The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(29)

“I love you,” I whisper to him. It seems impossible to be in love this quickly, but he’s dazzled me at every moment and keeps right on doing so. “I just want you to do what’s best for Cyclopae and Yshrem.”

“I am not marrying for Cyclopae,” he tells me with a fierce lick that makes me whimper. “I am not marrying for Yshrem.” Another lick. “I am marrying you because I want you and I want you to want me.”

“I want you.”

The look he gives me is ferocious with pleasure. “Then say you’ll be my bride and there will be no more of this ‘spinster’ foolishness.”

“I’m yours,” I tell him, giving in completely. I’ve always been his, it seems. I let my head be swayed by the bitter words of an old woman and doubted, but the moment I saw the worry on his face, I knew that he loved me. It’s the most amazing feeling. “Oh, Mathior. I’m so afraid to be happy.”

“Don’t be afraid,” he tells me between kisses on my pussy. “I’ve got you.”

“Should…” I gasp, forgetting my thoughts as he flicks his tongue against my clit. “I…oh…wait, Mathior. Shouldn’t we get ready for our wedding…oh, gods have mercy.” He begins to lick me with light, teasing circles of his tongue against my clit, and it makes me want to roll my hips along with those movements.

“Not yet,” he tells me, possessive and sexy all at once. “I want you and I can’t wait until the wedding. I’m going to claim my bride now, before she can change her mind again.” A thick finger presses against the entrance to my core, then begins to tease at the entrance, and I feel hollow and achy and so wild that I writhe in the bed, lifting my hips up against his vexing mouth. “Right now.”

“But your customs…”

He presses his mouth against me, like a hot brand. “Damn the customs. Let them snicker at how their king couldn’t wait to bed his bride. It doesn’t matter. They will laugh and tease me, but in the end, I will have you. What do I care of what they think?”

I gasp, clutching at his head as he swipes his tongue over my folds. It feels so good and yet… “No.”

He lifts his head at that. “What?”

“You said yourself that the customs matter. That your people are proud of who they are. Why would we not honor all of them? We can wait a few hours.” I lightly run my fingers over his face, touching his scar, the paint that covers it, everything. “I would have you honored.”

Mathior thinks for a moment. He nips at the inside of my thigh, and it’s clear he does not want to leave just yet. “Halla…”

I add primly, “I would also have you remember that you stripped me naked before your entire court.”

Mathior buries his head between my thighs and laughs, shoulders shaking. “So I did. Very well. We shall complete the wedding as it should be done, and let no one say that my will is not as steel.” He gives my pussy one last kiss, sighs heavily, and then gets off the bed. “Shall we go and get married, then?”

When he extends his hand to me, I clasp it and stand, then straighten my clothing. There is red paint all over my skirts and hands, and the symbols on his body are smeared. “I think we should probably clean up first.”

“More delays,” he mutters, and gives a shake of his head. “Then I need one more kiss before I can let you go.” He pulls me close and kisses me until I’m breathless, and then finally releases me and studies my face, then wipes a smear of red off of it. “I see now why warriors cover themselves with paint before a wedding—it’s so everyone knows the bride is untouched by his hands.”

I blush at that.

He caresses my cheek. “Bathe fast. I know I shall.”

“I will,” I promise him. And I mean it. My doubts are gone and I want nothing more than to marry this man and see what life will hold for us. I grab his hand as he turns away and press a kiss to his knuckles. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“If I touch you again, we will not be leaving this room,” he warns, but doesn’t pull his hand from my grip.

I chuckle and let my tongue flick over his skin before I release him.





13





HALLA



The wedding ceremony is a blur.

I should be focusing on the ritual of it all, but the only thing I can think of is Mathior. I scarcely see the hundreds of people lining the great hall—Yshremi and Cyclopae both. I pay no attention to the priests and the prayers they send up on our behalf. The vows, the songs sung over us, even my coronation—none of it matters.

I can think of nothing more than getting back to my rooms with my new husband and finishing what we started.

Mathior’s hand touches mine frequently throughout the wedding, caressing my fingers, and when he lifts my hand to his mouth to kiss and tongues my knuckles instead, I know he’s thinking about the same thing. It makes me blush and the room fills with cheers.

I am every dazzled bride on her wedding day, and I am also now queen of Yshrem and Cyclopae and Adassia. For some reason, that feels less important than being Mathior’s wife, though. His smiles are everything, and I clutch at his hand as we sit on our thrones in front of the crowd and let ambassador after ambassador offer their well-wishes, their greetings, and their gifts. Horses and fine dishes are given to us, gold and jewels and spices from faraway lands. There’s a flute of pure crystal from Citadel, fine silks and rich offerings of grain from Glistentide, and a pair of finely forged steel-swords from Aventine, which makes Mathior glance over at me.