The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(8)
“That I was here to destroy my rivals?” His mouth twists slightly. “It has been a long time since we have seen each other, but I have never thought unkindly of you. And I would never go back on my word.”
You’re safe because you’re mine.
“You were a boy,” I protest. “I don’t expect—”
“My mind has not changed,” he says, and his expression is so intense it steals the breath from my lungs. When he reaches out to capture my braid again, I tremble. “You’re shaking. Sit.”
A strong arm goes around my waist and he escorts me to the nearest bench. Of course, my knees get even weaker with his nearness, but I manage to sit down with a modicum of grace. I set the book carefully at my side—away from him—and straighten my ugly gray robe, wishing that it was one of the corseted, ornate Yshremi dresses I used to wear. Not because I loved them, but because they always made me feel regal and in control.
Mathior sits down next to me and studies my face. “I see my suggestion has shocked you.”
“I don’t understand,” I tell him in a low voice. “Why—”
He raises a hand to quiet me. “You and I both know that there will never be peace in this kingdom while you live and I am on the throne.”
My mouth goes dry again. I do know this. That’s exactly why I thought he’d come here to kill me. “So your solution is to…take me as your concubine?” While I’m flattered at the suggestion, I don’t see how it’ll possibly work. The Yshremi people will be insulted that their once-queen has been pulled from exile at a peaceful temple to serve in the cyclops lord’s bed. And as for me…well, I’m past the age that is considered young and nubile. I am thirty-three years. I should have been married when I was sixteen. No one wants a concubine that found her first gray hair yesterday, or whose breasts aren’t quite as high and perky as they once were.
“My concubine? No. I mean to take you as my bride.” And he stares at me so intently that I feel naked despite the gray wool of my robe. “Yshrem needs unity. What better way than to unite our two families? Such alliances are common, are they not?”
Between neighboring kingdoms, yes. Between conquered kingdom and conqueror, no. Between the wild cyclops tribes and my own rigid Yshremi people? Never. “You would do that to save my life?”
That slow, heart-stopping grin moves over his face again. “You mistake me yet again, Halla. I do not do this to save your life. I do this because you have always been destined to be mine.” Mathior takes my hand in his and turns it over, then lifts it to his mouth. His tongue flicks over the center of my palm before he gives it a kiss. “I mean what I said. You are mine, Halla. I am king and I get what I want, and what I want is you. Yshrem can burn for all I care. Ask me to destroy it and I shall. Ask me to give it to you, and it will be yours…so long as you are in my bed.”
The breath catches in my throat. “You…you want me?”
“Always.” He brushes his mouth over the tips of my fingers. “Shall I show you how much?”
I am like a deer caught before the hunter. I cannot move, cannot protest…because I do not want to. I want him to show me exactly what he means, even though I know I should not. Just a short time ago I expected him to cut my throat. How can my world turn upside down so very quickly that I’m contemplating marriage? “But—”
Mathior snags one of my braids. The chosen hairstyle for Riekki’s peacekeepers is two simple braids parted down the center of the head with one thick braid in the back. It’s not an attractive hairstyle, but attractiveness doesn’t matter when you are a deposed queen and spinster. But when he tugs on it and pulls me toward him, I feel pretty and irresistible. I feel his breath on my cheek a moment before his mouth closes over mine in a kiss.
I gasp and jerk backward, my eyes wide. The braid falls from his grip and I hold it tight against my collar, startled. I’ve never been kissed before. No one would dare to do such a thing without a royal engagement. Yet Mathior has been here for five minutes and already kissed me. I’m shocked…and fascinated.
This is as far from the quiet life in Riekki’s temple as one can get.
The cyclops just grins at me, as if pleased by my shocked reaction. “Do I take liberties, Halla? I won’t apologize.”
“You can’t take liberties,” I tell him in a daze. “You are the king. Everything in the kingdom belongs to you, including me.”
He grunts, apparently not pleased with my response. “You still have a choice. I would not leave you trapped in a situation you despise. I remember well how you saved my life, and I would not destroy yours. If you wish to stay here and live with Riekki’s peacekeepers, you may. But you will have to take a new name. Word will be spread far and wide of Halla of Yshrem’s unfortunate death to a coughing sickness. You will simply become one of the penitent, living your life in servitude to the goddess. If that is what you wish, I will not stand in your way.” Mathior leans in and pulls my other braid into his hand, caressing it. “But if you wish to become mine, you should know of the cyclops marriage customs, because that is how we shall be wedded.”
“Oh?” My voice is shaky, my head spinning. He’s so close that I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again. There’s a heat throbbing between my thighs that I’ve only felt when I was alone and giving myself furtive, forbidden touches. I want his mouth on me again, no matter how impudent a gesture it was. “Tell me.”