Pushing aside all the reservations that have no place in this moment, I begin by removing the long silken scarf, carefully disentangling it from my hair and letting it fall softly to the ground. I capture his icy blue gaze with my own, noting that it doesn’t waver from where it’s focused on my face. Only my face.
Next, I pull down my heavy beaded skirts, neatly stepping out of them. Again, his eyes don’t falter.
But when I place my hands on the short blouse that covers the only remaining part of me, I swear I hear a sharp intake of breath, though his expression is as resolute as ever.
I slip the top up over my head, shaking my hair out from the ornate beading before I reopen my eyes.
This time, he has let the smallest molecule of that stone façade slip. His gaze is heated, his lips parted, and his eyes find their way slowly down my body.
Content with whatever power I have managed to wrangle from this situation, I shoot him an arrogant smirk. He has his strengths, and I have mine.
What I don’t expect is the way he stalks toward me, closing the space between us until he has all but erased it.
Until I am close to being plastered against the freezing leather of his belt and the warm, rich furs of his cloak.
Until I forget, for the tiniest increment of a moment, that I’m not supposed to want to be here. To want any of this.
I lean toward him, in spite of myself and the way I have done nothing but dread this moment for days. Tilting my head up ever so slightly, my gaze travels from the chain at his neck and up to his lips, which are slowly parting.
“Stop.” The words are not mine, but his.
I pause briefly, any warmth I felt moments ago being once again stolen by this wintry castle and the people in it.
“What?” I ask in a voice that is unfamiliar, even to me.
Did he want to be the one who undressed me? Or is he unhappy with what he sees? I look down to be sure nothing is amiss, and nearly lose my balance.
Einar catches me with steady hands, careful to only touch my arms and nothing else.
"Is something not to your liking?" The whiskey has made me bold and reckless.
"Just put your clothes back on." He clenches his jaw.
I narrow my eyes at him. Surely, he doesn’t mean it. That would be too much to hope for. And it makes no sense.
His frame towers over mine, and I can feel the heat emanating from him once again. Is that why he keeps the fires so low? Because he is his own source of furious, unyielding heat?
I fight down a shiver as my gaze moves from his piercing blue irises to his full, parted lips.
We stand there for a moment, and not even my rapid breaths dare to make a sound. He leans in, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning right back into him, stealing some of his warmth for my own.
But he doesn’t tilt his head downward. Instead, he grabs one of the heavy gray furs piled atop the bed and dangles it next to me.
“If you were freezing earlier, you must be ice by now.” Not unlike his tone.
I stand there, puzzled, abruptly aware of how very exposed I am. Holding the fur in front of me, I back up to brace myself against the tall, plush mattress.
Is he turning me down?
I war with feelings of relief and something else I can’t quite figure out as I voice the question aloud.
"Isn’t this why you chose me?” If Madame’s alchemy hadn’t come into this, my beauty is the only reason anyone would have picked me from a sea of eligible ladies.
I had been called beautiful my entire life. My light brown skin and my wide, almond-shaped, honey-colored eyes were rare in these parts of the world.
Exotic.
I didn’t take any pleasure in it. That’s why Madame had taken me to be part of her macabre family. It’s why I was so useful to her.
And I suspect that’s why the king chose me as well.
Of course, that would mean his features are all his, genetically. I tried not to stare at his perfectly chiseled jaw and the unnaturally straight line of his aquiline nose.
He sizes me up with a glance that is almost cursory, crossing his colossal, muscled arms before giving me his answer.
“I didn’t choose you. My ambassador did.” He could be reading a shipping ledger for all the inflection in his voice.
No malice. No anger. Only a calm, collected, factual tone that has me steadily losing my grip on what’s real and what isn’t. Trying to gather my thoughts and utterly unsure why I’m staring this gift horse so directly in the mouth, I speak up again.
“Regardless of what either of us wants,” I begin, my voice going even colder than this stone floor. “Surely, we have to...consummate, at some point?”
I stop just short of saying “produce heirs,” though that’s really what I mean. It’s the main reason I was sent here.
His eye twitches infinitesimally, the first outward sign of emotion I’ve seen from him. I tuck it away for future me to think on, though I’m observing it through my swimming, inebriated vision.
“Tempting as it is to spend this evening — or any — in your delightful company, I’m certain I could find a more appealing prospect elsewhere.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to decide how to respond, but when I open them, he has vanished. There hadn’t been a creak or the clink of the door latch shutting. He was simply gone.
I’m left naked on my bed, confused and unsure, and worst of all, completely unable to escape the dawning horror that this is my life now, chasing after a man who clearly hates me for reasons I don’t begin to comprehend.
And not chasing him isn’t an option I have. Things stand to get much, much worse if I fail to produce an heir.
Especially when Madame finds out.
Chapter 9
“I thought you want for breakfast, Mistress.”
The sound of Sigrid’s plucky voice and bright rays of golden sun pouring through the windows pull me from my fitful sleep. I want nothing more than to throw the covers back over my splitting head and die.
“Here,” she says, resting a tray beside me on the bed.
One sniff of the savory meats has bile rising in my throat. I sit up too quickly and barely make it to the other side of the bed, grabbing the nearest container I can find and vomiting every ounce of liquid in my stomach.
I use my free hand to hold both my hair and the golden chain linked from my nose to my ear safe from the trajectory. It isn’t until I’m finished that I realize it is one of Einar’s boots that is the lucky recipient of my stomach's contents.
Well, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving piece of footwear, at least.
Sigrid comes to my side without hesitation.
“Oh, no. It must be the mountain sickness.”
“The what?” As in, the mountain of alcohol I consumed last night?
“The mountain sickness, Mistress. It takes everyone when they are first arrive.” Sigrid chuckles and helps me move my hair away from the mess I’ve made.
Ah, that explanation makes much more sense, and in no way involves the several — or more than several — glasses of the amber liquid I treated myself to. That, at least, is a relief.
My temples begin to throb again, and all I want is for the mountain sickness or whatever it is to finish me off.
“I see the wedding night was success...” I don’t miss the amusement in her voice as she picks up the pieces of my wedding garb and folds them neatly across her arm.