The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(13)

7





HALLA



Castle Yshrem looks just as I remember it.

I stare up at the stone walls as I am escorted inside. The sounds of cheering have followed me all through the streets for the last few days. I’m just happy the sounds are pleased ones instead of terrified ones. The sight of cyclops warriors riding through the villages and towns of Yshrem is a fearsome one and reminds people of the conquest sixteen years ago. The moment they see me—and the banners of marriage—their fear turns to excitement. They feel safe in their own home again.

If nothing else, my marriage will give my people that.

So I am glad for it. I do not mind the long days in the saddle as we ride to the capital, or that my arm aches from waving at those who crowd near our horses, curious about their barbarian king and his bride. Mathior has spent a fortune in bridal coins these last three days of travel, but he has not complained, and this makes me happy. I’m happy that my husband will be a king that realizes that content, happy people are the best kinds of subjects.

My husband.

I stare up at the banners on the stone walls. Whoever was sent ahead to prepare the castle has done fast work. The marriage banns hang from every wall, his symbol next to mine as far as the eye can see. Once we are inside the gates, he and his men split off, though, and I’m surrounded by ladies and housekeepers who bow obeisance and then have a dozen questions for me. They are clearly flustered, not certain of their place or what is going on. I know how that feels. Watching Mathior and the other cyclops guards leave me behind…that was not a good feeling.



But I know how to handle myself in uncomfortable situations. I am no wilting flower. I straighten my shoulders and gaze at the women evenly and hand out tasks even as I glean information from them. The women—young Yshremi ladies or wives of the garrison soldiers—look relieved that someone else is in charge, and I sweep through the castle, noting the changes since I last saw it sixteen years ago.

I am told that a local Yshremi lordling who bowed the knee at King Alistair has lived here ever since the conquest. He ruled this area in exchange for sending horses and an ungodly amount of taxes to the cyclops king. A traitor to his people in exchange for his own favor, I think, but I do not say such things aloud. I know very well the type of men that were rewarded when Yshrem fell to Alistair. I am also told that when the lordling received news of our arrival, he fled in the night. I suspect that perhaps someone was not paying his taxes as he should, and I feel a very un-royal bit of glee at that.

The keep itself is dirty and in disrepair despite the fact it has been held by Yshremi hands all this time. I give the housekeepers orders, discuss ways to house all of the cyclops warriors that are traveling with my soon-to-be-husband, and then talk of the upcoming marriage.

They look terrified on my behalf, though do not dare speak up and say so. Strangely enough, I’m not afraid. Intimidated by what is to come, yes, but I think of Mathior and his mouth on mine, and his boyish smile of pleasure when he sees me, and I feel a flush of pleasure.

There will be three days of ceremonies, I explain to the ladies and housekeepers that surround me. Each day will require a feast in the throne room for the cyclops warriors. I send a messenger out to the nearest lordlings, since it will not hurt to have our nuptials witnessed by Yshremi eyes. The sooner the word spreads of our union, the better.

One timid woman—one of the old lordling’s cousins, I think—clutches the fur muff in her hands and gives me a worried look. “How long will the cyclops be visiting?” she asks, her voice low and hushed.

“Visiting?” I inquire.

“Yes. How long before they leave once more?”

I gaze at the women, all wide-eyed and worried. I don’t blame them for being fearful—we’ve all heard terrible stories of the ruthlessness of cyclops warriors. We’ve seen their ruthlessness ourselves when our kingdom was conquered. Perhaps they expect the cyclops to ride in, destroy everything as they did before, and then, like sixteen years ago, ride away and return to their hunting grounds.

It occurs to me that I don’t know Mathior’s plans, either. Perhaps his idea all along has been to install me as ruler and wife to quell the surges of uprising, and then ride away with his men once the wedding has finished. I should be pleased at the idea of being on my own to rule, but I find the idea…disappointing.

“I shall ask this evening,” I reassure her.



I do not see Mathior for the rest of the day, but the keep is crawling with cyclops warriors. They stand out amongst the pale, heavily robed Yshremi people with their bare chests and bronze skin and the weapons crossed over their backs. It seems that even in a peaceful keep, they are armed to the teeth. They are everywhere, too—walking the castle walls, in the courtyard, practicing sparring out in the fields. One follows behind me at all times, and I suspect that Mathior is having me guarded. I don’t mind that—it’s to be expected. But when I try to ask him questions, he just stares at me in silence.

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.