Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(57)
Damien gazed at her hungrily, scarcely able to believe that in the space of a few minutes, he would be betrothed to this incredible young woman. He felt the corners of his mouth pulling upward in delight. Penelope, on the other hand, did not smile.
She watched him, her eyes shining—with tears? he wondered. Of joy or sorrow?
“Honored guests,” Sasha said. “Let us begin.”
Sasha beckoned to Petri, who came forward bearing a tray, upon which lay a small, clean, sharp knife and a piece of red silk rope. That was all. Penelope’s eyes widened as she regarded the tray—Sasha must not have told her beforehand all that the ritual would entail.
It would be barbaric, as all things Nvengarian were—barbarism covered by a thin veil of civilized behavior. But then the marriage ceremony for the English, which Damien had several times witnessed, had its own sort of archaic barbarity. The woman promised to submit herself body and soul to her husband, something no Nvengarian woman would do, and the man vowed to worship her with his body. Even the ring put on the woman’s finger was a symbol of bondage.
The Nvengarians went about it more blatantly. The bondage in Nvengaria went both ways—man tied himself to woman and woman to man, often literally.
Sasha began. “I will say the words in Nvengarian and repeat them in English. That way, all may understand.”
Behind Penelope stood Lady Trask, handkerchief at the ready to catch her motherly tears. Meagan, smiling hugely, waited next to her, and Michael Tavistock stood quietly beside his daughter. The Prince Regent sat in his Bath chair nearby, enjoying the procedure and anticipating the newspaper articles that would describe how he’d attended the betrothal of the famous Prince Damien.
Egan MacDonald stepped behind Damien where Damien beckoned him, to be a witness. Egan threw Damien an envious grin. Damien and Egan had shared women in the past, but not this time, Damien promised with a stern gaze. The lady is mine.
Mine. The word echoed wonderfully in his head.
The ritual consisted of chants about how the two people had come together in love and would thereby be bonded in love. Damien could not look away from Penelope as Sasha droned on.
Green-gold flecks swam in Penelope’s eyes as she studied him in return. Heat gathered in Damien’s chest as his gaze flicked to the soft swell of her bosom. He wanted to dip his tongue between the minute amount of breasts the décolletage bared, taste the warmth of her skin.
Damien dragged his gaze upward again, taking in her delicate throat, her lips, her beautiful eyes. He met those eyes, finding the sharpness in them softened.
The prophecy was stirring them again. After this ritual, Penelope and Damien would be betrothed, and then would come the consummation. His blood stirred in anticipation. Damien wondered briefly whether the prophecy would have the patience to wait through Sasha’s chanting, because he certainly might not.
By the gleeful look on Petri’s face, he sensed Damien’s growing impatience. The man was positively jubilant. Damien had instructed Petri to have the bedchamber prepared and guarded, in case he had to rush there with Penelope the moment Sasha finished.
Sasha continued, the ceremony taking twice as long because he paused every few sentences to translate to English.
Finally Sasha came to the relevant bit. “Princess Penelope, do you agree to be bonded to Prince Damien Augustus Frederic Michel of Nvengaria, to share his bed, his troubles and his joys, his sorrows and his hopes, his children and his life?”
Penelope blushed. She looked at Damien, and for one agonizing instant, he thought she would respond with a No.
Penelope swallowed, glanced back at her mother, who quickly sniffled into her handkerchief, then squared her shoulders and said, “Yes. I agree.”
The Nvengarians by now at least understood the word for Yes, and the room erupted in masculine cheers, drowning out Sasha’s similar question to Damien. “Yes,” Damien shouted over the noise. “I agree.”
Sasha, his eyes wet with tears, took up the tray and offered its contents to Damien. Damien lifted the knife, a plain object with a heavy blade and a leather-wrapped hilt. Penelope took an involuntary step backward.
Damien tried to send her a comforting look. “It will hurt only for an instant,” he leaned to tell her. “I promise.”
Penelope was obviously skeptical but she drew a quick breath and gave him a nod.
Gently Damien took her hand and turned it palm upward. Then, as quickly as he could, he slashed the blade straight across her palm.
Penelope flinched. Michael Tavistock started forward, only to be blocked by Petri. Under Tavistock’s scowl, Damien rapidly slashed his own palm, then clasped Penelope’s hand and lifted it to head height between them.
Sasha took up the scarlet rope, looped it three times around their touching wrists and tied it securely. As Damien and Penelope remained facing each other, Sasha closed his hands around theirs and shouted in Nvengarian, “They are joined!”
The room erupted in shouting once more, coupled with stamping and cheering.
“What happens now?” Meagan asked over the noise, her tone excited.
“We dance!” Sasha proclaimed. “And then lead the couple forth to seal their betrothal.”
The English guests, caught up in the excitement, joined in the cheers as the Nvengarians went on with their wild yells. Titus ran to the cleared center of the floor and did a few backflips of exuberance.
Circles formed for the dancing. Nvengarian hands grabbed English, footmen dragging the London aristocrats to the middle of the floor. Rufus and Miles seized the handles of the Regent’s Bath chair and swung him out with the rest. Fiddles and drums began in the corners, the musicians Sasha had brought all this long way finally able to show off.