The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(16)

There is a brisk knock at my door.

The girl serving me looks pleased. “Are you ready, my lady? A public wedding ceremony is so exciting.”

She is Yshremi. I doubt she knows how truly “exciting” tonight shall be. “I am ready,” I say in my calmest voice. “Let us be on our way.”

When we open the door, though, I am surprised to see that the Cyclopae guards waiting there for me are women. Both are dressed as the men, with leather breeches and nothing but a leather harness over their breasts. Each bears only one eye and the eyepatch of a blooded Cyclops warrior, and they look just as fierce as their brethren.

“First Warrior Mathior has sent us to retrieve his bride for the Revealing,” one says, and I think she must be about my age. “Follow us.”

I nod and pick up my skirts, feigning a calmness I do not feel. “You are women that serve as warriors,” I comment as we descend the stairs and they flank me, my maid fluttering behind me and fussing with my skirts. “Have you never had a marriage ceremony, then?” I wonder if I am the only one “lucky” enough to be married in such a manner.

“I have,” the one to my left says. She smiles, and it takes some of the hardness off of her expression. “Stood proudly in front of my husband and the entire tribe wearing nothing but a smile. I had nothing to hide.”

“And do the men undress for us?” I ask, since it is clear both men and women can be warriors. Why not?

Both women only laugh as if I have said something utterly hilarious. “Are you going to ask First Warrior to disrobe for you, then? So you can see what he brings to the marriage?” the other asks.

“I just might,” I say mildly. Not every warrior carries a sword. I can be just as strong and fierce as these ladies, if I must. And I am just as royal as Mathior is.

This only makes them laugh more. “I should like to see that,” the married one says with a wink.

But then we are at the doors that lead into the great hall, and I can see people lining the long room. There are Cyclopae warriors mixed with the more modestly dressed people of my kingdom. And there are a great many people. So many that the moment we enter the chamber, a wall of heat hits us from the press of bodies. The air is thick and heavy, and everything goes silent when I enter.

At the front of the crowded chamber, Mathior sits on the dais. I remember my father had a jeweled throne of ornate wood inlaid with gold and lapis. The barbarian who rules Yshrem now cares for no such niceties. His chair is a simple one, with no back and two wooden arm rests. If I did not know better, I would swear it was a camp stool, but he makes it look intimidating. He leans forward on his “throne,” as if impatient with court and ready to be done with the niceties. Though this is court proper, he wears the same clothing he always does—leather breeches, the white fur cloak of First Warrior, and his hair flows long over one shoulder. One eye is covered in the crude eyepatch he always wears, but it does not detract from the sight of him.

He’s so handsome it takes my breath away.

Mathior’s gaze lights on me the moment I enter, and he gets to his feet. A hint of a smile curves his hard mouth. “People of Yshrem. My Cyclopae warriors. You know that I come to this land with one intention—to bring unity to our peoples. When a kingdom’s people feel safe, it is when they are happiest. You look upon my warriors and you do not feel pride at the sight of them. You feel fear. Unease. And we have done nothing to change that.” He gazes out on the people gathered before him, and he truly looks like a king despite his youthful age. I’m pleased. He continues. “I know that for many, many years, safety is not something that the land of Yshrem has felt. I mean to change that in many ways, starting now.”

People clap politely, but I can see the eagerness on their faces. They are waiting to hear my name. They want to hear of the royal wedding. I can feel another shiver of distress move through my body and my nipples grow hard against my corset. Gods, I hope that passes before I am stripped naked.

Just as I hope no one can see that my pantaloons will be damp between the thighs.

Mathior descends the steps of the dais slowly.

One.

Two.

Three.

He approaches but doesn’t come close. The women at my side don’t move, either. Me, I’m scarcely breathing, my gaze locked upon the man who seems to be taking up all the space in this room. It doesn’t matter that the entire chamber is full of Yshremi and Cyclopae alike—all I can see before me is Mathior.

“In the name of unity, I have decided to take a bride,” he calls out. He glances around the room, but then his gaze swings back to me and pins me in place. “Princess Halla of Yshrem has agreed to be married in the custom of my people. Is that not so?”

He turns to me, and I wonder if I am supposed to kneel. We did not go over the details of the ceremony, and now I wish we had. He may be the ruler, but if we are to be seen as a union, me bowing before him like a mewling, downtrodden waif begging for mercy—for all that I am—will not endear my people to him.

So I step forward and extend my hand for him to take, a gracious smile on my face.

Someone coughs, and I wonder if it is another one of those warnings from his guards. The room is very still despite the humid air, and I can hear a low whisper somewhere in the back. The moment seems to hang forever.

Mathior takes my hand, then tucks it into the crook of his arm. “Let us begin the ceremony of the Revealing of the Bride.”