The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(17)
Perhaps I’m not to be stripped naked after all. Relief, hot and profound, moves over me, and I smile brilliantly up at Mathior. He grins down at me, and then begins to walk along the room, near the edge of the crowd. A cyclops warrior slaps his hand on his thigh, and then another, and then it seems as if the whole room is slapping in time to a stately, ominous beat as Mathior parades me about.
It’s a quick turn, and then his hand covers mine, giving it a squeeze before moving back to the center of the hall and releasing me. I realize in that moment that this isn’t the end of things after all. That nervous, strange heat pools in my belly once more as I go to stand between the female guards and Mathior takes his place on the dais again. The slapping has not stopped. If anything, it only thunders louder and louder in my ears.
Mathior sits and the slapping stops. He gazes about the room and then calls out, “Have all seen my bride and judged her fair?”
“Aye,” returns a chorus of Cyclopae voices.
His gaze moves back to me. “Then display her before her groom and the gods,” he booms out in a shout.
There’s a wild cheer even as the two women at my side grab my sleeves and rip the fabric.
I remain perfectly still, determined not to show any emotion. Several of the Yshremi people on the sidelines look startled as the two female warriors gleefully attack my clothing, shredding my pale lavender dress as the Cyclopae cheer so loud that it feels as if the entire room is shaking with the sound of it.
One sleeve is flung to the floor. Then the other.
The laces at my sides are torn away, and my belt is hacked from my waist with a knife. All the while, I remain still, and Mathior’s gaze is upon mine. The woman at my left takes a handful of the fabric on my shoulder, and then rips downward. I can hear gasps as my dress falls away and then I am in nothing but my corset and pantaloons. I can feel my breasts heaving, my breath panting in both terror and exhilaration.
I don’t know why I feel this spiraling, wild glee inside me. Perhaps it’s the way Mathior looks at me as each bit of clothing falls away, the look on his face more intense and full of need. I’ve never been looked at like that, ever. He stares at me as if I am his next breath of air, and I am dizzy with the wanting of him.
“I’m going to undo your corset now, my lady,” one woman murmurs.
“I’m ready,” I tell her. I don’t look at the faces of the people in the audience, because if I do, I’ll collapse. I keep my attention locked on Mathior and his intense, intent face.
“You are very brave, princess,” the woman says, and then I feel the pop of the laces as her knife cuts through. A few more slices, and my corset falls away. My breasts bounce, free, and then my pantaloons are torn from my body.
I’m naked in front of the court. Completely naked, wearing nothing but my hair. I remain perfectly still as the Cyclops warriors break into fierce cheers, as if seeing my breasts is something to be proud of. I hope no one notices that my stomach isn’t as flat as it was sixteen years ago, or my thighs have a little more jiggle. My breasts are full, and I lift my chin proudly as Mathior gets to his feet.
The hungry look is in his gaze as he approaches, and my nipples prick in response as he grows nearer. I’m panting. I want to stop, but I can’t. It’s like we’re alone in the room and I’m presenting myself to him, and it’s the most arousing and terrifying thing I’ve ever felt. He paces forward like a hungry lion and then circles around me. After a moment, he returns to stand in front of me, and a slow smile curves his mouth.
“I find my bride pleasing,” he says in a loud, firm voice, and then takes the white fur cloak off his shoulders and tosses it over mine, hiding me from view.
More cheers erupt in the hall, and I clutch the fur cloak to my body as I gaze at him. I did it. I didn’t collapse, though my knees feel dangerously close to doing so now. But I remember the conversation from earlier with the female warriors, and something in me cannot resist asking. I lift my chin higher and give my husband-to-be a lofty look. “Is it your turn now?”
One of the women at my side muffles a snort. Someone in the hall catcalls and jeers. Someone else gasps. There’s a low murmur of whispers. I’m curious how Mathior will handle it. If he grows angry, I will know what kind of temper my future husband will have, at the very least.
But that wicked grin on his face just grows wider, and then he unbuckles his belt. His gaze remains locked on mine as he removes his belt, flings it to the floor, and then drops his pants.
“Do you find me pleasing, Halla?”
I doubt anyone could hear my response over the roar in the hall.
9
MATHIOR
My little bride is brave. I think of it all through the first of the three feasts, which she does not attend. Her ladies—both Yshremi and Cyclopae—usher her away wearing nothing but my cloak, and that is the last I see of her. All night, people drink and slap me on the back to tell me what a fine bride I have.
I know this. I have always known this.
I’m stunned by her beauty, though. Her skin is as creamy as I’ve dreamt it would be. Her breasts are still high and proud, full, with dark pink nipples that just beg for a warrior’s mouth. Her hips flared gently out to delicious pale thighs and a patch of dark curls over her cunt that makes my mouth water to think of. Most of all, though, I think of the proud, arrogant tilt of her head and the way she demanded the same of me.