The King's Spinster Bride

by Ruby Dixon

  “Aye,” returns a chorus of Cyclopae voices.

  His gaze moves back to me. “Then display her before her groom and the gods,” he booms out in a shout.

  There’s a wild cheer even as the two women at my side grab my sleeves and rip the fabric.

  I remain perfectly still, determined not to show any emotion. Several of the Yshremi people on the sidelines look startled as the two female warriors gleefully attack my clothing, shredding my pale lavender dress as the Cyclopae cheer so loud that it feels as if the entire room is shaking with the sound of it.

  One sleeve is flung to the floor. Then the other.

  The laces at my sides are torn away, and my belt is hacked from my waist with a knife. All the while, I remain still, and Mathior’s gaze is upon mine. The woman at my left takes a handful of the fabric on my shoulder, and then rips downward. I can hear gasps as my dress falls away and then I am in nothing but my corset and pantaloons. I can feel my breasts heaving, my breath panting in both terror and exhilaration.

  I don’t know why I feel this spiraling, wild glee inside me. Perhaps it’s the way Mathior looks at me as each bit of clothing falls away, the look on his face more intense and full of need. I’ve never been looked at like that, ever. He stares at me as if I am his next breath of air, and I am dizzy with the wanting of him.

  “I’m going to undo your corset now, my lady,” one woman murmurs.

  “I’m ready,” I tell her. I don’t look at the faces of the people in the audience, because if I do, I’ll collapse. I keep my attention locked on Mathior and his intense, intent face.

  “You are very brave, princess,” the woman says, and then I feel the pop of the laces as her knife cuts through. A few more slices, and my corset falls away. My breasts bounce, free, and then my pantaloons are torn from my body.

  I’m naked in front of the court. Completely naked, wearing nothing but my hair. I remain perfectly still as the Cyclops warriors break into fierce cheers, as if seeing my breasts is something to be proud of. I hope no one notices that my stomach isn’t as flat as it was sixteen years ago, or my thighs have a little more jiggle. My breasts are full, and I lift my chin proudly as Mathior gets to his feet.

  The hungry look is in his gaze as he approaches, and my nipples prick in response as he grows nearer. I’m panting. I want to stop, but I can’t. It’s like we’re alone in the room and I’m presenting myself to him, and it’s the most arousing and terrifying thing I’ve ever felt. He paces forward like a hungry lion and then circles around me. After a moment, he returns to stand in front of me, and a slow smile curves his mouth.

  “I find my bride pleasing,” he says in a loud, firm voice, and then takes the white fur cloak off his shoulders and tosses it over mine, hiding me from view.

  More cheers erupt in the hall, and I clutch the fur cloak to my body as I gaze at him. I did it. I didn’t collapse, though my knees feel dangerously close to doing so now. But I remember the conversation from earlier with the female warriors, and something in me cannot resist asking. I lift my chin higher and give my husband-to-be a lofty look. “Is it your turn now?”

  One of the women at my side muffles a snort. Someone in the hall catcalls and jeers. Someone else gasps. There’s a low murmur of whispers. I’m curious how Mathior will handle it. If he grows angry, I will know what kind of temper my future husband will have, at the very least.

  But that wicked grin on his face just grows wider, and then he unbuckles his belt. His gaze remains locked on mine as he removes his belt, flings it to the floor, and then drops his pants.

  “Do you find me pleasing, Halla?”

  I doubt anyone could hear my response over the roar in the hall.

  9

  MATHIOR

  My little bride is brave. I think of it all through the first of the three feasts, which she does not attend. Her ladies—both Yshremi and Cyclopae—usher her away wearing nothing but my cloak, and that is the last I see of her. All night, people drink and slap me on the back to tell me what a fine bride I have.

  I know this. I have always known this.

  I’m stunned by her beauty, though. Her skin is as creamy as I’ve dreamt it would be. Her breasts are still high and proud, full, with dark pink nipples that just beg for a warrior’s mouth. Her hips flared gently out to delicious pale thighs and a patch of dark curls over her cunt that makes my mouth water to think of. Most of all, though, I think of the proud, arrogant tilt of her head and the way she demanded the same of me.

  I love that. I love how fearless she is. And I love that when she gazed upon my cock, her cheeks flamed bright red and her voice wobbled as she declared me pleasing to her as well.

  My bride. My beautiful Halla. I am so close to making her mine.

  The next day passes incredibly slowly. I am hungry for the next day’s marriage ceremony, but it will not be held until that evening. I cannot sleep, because Halla haunts my dreams. I cannot spar with my men, because I cannot focus long enough to fight properly. This only makes my warriors laugh; they make crude jokes and tease me endlessly. After a few rounds of this, I give up and return to my audience chambers. I listen to advisors as they drone on and on about crops and trade routes and levies until I want to hit something. This, too, is part of being king, though, so I force myself to pay attention and take in all the advice given to me.

  Eventually, though, darkness falls and people gather for the feast. I cannot be the first to arrive, lest I seem too eager. I am still king, for all that I am bridegroom as well. I dress for the feast, and when enough time has passed, I enter the feast hall.

  A loud cheer goes up, and I raise a hand to silence them. I am pleased to see that both Yshremi and Cyclops are cheering. There is nothing quite like a wedding and feast to bring people together, it seems. Perhaps I should marry off more cyclops warriors to Yshremi brides. It’s an intriguing concept and one I plan on discussing with Halla once I am alone with her.

  Not tonight, though. Tonight, I plan on doing many other things with my bride. Tonight is the tasting, and my mouth waters with the thought of it.

  The great hall has tables laid out, and people sit along the benches, waiting for the feast to begin. I move to my throne, still on the dais, and sit there impatiently, waiting for my bride. The food is served, dish after dish, drinking horn after drinking horn, but no one eats or drinks. As custom, no one can celebrate the “tasting” until we do.

  Halla arrives in a sweep of lavender skirts a short time later, and the cheer goes up once more. I can tell even as she approaches that she is embarrassed, her shoulders stiff and regal. She keeps a gracious smile on her face as people call out ribald jokes. Only during a wedding are such things allowed. Once the three days have passed, we will be king and queen and the rules of court will return once more. But for now, the excitement of a wedding and feast makes everyone forget.

  I want to jump to my feet at the sight of my lovely bride, but I force myself to rise slowly. I take slow, measured steps down the dais and then extend my hand to her. She puts her small one in mine, her movements pretty and elegant, and when she smiles up at me, people cheer.

  If nothing else, we have changed the mood at court, and that is something.

  I tuck Halla’s hand in my arm and nod at the chaperones that follow her. Penella and Ishera—two of my finest warriors—have been chosen to be my bride’s chaperones. I chose them because they were female, and perhaps it is my own jealousy that makes me choose women for the roles. I want her to be comfortable, of course, and I know our ways are foreign to her.

  More than that, though, I do not want another man looking upon what is mine. Yesterday was a necessity. I enjoyed looking at her lovely body, but it took everything I had not to cover her immediately. She is mine and mine alone, and my possessive streak grows greater with every moment that I am in her presence.

  Princess Halla belongs to me.

  If Halla is aware of my jealousy, she does not indicate it. She smiles and nods her head at the court as
if this is any other feast and I am not about to take her to a private room and bury my face between her thighs. Some of the men have knowing looks on their faces, but I make sure that my glare lets them know that I will not have her embarrassed. I escort my bride to the doors of the great hall, and then we turn.

  “Let the Tasting of the Bride begin!” I say in a ringing voice, and their cheers—of excitement and catcalls both—drown out our exit.

  Then Halla and I are alone in the hall, Penella and Ishera silent shadows a span of steps behind us.

  Halla does not look at me as we move through the halls. The sounds of merrymaking in the main hall carry through, echoing with our steps, and I wait until they die away before I turn to look at my bride. I have not seen her since last night, and I wondered if I would wake this morning and find her fled back to the temple.

  “I am glad you have stayed,” I lean in and murmur as we walk.

  She gives me a startled look, two bright red flags of color in her cheeks. “You thought I would leave?”

  I chuckle and pat the hand tucked into my arm. “I wasn’t entirely sure after yesterday. But I thank you for honoring my people’s customs. I know they’re very different than yours, but if you are to be accepted as queen of the Cyclopae, a marriage following the old ways is wisest.”

  “Am I your queen, then?” Her voice is soft.

  “Did you have any doubt?”

  She makes a soft noise in her throat that I cannot decide is agreement or embarrassment. Halla gazes straight ahead, composing herself. “I was not certain of my place…in any of this.”

  I wonder how much more plainly I can tell her. I pause in my steps and turn to face her. The expression on her pretty face is practiced, as if she is afraid of showing any sort of emotion. “You are mine. I would not humiliate you with a pretend marriage. Nor do I have plans to abandon you. You are my wife, Halla…or you will be once this ceremony is over. That will make you Queen of Cyclopae, Adassia and Yshrem.”

  “And this is what you want, too?”

  Frustrated, I grunt at her. “I’m not sure why you are so convinced that I do not know what I want.”

  “Because you could have a much younger wife—” she begins.

  I groan. Not this again. I grab my regal bride by the waist—she is wearing Yshremi garb today, I see, the colors pale and milky and there are far too many layers—and heave her onto my shoulder, like the barbarian she thinks I am.

  Halla squeaks in protest, her legs kicking once. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to show you just how seriously I take this marriage.” I turn to face Pen and Ishera. “What room has been set up for the ceremony?”

  Ishera smirks at me and gestures ahead. “Down this hall. Double doors.”

  I stalk in the direction she points, hauling my bride with me. I have dreamed of this moment for years, and to see the hesitation on Halla’s face stirs my temper…and a hint of worry. As a Cyclops bride, she can back out of our wedding at any time if she does not find me to be an amenable groom. I don’t want to give her a chance to think about this and talk herself out of it.

  The time to begin the ceremony is now. “Come, Halla.”

  “Do I have any choice?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound irritated. Rather, she sounds amused, as if my arrogance and impatience is endearing to her. It’s just another reason why I know we will be a good match.

  I storm down the hall and make my way to the chamber that has been established for such a ceremony. In Cyclopae, our people live in tents and so a special tent is used for wedding rituals. We brought such a tent from our homelands, but I do not want Halla to feel even more out of place than she already does. I need her to feel comfortable, because what I am about to do to her is going to be very new. I don’t want her getting skittish and crying off.

  I don’t know how much she knows of men, or if she knows anything at all. The thought is both incredibly appealing and intimidating. I’ve never tasted a woman’s cunt, because I wanted to wait for her. I know from talking with other warriors that not every woman responds the same, and so I am prepared to lick and pleasure her for as long as it takes to ensure that she enjoys herself.

  The pleasure, I think, will be mine as well. I’ve hungered to taste her.

  I push into the room and the doors fly open, banging against the wall. Yshremi servant girls squeal in surprise and hurry out of the room, their heads bent. I glance around at the chamber. It is…well, it is ridiculous. Thick silks hang from the walls like banners of conquest, and flower petals of every color imaginable have been strewn about. In the corner, incense burns under a small altar to Magra, goddess of fertility. A large upraised platform in the center of the room has white furs piled upon it, and above the bed—because I suppose that must be a bed—is the banner that proclaims the unity of our two houses.

  “Is…that a cheese tray?” Halla asks.

  I turn to look. “Yes, it is.” Along with wine and fruit. Gods above, do they think she’s going to need a snack while I feast on her? Ishera giggles, and I turn to glare at the Cyclops warrior. She goes quiet, her lips twitching. I set my bride down gently, then shut the doors behind us.

  The moment the doors are shut, Ishera and Penella move to opposite sides of the room and sit on low stools left there for them. They avert their eyes to give us the proper amount of privacy. Halla and I are alone, in a way. I know Penella and Ishera will say nothing of what transpires in this room. I have chosen them precisely for such a thing. I turn to Halla, who’s fussing with her skirts and adjusting her clothing. She looks nervous. I gather her hands in mine. “Shall I tell you more about this portion of the ceremony?”

  “I admit I’m curious,” she tells me, and her face grows pink. “About the ritual of it, of course.”

  I grin. “Of course.”

  She opens her mouth to say something else, and then breaks off, flustered. “I thought yesterday might be the most challenging part of this marriage ceremony,” Halla admits, her voice soft. “But I viewed that as a battle. This is…different.”

  I feel the same, in a sense. This is more intimate. Yesterday was a performance for her people and mine. Today is about her and me. I put my hands on her hips and steer her toward the fur bedding. “The story has it that the first cyclops king, Liandros, searched far and wide for a bride worthy of his line. He was known through many kingdoms as the finest warrior and none could best him in battle. He met many women, but none were able to withstand his fierce personality, and he wanted a bride that would challenge him.”

  “And did he find her?”

  I caress Halla’s cheek and love that she leans in to my touch. “He did. Right in his own tribe. One of his childhood friends, Siara, had become a warrior and given her eye to the god while Liandros was away on a journey. He returned and was smitten by her, but Siara would not have him. Instead, she demanded to know what he would bring to the marriage bed. He grew angry and ripped off her clothing in front of the entire tribe.”

  “He sounds awful.” Her nose wrinkles daintily.

  I laugh. “Liandros was not known for his patience. But he swore he would have Siara. She was angry at him after he shamed her, so he demanded to know what would change her mind. She told him if he could please her in bed with his hands tied behind his back, she would reconsider. He agreed and went to her bedchamber, and she refused to take his pants off for him. So Liandros was…creative. And his bride-to-be was very pleased.” I caress her cheek. “So it is tradition for a Cyclops warrior to please his bride in bed before the final ceremony.”

  “I see. It is…very different than Yshremi weddings.” She does not meet my eyes.

  I can imagine that it is. The Yshremi are a scholarly people who love farming and books. I imagine most of my people’s customs are very foreign to them. “Then I feel sorry for Yshremi women.”

  Halla looks up and gives me a shocked glance.

  “Shall you bind my hands behind my back?” I state boldly, crossing my wrists
in front of her. “Or will you allow me to touch you on this evening?”

  “I…what exactly is involved?” My sweet bride looks utterly flustered. “I don’t…I mean…” She wrings her hands. “When I was prepared for the marriage bed, I was told about treaties and kingdoms and how not to cede my power to my husband in an argument. Not much was said about the marriage bed itself other than I should be patient with my husband’s attentions and not interrupt.”

  Not interrupt? What a strange thing to teach a woman. But then again, the Yshremi treat their daughters very different than Cyclopae do. “You can interrupt me as much as you want if I do something you don’t like.”

  “Very well.” Halla looks gravely earnest.

  I caress her cheek and then gesture at the bed. “Let us sit down, then.” When she nods, I guide her over to the edge of the bed and sit, and she sits across from me. I’d hoped she would sit in my lap, but I can be patient. She’s clearly rattled.

  I caress her cheek as she watches me. Her gaze flicks to Pen and Ishera. “Those are the chaperones? They’re staying, then?” Her voice is hushed, as if she doesn’t want them to overhear her.

  I nod. “It’s to ensure you aren’t pressured or uncomfortable should you change your mind halfway through. Some of our warriors have been known to be overly enthusiastic in the past and ended up with a knife in their gut.” I shrug. “I think they just did not use their tongues correctly—”

  Her hand claps over my mouth, her expression scandalized. “We shouldn’t talk about such things.”

  We shouldn’t? Perhaps she’d just rather I show her, instead. I move her hand from my mouth. “Shall I start with a kiss?” I press my lips against her palm. After all, nothing says I cannot start with kisses before I move between her thighs. It’s all about giving her pleasure, and I know she likes kissing.

  Halla’s expression goes soft, her gaze on my mouth as I nibble at her tender skin. Her hands are soft, but there are hints of fading calluses that remind me that she lived a meager life in Riekki’s temple for the last sixteen years, and I am filled with frustration. She has always tried to do the right thing, Halla. I remember that fateful day well. Instead of letting others murder me, even after she heard of her father’s death at my father’s hands, she protected me, cared for me. She made sure I was safe and returned to my father unharmed. She ordered her Yshremi warriors to stand down, because she did not want anyone else to die. And she gave up her crown so she would save lives. It seems unfair that she should then be punished with sixteen years of solitude. I know Riekki’s peacekeepers. They are a pious order that loves nothing more than hard work and silence.