The King's Spinster Bride, (Royal Wedding #1)(9)

“My people’s marriage ceremonies take place over three days.”

That doesn’t sound so bad. Yshremi unions can be long-winded and take hours, depending on how many priests of the different gods are involved. Every wedding has feasting and dancing, and if there is a union of two kingdoms, celebrations can go on for weeks as guests stream in to the city. I expected such things of my own wedding. “Three days,” I echo. “Very well.”

“The first day is the Revealing of the Bride to the groom. You will be presented in front of me and your clothing torn from your body. You will be displayed to all of those present so no flaws or defects can be hidden under clothing.”

My eyes go wide. Stripped naked before court? It sounds like my worst nightmare. This is their wedding custom?

“On the second day of the ceremony, there is the Tasting of the Bride. You will be chaperoned so there is a witness that you find my caresses pleasing.”

I frown at him, because I don’t understand what he’s saying. “Chaperoned for kissing?”

A wicked smile curves his mouth. “I said tasting, lovely Halla. My head will be between your thighs and I will taste you and you can determine if I am skilled enough to be your husband.”

I swallow hard, utterly shocked, and I think of the picture in my book. Heat is flushing through my body again. By all the gods. I struggle to find something to say, and eventually reply with, “Oh. Well…well.” My voice dies and I clear my throat. “And day three?”

“The Claiming of the Bride. I will take you as mine on that night.” His gaze is heated. “Think on what I offer you. If you marry me, you must accept my people’s ceremonies. To do otherwise would only fuel concerns that you are marrying me against your will. Make no mistake, I want you—but Yshrem needs peace.” He gets to his feet before I can say anything. “I will return in the morning for your answer.”

I stare blankly as he and his men stride out of the courtyard.





5





HALLA



The Cyclopae wedding sounds utterly shocking.

I can’t stop thinking about it as I lie in my pallet that night. Truth be told, I haven’t been able to think of anything but Mathior since he left my side. I never expected to see him again. I certainly did not expect to see him as a grown man, savage and untamed, with a wicked grin that makes my pulse flutter.

He wants to marry me.

Not just because of Yshrem. Because he says he wants me. That he has always wanted me. I’m not sure what to think. I clutch my scratchy blankets to my chest and try to imagine what this means. If I choose to stay here in Riekki’s temple, amongst her devoted, he will ensure that I am safe. I will give up my name, my past, my self entirely, and become just another temple devotee. I will live the rest of my days surrounded in gray.

Truly, it is not such a bad thing, I reason. Riekki’s people have been kind.

But it is not me. I do not fit in here. Just because I have lived here peacefully for sixteen years does not mean I belong. I am not called to serve the goddess, and I feel like a pretender when I see the avid devotion on the faces of those around me.

Can I marry a cyclops warrior, though? I think of Mathior and the fearsome-looking eyepatch that covered half his face. I think of his fur cloak over his naked chest, and the weapons he wore strapped to his body. He is tall now, no longer a small boy. His body is graceful and lean, but corded with muscle. Any woman would be proud to call such a man hers. He’s noble despite his wildness, and if the man is half as thoughtful as the boy, he will be a fine king.

And I am…old.

Thirty-three is not so old, not truly. But as far as virginal brides go, I am ancient. I am a spinster that should have been married off when I was young and fresh and had a throne to bring to my husband. Now I am no one and I have nothing to call my own save my face. Even the gray gown I wear belongs to the temple.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have a stash of dirty books.

I flush in the dark, thinking of Mathior’s expression as he picked up the book and saw the drawing. He didn’t look scandalized. He looked…interested. Intrigued. Aroused.

My breath quickens in my throat, and my hand steals under the blankets. I have the sudden urge to touch myself between my thighs, to rub that forbidden spot and feel my body tense up until I cannot stand it any longer. I imagine him as the picture, putting his tongue between my thighs and licking me, and a low groan escapes my throat.

Horrified, I clap a hand over my mouth and go silent, hoping that those sleeping in the nearby cells did not hear such a thing. No one gets up to check on me, though, and I relax.

I feel guilty, though. I should be thinking about Yshrem, about how I can benefit my people by being the wife of the king—no matter who the king is. I can bring about change if I have my husband’s ear. Instead, all I am thinking about is what it would be like to kiss him, what it would be like for him to put his tongue in secret places.

Truly, I am a terrible person.

I worry, too. I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes, I worry about the answer I will give in the morning. I want to say yes. Even if I found Mathior repulsive, I can do more to help my people as the wife to the king than simply hiding away in Riekki’s temple for the rest of my days. But I am older than him. He is in his prime and must be all of twenty-four years now. I will be thirty-three in a month’s time. He should get himself a bride that is young and sweet and will bring him an alliance. Instead, if I agree to marry him, he will be getting an older woman who has nothing but a useless family name and breasts that have not yet started to sag, but will soon enough.