The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(11)

I snort. “You are not old. You are barely three and thirty, if I remember your birth-date correctly.”

“And you are twenty-three—”

“Twenty-four,” I correct. “And I have female warriors in my tribe that are twice your age and still as hale as any.”

“I’m a spinster,” she continues stubbornly, ignoring my words. “Even if I had a kingdom, there are younger princesses, or those that have proven to be childbearers. What if I am too old to provide you with an heir?”

Is that truly her only worry? Or just an argument because she is afraid? “Then my strongest warrior will take my place as First Warrior. It is the cyclops way. I would not have followed my father to the throne if I were not the most capable in all of my tribe.”

“But—”

“I will have you,” I tell her firmly. “As my bride and in my bed. Are excuses all that you have for me? Or do you truly not want to be my wife? Say so now. I would not force an unwilling woman.”

Her cheeks color prettily again and for the first time, her hand twitches in mine. “I will marry you.” Her voice is a shy whisper. “But Mathior—”

“No buts. You will marry me in the cyclops way?”

Halla lifts her chin. “You ask permission to strip me naked in front of your people and mine, put your mouth on me”—her face becomes redder, which I did not know was possible—“and then bed me? If that is what it takes to unify our people, I shall do so gladly.”

“Do you marry me only to unify your people, then?”

For a moment, she looks confused. She straightens and that soft mouth presses into a line. “I do not understand what you ask, Mathior.”

I straighten and release her hand. “Kiss me.” I want to see how she will respond to caresses. Nothing will be more disappointing than dreaming of Halla for sixteen years only to find she is repulsed by the touch of a cyclops. Her people think of us as crude barbarians, fools who carve up their faces in a show of strength. She will willingly submit to me…but how willingly? Perhaps I am overly prideful in this moment, but I want more than just her reluctance.

I want her passion as I have dreamed it for all these years.

Halla looks around the room, then when she sees no one else, turns her startled gaze to me. “Kiss you, my lord?”

“Mathior,” I demand. “Call me by my name. I want to hear it from your lips.”

“Mathior,” she murmurs, and bites one full, pink lip. “Forgive me. I just…protocol…”

“Protocol has nothing to do with the two of us,” I tell her. “If I were a king that believed in protocol, I would do as you think I should and marry some royal daughter with lineage and money and not a thought in her head. I want you. I have always wanted you. I cannot make that any clearer. So if you wish to marry me, come and give me a kiss.”

She looks frustrated at my demands. “It’s not that easy—”

“It is just a kiss. Nothing more. I will not bear you down into the rushes and have my way with you.”

Yet.

Halla makes the most adorably indignant sound, and then gets to her feet. “Very well.” She smooths her skirts and waits.

I don’t get up from my seat. I pat my thigh and lean back, giving her an expectant look.

Her nostrils flare, the only outward sign of her frustration. She gazes at me for a long moment, and I half-expect her to storm away. Instead, she moves forward and with all the grace of the princess she is, sits on my knee. She’s tiny, I realize, her weight light. She fits into my arms perfectly, though, and it takes everything I have not to wrap my arms around her and drag her against me.

I want to see how she handles this.

Halla moves ever so slightly inward, studying me. Then she leans in and puts her mouth against mine. The movement is quick, firm.

Abrupt.

I don’t react.

She hesitates and her mouth remains against mine. I can feel the press of her body against my chest, and her hands stray to my skin. Her fingertips rest against my pectoral and her lips move hesitantly, parting against mine.

Then, she pulls back. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits softly.

I bite back the groan that rises in my throat. She is untouched, and it fills me with a fierce possessive pleasure. “Shall I show you?”

“Please.”

I slide my hand along her back and let it rest on her hip. She stiffens against me but doesn’t move away. My other hand goes to her hair and I pull her back down until her mouth grazes over mine. I part my lips, letting her feel my mouth before I flick my tongue against the part of her lips. “Open for me.”

She gasps, but does as I command.

I slide my tongue into her mouth, and she immediately goes pliant against me. A little noise of pleasure escapes her, and my cock hardens at the realization that she enjoys my touch. She thinks she is a spinster? Not in my arms. I stroke against her tongue, licking at her sweetness and tasting her as I have always dreamed. Halla’s hand curls against my chest and her nails dig into my skin, and again the fierce, possessive pride ripples through me.

It does not matter that she is older than me. She is mine and mine alone. With that thought, I growl low in my throat and deepen the kiss, claiming her mouth with deep, sure strokes. To my surprise—and pleasure—Halla timidly returns the kisses, her tongue brushing against mine. For all that she is unschooled, she is not cold.