I want to take the words back as soon as they are out. I can’t remember the last time I spoke without thinking, let alone allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment this way. I need sleep, and warmth. And my sisters.
But his next words duly remind me that it will be a long time before I have any of those things.
“I guess you’ll find out.” He gives me a crooked grin, his eyes glinting with something sinister. “Or have you forgotten it’s nearly time for our wedding night?”
Chapter 7
For the second time in an evening, I find myself off-kilter. I swallow, fighting to keep my expression pleasant for the courtiers.
“Shouldn’t we finish the feast?” My attempt at nonchalance falls flat.
“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your enjoyment of the meal.” He shoots me a phony smile, waving a hand toward the food I scarcely touched, like he knows I can’t stomach another bite.
All traces of my earlier hunger disappeared when the king pulled his blade on a man for an offense as innocuous as showing him up. For daring to care for what was his, whatever the motives.
“I was only thinking of our guests,” I try again, though I’m not sure why I bother postponing the inevitable.
“They’ll eat after we leave.” He says it like it’s obvious.
Perhaps it is, given the masks and his overdeveloped sense of authority.
“Well then, Husband, I see no sense in making them wait,” I say with a boldness I don’t feel, then stand from the table.
Even if I was hungry, I couldn’t sit here in good conscience and stuff my face while they watched with empty bellies.
Einar stares up at me for a moment before I see the smallest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. Either he knows I’m bluffing, or he’s pleased with himself and where he imagines this night going. Regardless, he follows suit and stands next to me.
A thud sounds, followed by another and another until every beaked figure at the tables before us is slamming their fists down on the table. Cheers erupt, and they stand and beat their chests with the same fists, while the veiled figures applaud.
I raise my glass back to them and chug the contents in one go. If I’m going to endure this, I might as well have a drink first...or several.
Neither of us speaks after that. An endless walk up a large staircase and down three hallways with nothing adorning their walls finally leads us to a large set of doors.
The engravings on the dark wood offer some of the only adornments I’ve seen in the entire castle. I wonder if the carver had meant for it to sit in a palace far more lovely than this bleak prison.
Two large guards open the massive doors for us. If I thought that Einar dwarfed me, he seems average compared to the men who are protecting the room. That shouldn’t surprise me, given their reputation of being a warrior people, but I’m still getting used to being the shortest person in the castle.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” he says in his deep, growling voice.
“Do hurry...” I respond through gritted teeth.
The words are right, even if the tone is all wrong. His glacial stare meets mine as he leans in to place a mocking kiss on my hand.
“I wouldn’t dream of making you wait,” he adds before turning to leave.
I wait to hear the click of the door closing before I collapse in front of the blazing fire in the center of the room. I can hardly breathe for the weight of the day, and the worst part isn’t even over.
At least I can finally kick off my damp shoes and burrow my feet into the plush white fur rug. Pain seeps in as they begin to thaw, but there is warmth as well.
My trunks are here and opened, the colorful fabrics in such sharp contrast to the monotony of the room that I suddenly find it unbearable. I’d rather not be reminded of home right now. Of anything personal.
My eyes flit to the rustic table nearby. A decanter and two glasses sit upon it. I lean over and grab the decanter, pouring a few drops of the amber liquid into a glass. Swirling it around, I take a sniff before dipping my pinkie finger into it and bringing the drop to my lips.
It burns, but no more than ordinary alcohol. Between my rapidly fraying nerves and the chill I can’t seem to dispel, I am desperate enough to actually want some. I take a small sip, then wait a few minutes. Nothing.
Another sip and I finally feel the heady warmth of the alcohol beginning to work its way through me, numbing me, just like I need it to. With some relief, I pour myself a heavy dose of the amber liquid and drink it down before I can even feel the whiskey burning at the back of my throat.
Liquid courage is all I can count on to get me through this night, so I go ahead and fill it up a second time.
The crackling of the fire draws my attention back toward the hearth, and I watch as the flames lick the air around it. For a moment, I imagine I am one of the embers that dances away from the blaze, flying through the air to freedom.
Minutes pass by — or hours, I’m not sure which — while I imagine and dream of a different world, one where I have a say in my future.
The sound of the door latching shut pulls me from my pointless thoughts, and I stiffen. I am not ready for what comes next, no more than I was when he left.
But then, is anyone ever truly ready to hand over their body to a stranger?
Chapter 8
I feel the king’s presence behind me, the warmth of his body overpowering that of the fire in front of me.
Slowly, I turn to face him.
With most men, I can immediately tell what they want from me, but I’m finding it difficult to read the king. The rise and fall of his chest tells me that he’s breathing quickly, but his sharp features reveal nothing. He stands there immobile as a mountain range, looking down on me like he’s expecting something.
He’s too smart to expect me to run. And surely by now he knows I’m not the type of woman who simpers. So, what is it that he is so clearly anticipating?
The way he shakes his head is so subtle, I nearly miss it. He moves toward the sitting chair next to the bed and slowly, methodically unties the laces on his boots. He places them on the floor next to him and stares up at me.
I swallow hard, walking toward the one feature of the room I’ve been doing my best to ignore. I gulp down the remaining contents of my glass just before it slips from my hand, shattering on the floor.
“Are you drunk?” Einar asks as I sit down on the massive bed that looks as if it was carved from one of the enormous trees we passed on our way here.
The grooves in the wood resemble bark, and the branches at each corner stretch upward toward the ceiling. I run my fingers along the post, marveling at the craftsmanship.
Einar repeats his question.
I turn back too quickly, and the room begins to spin.
“I am never intoxicated.” My eyebrows raise in offense, even as I teeter sideways. “I simply thought it would be less of a burden on both of us if we were more...relaxed. I left you some in the decanter. Help yourself.” I wave a hand toward the table.
He moves to examine the nearly empty container and crosses his arms. Then, he stares down at me like I am nothing more than a fascinating marionette, playing a part he’s not quite sure of while he towers over it all.
We both know what happens next. There is no use in delaying it any longer. I preempt any attempt he might make in removing my clothes and decide to do it myself. I wouldn’t want him to wonder at the carefully concealed weapons stitched into the fabric.