preferences. A good king must see to all his people, and now that it is mine, I must see to its well-being as much as any cyclops lands.”
I’m impressed by his thoughts. He seems young to me, but his words are wise. “I can rule from here if you are needed elsewhere.”
Mathior turns back to me, and he gives my braid a little tug. “I did not say you would be left behind, sweet Halla. I’ve waited sixteen years to claim you. I’m not letting you slip from my grasp again.”
It shouldn’t matter, but I still feel warm at his words. “So how long will we stay, then?”
“Until I am convinced things are settled. Months. Maybe a year. I don’t know for sure. Then we will go to Adassia and settle things there. Then we will return to Cyclopae for a time. Then we will likely do it all once more.”
It makes sense. I gaze out at the sea of tents around the castle. Adassia is more like Yshrem than Cyclopae. They will be giving up much to be leaving their families and familiar hunting grounds for such a long time. “There is much unrest in both Adassia and Yshrem,” I admit to him. I heard terrible things every day when in the temple. “What if there is no peaceful solution?”
He chuckles and tweaks my braid again. “My love, we are a warrior people. There is nothing my men would like more than a good battle.”
I stare up at him, shocked. Did he just call me his love?
“You heard right,” Mathior says quietly. He slowly wraps my braid around his hand with a motion of his wrist and pulls me forward. “Did you think I lied when I said I had waited for you sixteen years?” He twines my braid tighter, until I am standing practically against him.
He leans in, dark hair spilling over one shoulder, his lone eye gleaming in the candlelight, and I realize he is going to kiss me again. It shocks me to think that he loves me…almost as much as the realization that I want him to kiss me again, very much. I should hate him and all his people for conquering mine. I should loathe him because his father killed my father.
But…I am not my father. And Mathior is not his.
And I still want to be kissed.
Mathior’s breath fans over my face, and my entire body tingles in response, full of anticipation.
Across the room, a throat is gently cleared. One of the guards.
Mathior goes still, and then he grimaces. He releases my braid and straightens. “Three days. I will not dishonor you before then.” He glances over at the guards, then back at me. “But I will be thinking about it. A lot.”
/> I can’t help but blush at that. I’m going to be thinking about it, too.
8
HALLA
The next day, I’m kept entirely sequestered. The housekeepers flutter in and out of my chambers to give me updates on the feast that’s being prepared, but other than that, I’m left alone. I will be called for, I’m told, when the king is ready to receive me. The royal part of my mind is utterly irritated that I have to be summoned like I’m no one, but this is part of the ritual of the cyclops wedding, and I did agree to be married in the manner of his people.
So I keep my small irritations to myself and try to hide the nervousness that has infected every inch of my body.
I call for a bath early in the afternoon, and the ladies assigned to me scrub and perfume every inch of my skin. Every stray hair is removed from my body until I am completely smooth save between my thighs, which is left natural, and then I am lotioned and oiled until my pale skin glistens. My hair is a mixture of Yshremi and Cyclopae styles—I wear a delicate coronet of braids encircling my brow, a ribbon woven through the plaits. The rest of my hair is left free to cascade down my back in a curly fall.
And then I obsess over my clothing.
What does one wear to a public disrobing? As women bring in gowns fit for a queen, it’s clear that one of the local tailors has been told that I have returned, because several of the dresses are in the pale lavender color of my father’s household. I touch one absently, thinking of my stately father.
He’d always wanted me to marry a king. I can’t imagine what he would think of such a wedding, or the fact that I’m going to be stark naked in front of the entire court in a few short hours.
I’m not thinking about what comes after this. One day at a time.
I can hear people below, the murmur of voices in the throne room that drifts up to my window, and I feel another shiver of nervous anticipation. They will call for me soon. Last night, Mathior explained that he would take his throne, tell the gathered nobles of his plans to retake Yshrem, and then would bring me out for the ceremony. After the “revealing,” I will have the choice to stay for the public feast celebrating the marriage festivities, or I can choose to retire to my chambers. I cannot spend time alone with him until we are wedded.
I should be present at the feast, but I’m not even sure that a princess trained from birth to be a ruler can calmly sit in front of the people she was naked before just a short time ago. Far better for me to retreat to my rooms and compose myself.
One of the ladies arrives with my corset and pantaloons, and they are lacy, frothy things of the same pale purple as my dress. I can feel myself blushing at the thought of Mathior seeing these…and everyone else will, too. Oh, gods. For a moment, I feel as if I am going to be sick.
But I chose this. I promised to wed him willingly. And I think of Mathior and how he will look at me. The sick clench in my gut eases, leaving nothing more than nervous anticipation. My corset is tightened and laced, and then my dress is slipped over my head. The long sleeves are adjusted, and the sides are laced tight to show off my still-becoming figure. A decorative belt is slung over my hips, and my hair is smoothed and adjusted until it falls perfectly over my shoulders. I wish I had my mother’s jewelry, but it is long gone, paid to the Cyclopae in Yshrem’s conquest and was likely melted down long ago.
There is a brisk knock at my door.
The girl serving me looks pleased. “Are you ready, my lady? A public wedding ceremony is so exciting.”
She is Yshremi. I doubt she knows how truly “exciting” tonight shall be. “I am ready,” I say in my calmest voice. “Let us be on our way.”
When we open the door, though, I am surprised to see that the Cyclopae guards waiting there for me are women. Both are dressed as the men, with leather breeches and nothing but a leather harness over their breasts. Each bears only one eye and the eyepatch of a blooded Cyclops warrior, and they look just as fierce as their brethren.
“First Warrior Mathior has sent us to retrieve his bride for the Revealing,” one says, and I think she must be about my age. “Follow us.”
I nod and pick up my skirts, feigning a calmness I do not feel. “You are women that serve as warriors,” I comment as we descend the stairs and they flank me, my maid fluttering behind me and fussing with my skirts. “Have you never had a marriage ceremony, then?” I wonder if I am the only one “lucky” enough to be married in such a manner.
“I have,” the one to my left says. She smiles, and it takes some of the hardness off of her expression. “Stood proudly in front of my husband and the entire tribe wearing nothing but a smile. I had nothing to hide.”
“And do the men undress for us?” I ask, since it is clear both men and women can be warriors. Why not?
Both women only laugh as if I have said something utterly hilarious. “Are you going to ask First Warrior to disrobe for you, then? So you can see what he brings to the marriage?” the other asks.
“I just might,” I say mildly. Not every warrior carries a sword. I can be just as strong and fierce as these ladies, if I must. And I am just as royal as Mathior is.
This only makes them laugh more. “I should like to see that,” the married one says with a wink.
But then we are at the doors that lead into the great hall, and I can see people lining the long room. There are Cyclopae warriors mixed with the more modestly dressed people of my kingdom. And there are a great many people. So many that the moment we enter the chamber, a wall of heat hits us from the press of bodies. The air is thick and heavy, and everything goes silent when I enter.
At the front of the crowded chamber, Mathior sits on the dais. I remember my father had a jeweled throne of ornate wood inlaid with gold and lapis. The barbarian who rules Yshrem now cares for no such niceties. His chair is a simple one, with no back and two wooden arm rests. If I did not know better, I would swear it was a camp stool, but he makes it look intimidating. He leans forward on his “throne,” as if impatient with court and ready to be done with the niceties. Though this is court proper, he wears the same clothing he always does—leather breeches, the white fur cloak of First Warrior, and his hair flows long over one shoulder. One eye is covered in the crude eyepatch he always wears, but it does not detract from the sight of him.
He’s so handsome it takes my breath away.
Mathior’s gaze lights on me the moment I enter, and he gets to his feet. A hint of a smile curves his hard mouth. “People of Yshrem. My Cyclopae warriors. You know that I come to this land with one intention—to bring unity to our peoples. When a kingdom’s people feel safe, it is when they are happiest. You look upon my warriors and you do not feel pride at the sight of them. You feel fear. Unease. And we have done nothing to change that.” He gazes out on the people gathered before him, and he truly looks like a king despite his youthful age. I’m pleased. He continues. “I know that for many, many years, safety is not something that the land of Yshrem has felt. I mean to change that in many ways, starting now.”
People clap politely, but I can see the eagerness on their faces. They are waiting to hear my name. They want to hear of the royal wedding. I can feel another shiver of distress move through my body and my nipples grow hard against my corset. Gods, I hope that passes before I am stripped naked.
Just as I hope no one can see that my pantaloons will be damp between the thighs.
Mathior descends the steps of the dais slowly.
One.
Two.
Three.
He approaches but doesn’t come close. The women at my side don’t move, either. Me, I’m scarcely breathing, my gaze locked upon the man who seems to be taking up all the space in this room. It doesn’t matter that the entire chamber is full of Yshremi and Cyclopae alike—all I can see before me is Mathior.
“In the name of unity, I have decided to take a bride,” he calls out. He glances around the room, but then his gaze swings back to me and pins me in place. “Princess Halla of Yshrem has agreed to be married
in the custom of my people. Is that not so?”
He turns to me, and I wonder if I am supposed to kneel. We did not go over the details of the ceremony, and now I wish we had. He may be the ruler, but if we are to be seen as a union, me bowing before him like a mewling, downtrodden waif begging for mercy—for all that I am—will not endear my people to him.
So I step forward and extend my hand for him to take, a gracious smile on my face.
Someone coughs, and I wonder if it is another one of those warnings from his guards. The room is very still despite the humid air, and I can hear a low whisper somewhere in the back. The moment seems to hang forever.
Mathior takes my hand, then tucks it into the crook of his arm. “Let us begin the ceremony of the Revealing of the Bride.”
Perhaps I’m not to be stripped naked after all. Relief, hot and profound, moves over me, and I smile brilliantly up at Mathior. He grins down at me, and then begins to walk along the room, near the edge of the crowd. A cyclops warrior slaps his hand on his thigh, and then another, and then it seems as if the whole room is slapping in time to a stately, ominous beat as Mathior parades me about.
It’s a quick turn, and then his hand covers mine, giving it a squeeze before moving back to the center of the hall and releasing me. I realize in that moment that this isn’t the end of things after all. That nervous, strange heat pools in my belly once more as I go to stand between the female guards and Mathior takes his place on the dais again. The slapping has not stopped. If anything, it only thunders louder and louder in my ears.
Mathior sits and the slapping stops. He gazes about the room and then calls out, “Have all seen my bride and judged her fair?”
