The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(24)

Halla caresses my face, fascinated. “That was pleasing?”

I huff out a laugh. “Pleasing” seems too simple a word, too benign. “Completely.”

She burrows into the blankets against my side and rests her cheek on my shoulder. “What now?”

I pull her close and stroke her hair, caressing her everywhere I can. I’m not ready to give her up yet, though I know I must. One more day, I remind myself. One more day and she’s truly mine. “Now you must tell the witnesses if I pleased you or not, and then we must be separated until the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Halla frowns and presses her face against my shoulder. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave yet.”

I love that she says that. “It is only one day more and you will be secluded until the wedding, as will I. This is to allow either of us the opportunity to refuse the marriage at any time up until we are brought before the priests.”

“Ah. And if I decided to refuse to marry you?”

Even thinking of such a thing pains me, but I promised I’d give her a choice. “I would tell everyone that you met an unfortunate death the evening before our wedding and would have you taken to the temple of your choice. If the peacekeepers do not suit you, we will find you another home.” I stroke the hair back from her lovely face. “I meant what I said when I told you that you would always be safe with me.”

A frown mars Halla’s face. “But if I am supposedly killed the evening before our wedding, won’t people assume you have done something terrible to me?”

“Let them assume what they like. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me! The Yshremi people don’t trust you as it is. If you hope for any sort of peace…”

If I do not have Halla, all of Yshrem can burn for all I care. I do not say such a thing, though, because I do not want her to feel obligated. I want her to come to me because she wants me. Because she enjoyed my mouth on her cunt. Because she wants more kisses and caresses.

Because she wants me.

I know that what I ask might be impossible. That her feelings toward me will always be colored by her father’s death and the conquest of her kingdom by my father. But I have always seen her as Halla, the lovely girl who saved me when I was a child. I want her to see me as more than just King of Cyclopae.

So we will see.

I sit up and help her straighten her clothing. I want to lie in this bed with her for hours on end, but I know that will not be wise. I am king, but even a king must bow to custom every now and then. I help her to her feet and then cup her cheek one last time. “I will see you tomorrow, my love.”

“You keep calling me that,” Halla murmurs.

“So I do.” I don’t explain myself. Let her determine what she will. I know how I feel.

She gives me a tremulous smile and then smooths her hands over her hair. As she does, the regal, distant expression moves over her face once more and Princess Halla is back, shy virgin Halla retreating inside her. She gathers her skirts and heads for the door to the room. Ishera and Pen flank her on the way out. They will get her answer privately and then reveal it in the court before those who have arrived for the feast. Not many grooms are humiliated by their future brides before those gathered before the wedding—and that is because every cyclops warrior does his best to ensure that his woman is well pleasured before he leaves her.

I do not think Halla’s answer will be a poor one. However, that doesn’t mean she won’t change her mind before the wedding. For a moment, I hesitate, wondering if there was more I could have done. If I should have pleasured her longer, made her come three or four or ten times. If that would change her mind, if it can even be changed at this point.

But no amount of licking and pleasuring will change Halla’s mind if she decides she cannot marry a cyclops.





10





HALLA



I’m still numb with shock as the two female Cyclopae return me to my rooms. They didn’t smirk when I gave them my answer—that yes, Mathior pleased me in bed. I like them immensely for that. Then I’m sent back to my chambers and I’m alone. I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare out at my room, dazed.

Even though this is the same room I left just a short while ago, I feel like a different person. The blankets and bedding are fine Yshremi weave, but I pick up the fur-trimmed cloak at the foot of my bed and touch the soft edging, because the white of it reminds me of Mathior’s cloak. I gaze up at the banner on the wall. Once upon a time, my father’s family crest hung there, and a tapestry of Yshremi legends covered the other wall. Those are gone, and in their place, the banns hang as if reminding me that the ruling house of Yshrem will be united with the Cyclopae king tomorrow.

As if I could possibly forget.

I squeeze my thighs together and tremble. I’m still damp and throbbing from where he touched me. If I close my eyes and think hard enough, I can almost feel his tongue there, exploring my folds and doing things I’ve never dreamed of. It was just like in the book, and it felt better than I ever imagined. My nipples tighten at the memory and I resist the urge to run my hand over them. If this “tasting” was so good, I cannot possibly imagine how wondrous the marriage bed will be.

I’m actually…excited about the prospect. I can’t stop blushing, either. Mathior doesn’t seem to care that I’m eight years older than him and probably past my best childbearing years. All he cares about is…me. Kissing me. Talking to me. Tasting me. He calls me his love. I’m utterly dazzled by him. I know I should be thinking strategically about how I can use the throne to push for Yshrem, to ensure that they are not completely overrun by Cyclopae wars and customs, but all I can think of is Mathior. His smile. His kiss.