There’s a tug in my subconscious, almost like the kind of warning I get on the battlefield, telling me this female is meant for better things than being the king’s permanent lay. But she’s already got my cock at full mast in my breeches and he’s not exactly listening to reason down there. I’ll have my first relief in years between her legs, so help me God. I’ve waited a long time for a woman who can take me—and this is she. I’m never wrong.
“Woman,” I call, crooking my finger at her. “I’ll have a word with you.”
The females surrounding my future mistress wince as one.
“Oh?” Her raven eyebrow arches. “Well I’ve got two words for you. Drop dead.”
2
Gwen
Who exactly does this man think he is?
Cock of the bloody walk, coming over here, interrupting my conversation—never mind that I wasn’t really listening—crooking his finger at me?
I don’t think so.
I’m at the Joining for serious business. I don’t have time for this arrogant giant and whatever he has to say. I have to make this gathering count. The happiness of my family depends on it.
Unfortunately, when I tell him to drop dead, which is a particularly favorite term of mine, the giant does something I’m not expecting.
He laughs.
Long and loud. Appreciatively.
He’s not even offended.
And reluctantly…I like that.
Men get their feelings hurt so easily. They’re like roosters, going around with big, puffed up chests, but as soon as they’re challenged, they turn into sputtering ducks, their tail feathers quivering over the dent in their ego. I work day and night to support my sisters, turning soil in the fields, harvesting crops and caring for the animals. A lot of people in our kingdom call it man’s work, but tell me one man who can do it better.
My attitude hasn’t won me the favor of the local men, what with their tarnished pride over being second best and all. So I’ve come to the Joining to find a husband who I haven’t already angered in one way or another. Not because I’m terribly keen to have a man around or anything, but our farm had two bad harvests in a row. And now I’m desperate.
If I don’t find a husband with some decent coin in his pocket, we’re going to lose everything. Our parents’ home and farm. Our respect in the village. Everything.
The giant is still laughing.
Another finely dressed man has appeared at his side and is studying me with open curiosity. Who is this odd pair? And why can’t I stop staring at the corded line of the giant’s throat. It ripples as he laughs. Huge thunderbolt laughs that draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He’s a warrior—there is no doubt of that. There are scars on every visible inch of his skin. His thighs are long, broad trunks of sinew, his arms swelling with muscle. If he enters any of the men’s competitions, he will win them easily, for he could probably carry a log ten miles without breaking a sweat.
Yeah? So what.
“If you’re done making a spectacle of yourself,” I call up to him, since he’s a damn foot and half taller than me, “we’d like to get back to our discussion.”
He finally stops laughing, but the mirth has left his eyes twinkling and I’m alarmed to find out they’re my exact favorite color. A mixture of blue and gray, on the darker side. The sky right after a sunset on the coldest day of the year. Icy with hidden warmth.
“Is that so, woman?” The giant crosses his arms over his chest and settles into a patient stance. “If you’re so eager to return to the conversation, do tell me what you were discussing.”
Damn.
I can’t remember a single word spoken over the last hour.
I’m surrounded by women from my village and they’ve been talking about the eligible men in attendance at the Joining. Like me, they’re also planning on finding a husband over the next two days. However, they’re going to accomplish the task by batting their eyelashes and swishing their skirts. I don’t have those skills.
My talents are valuable, though. Aren’t they? There must be a man somewhere at this Joining who values a woman who can hunt. Repair a roof. Toil from sunrise to sunset.
If he’s here, I’m going to find him.
Or, rather, he’s going to find me.
Tomorrow evening, there is a wife auction. It’s the final event of the Joining.
I’ve entered myself in the hopes that one of the men in attendance values a hard-working woman. It’s not going to be this man. That I know.
He might have surprised me by laughing and not getting his big boy feelings hurt when I brushed him off, but he’s not the humble farmer I’m looking for. He’s an arrogant asshole if I’ve ever seen one in my life. Funny, though, he hasn’t even glanced at the other women. Those blue-gray eyes are pinned on me as if they don’t intend to move any time soon.
And he’s waiting for my answer. What were these women yammering on about?
“They were talking about, eh…” I try to read the expression of the redheaded girl beside me, but she lifts her chin and remains impassible. “Dresses?”
The redhead’s shoulders slump.
I barely resist throwing up my arms in victory.
“There.” I smirk at the giant. “Satisfied?”
His gaze meanders down the bodice of my crimson gowns. “Satisfied? Not by a long shot.” Those eyes lock back on mine. “Not yet.”
Heat suffuses my cheeks, shocking me. I’m not the blushing type.
But this man’s suggestive drawl has me drowning in a hot pool of sensation.
He tucks his tongue into the corner of his mouth and my nipples perk into little points.
What in the devil is happening here?
“I beg your pardon?” I say, far less sassily than I planned. In fact, I sound like I can’t catch my breath. Unacceptable. I’m twenty-one years of age. I’ve watched animals give birth. Hunted for game in the dead of winter. I’ve buried my parents. Life has been hard and I’ve come through it a practical woman. Not someone who is bowled over by flirtation. “I advise you to seek your satisfaction somewhere else…?” I leave my words dangling in the air, encouraging him to supply his name.
So I know who I’ll be avoiding for the rest of the Joining.
“Corbet.” He steps forward, taking my hand and bringing it to his lips. “King of Fallstrom.”
A chorus of gasps take wing around me.
Oh. Great.
Leave it to me to tell a king to drop dead.
My sisters are never going to stop laughing when I tell them.
If I’m still alive to tell the tale. Technically, he could have me beheaded for the insult.
And now that his identity has been revealed, I realize what an idiot I’ve been for not figuring it out. It is well known that King Corbet stands head and shoulders above the average man. That he is battle-scarred and intimidating. His nickname is Corbet the Fury.
But somehow I know he won’t penalize me for insulting him.
What does he want from me, then?
Why is he looking at me like I’m a feast to be devoured?
As keeper of the throne, he could take any female at the Joining to bed. Could make any of them his wife. Yet he is fixated on me?