“Did you bring me to a fainting room?” I ask my own question instead of answering his, my brows furrowing in confusion.
“Where did you think I was taking you?” He huffs.
Heat floods my cheeks, partly from embarrassment, but largely from the fury that is slowly ebbing in, crowding out the fear that has been driving it.
“The way you yanked me down the hall, what was I supposed to think?”
He looks nonplussed.
“You should have said something if you couldn’t keep up.”
My last, fragile thread of patience splits apart with that comment.
“I’m beginning to see why you had to import your bride with manners like these,” I snap. “Have you actually encountered a woman before, or is this an entirely new experience for you?”
His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to respond, venom dripping from every word.
“I can assure you, I’ve encountered many a woman.” His eyebrow raises, a cocky smirk playing on his lips.
“Just none that would stick around, then? I wonder why.” I feign contemplation.
His expression goes flat, sharpening the angular lines of his face and only emphasizing his barbarism. He looks me over from head to toe, but there’s nothing flattering in his gaze.
It’s predatory. Scrutinizing. The way he looks at me makes me feel as though I’m wearing clothes far more revealing than my bridal outfit. With another man, I might be afraid, but I know the signs of a body thrumming with violent intent.
The king is not going to hurt me. At least, not physically. Not yet. When he finally speaks, his voice is deeper and colder than it had been when we said our vows or even a moment ago.
“You should clean up, wife.” Einar points to the basin. “There’s a feast in our honor.”
“Clean up what, exactly?” I counter, stopping myself before I can ask why I’m allowed such a privilege now when it wasn’t even offered before my wedding.
He gestures to my hands.
“I didn’t figure you’d want to eat with dirt on your hands, but of course, that’s entirely up to you. All that is required is your presence, not your cleanliness.”
Red flashes through my vision. I may have only vague memories of my early childhood, but I remember dreaming about my wedding day, about the privilege of having such exquisite markings on my skin to let the world know I belonged to someone.
I never imagined my life winding up here. With him. Insulting me and my culture.
“Certainly. While I busy myself scrubbing at the very intentionally and carefully applied bridal paint,” I use a description I think the oaf might actually understand, “perhaps you could spare a moment to remove the revolting animal from your face.” I gesture to the braided beard with unconcealed disgust. “I wouldn’t want it consuming your meal before you get the chance.”
Einar’s jaw might have dropped, though I can hardly tell behind the mass of hair. He visibly collects himself before letting out an audible sigh.
“As much as I’m enjoying spending time in your delightful presence, we should go, Zaina. My people are waiting.”
“Sadly, my feminine sensibilities are far too overwhelmed with the emotion of this joyous union to leave just now.” I sink down on the chaise pointedly. “It was certainly an astute move on your part to bring me here. Truly, your understanding of my weak constitution is most appreciated,” I add, noticing the way his jaw tightens at my words.
For all of my bravado, I can feel myself spiraling. I’m desperate for a moment to collect my thoughts alone.
He stares at me for a long moment with an expression I can’t quite decipher.
“Very well then,” he finally says. “I certainly hope you don’t starve.” He flashes his teeth in what is more a snarl than a grin, like that thought is appealing to him.
What’s more is that he clearly thinks his comment will sway me, like I’m some spoiled heiress who has never spent the night hungry. If only he knew the consequences of gaining an unsightly pound in my household.
But I refuse to think about the dungeon when I’ve finally banished its images from my head.
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I reply with a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
“Yes, of course,” he says, his body taut with tension. “The fates would never be kind enough to grant me anything less.”
The fates haven’t been kind enough to grant it for me, either.
I don’t say the words out loud. I don’t say anything at all while he sweeps out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Chapter 5
Despite my brave words, I already feel the gnawing of hunger in my stomach. Part of me wonders what it is that they’ll be serving for the feast, and another tells myself that I shouldn’t care.
Before I can deliberate further, an eager knock sounds at the door.
I’m fairly certain it isn’t the king. I doubt the man knows how to knock, much less would bother with it.
The door opens, and in bustles a tall, round figure sporting a black veil. With the wedding over, I’m beginning to wonder if this is a custom all the time here.
“Æ, dúllan mín!”
I’m a bit taken back by her familiar greeting, so I respond uncertainly.
“Hello.”
“You have even more beauty up close.” Her accent is thick, and there’s something like wistfulness in her chirpy voice.
“Can you see through that, then?” I finally ask what I’ve been wondering since my arrival.
She halts, but whether she’s affronted by the abruptness of my question or the veil itself, I can’t tell.
“Yes. I could not help His Majesty while not see.”
I’m gleaning nothing from her carefully neutral inflection, so I decide to push a little further. I need more information to navigate the murky waters of this strange place.
“Surely, it would be easier to work without it, though.”
She lets out a surprisingly wry laugh for such a high-pitched voice, shaking her head.
“I now understand His Majesty’s temper,” she says instead of answering. “He is angry like wolf.”
I bite back a sigh.
“So, you’ve been sent to coax me to dinner, then?”
She bristles.
“I am not sent anywhere, Mistress, though why a bride needs to be coax to come to her own wedding feast is very much confuse to me.”
“I see.” My tone is clipped, my fury rising to the forefront again. “Is it also confusing for you to understand why a bride might want a moment or two to collect herself, to use the facilities, or, odder still, be introduced to her groom before their wedding?”
I don’t even mention whether it’s beyond the whole twisted lot of them to see why I might have wanted a single familiar face here. Though, at this rate, I wonder if the only face I’ll ever be familiar with again is the king’s, considering everyone else hides theirs.
My eyes sting unexpectedly, and I look down. I don’t cry. Ever. It must be something else. The damnably frigid air, perhaps.
When the woman’s posture slackens ever so slightly, I want to disappear in between the freezing floor stones.