The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(15)

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.