10. Fell

10

Fell

I WAS A FOOL. THAT WAS INSTANTLY, PAINSTAKINGLY CLEAR.

She had seduced me with her sumptuous skin and soft cries as I plowed between her thighs like it was just the two of us in that bed, like I was an untried youth with his first woman, believing, remarkably, that she was the princess I had been promised. The wife I had been seeking.

She was not.

I knew this woman. I knew her face. The wide amber-gold eyes. The trembling mouth. My gut tightened as I recalled how I had tasted that mouth beneath a kiss-soaked veil, whilst the whole time it had been the bold little spy I'd caught emerging from the painting in the chancery. The very same servant girl the lord regent had sent scampering away with a stern admonition. I'd just wedded and bedded her. Her lips. Her golden-skinned body. Her long legs wrapped around me, quivering under my hands.

And she was not a princess of Penterra.

To further confirm this, I reached for the wimple covering her hair and yanked the headdress off with unkind fingers, tossing it aside. My anger twisted higher, tighter, a fist driving through me.

She gave a small cry as the mass of her flame-red hair was exposed, but I could not find it in myself to care. I seized the thick-as-my-wrist braid hanging over her shoulder in a fierce grip.

"What is this?" I snarled, wrapping the rope of her hair once around my hand and tugging her closer, seething as my inner beast bristled. I usually kept that side of myself in check, unleashing it only in combat, and even then I kept it tightly contained, but this felt like war. The first assault had been made, and I had not even seen it coming. The next move would be mine.

Her eyes widened. She must have recognized the danger. Before I could guess her intent, she balled her hand into a fist and struck me solidly in the mouth.

My head snapped back, her punch splitting my lip, drawing blood.

I growled. Fuck. Attacked unaware. Again.

She yanked open the drapes and bounded from the bed with surprising speed and agility for someone who lived in the shelter of a palace.

Chest heaving, I followed, unconcerned with my nakedness, my cock streaked with her maiden blood for all to see. Faces swam before my eyes. The king and queen. The lord regent. The priest. Nobles of the court. That glaring face of the captain of the guard, flushed in anger. There were fewer people than when this farce started, but I could still see plenty of dumbfounded expressions through the fading fog.

The chamber went silent as a tomb as the mist melted away, everyone somber and wary of me: the Beast emerging from his marriage bed feral and glowering, bloody-lipped and intent on reprisal.

And they should have been wary.

I spit blood upon the floor and swiped savagely at my mouth. "Explain," I bit out.

Her wide-eyed gaze looked from the blood on the floor to me. She hummed and vibrated with an emotion I could not name. It could not possibly be outrage. I was the only one with rightful claim to that particular reaction. She was the deceiver. The liar. The fraud.

She stood out of arm's reach, a mutinous, ready-to-bolt look on her face. No doubt she would run—or quite possibly take another swing at me—if I made a move toward her. The warrior in me smoldered at my core, willing her to do it, to try again.

The lord regent was the first to speak. Clearing his throat, he said, "What is... amiss, my lord?"

I blinked. Was this asshole in earnest?

"What is amiss?" I echoed, stabbing a finger toward the woman I'd just divested of her maidenhead upon the bed behind me, putting the stamp of legitimacy on our marriage. "She is not a princess of Penterra." Not the bride I was promised. Not the bride my father always insisted I deserved.

"Ah, but she is, my lord. Tamsyn is recognized as a member of the royal family and she is your wife." The smug bastard flicked a glance down my body, his attention pointedly on my cock.

Well, that sounded like some very fine politicking if I'd ever heard it.

And complete horseshit.

One of the nearby nobles came alive to chirp, "Don't suppose it's necessary to hang the sheets from the ramparts as proof of consummation. We can all see the evidence for ourselves."

Titters met the snide remark, and I swung a murderous glare around the chamber. The laughter ceased, and gazes steered away from me uneasily.

Shaking my head, I advanced on my wife with hard steps. Everyone else faded away. I would have the truth from her .

She shivered, and I wondered if it was from the chill of the chamber or the threat of me. The fog may have abated, but the frigid air clung. Still, she held her ground. Her scent filled my nose as I closed the distance between us, and fuck if the blood didn't rush to my traitorous cock in primal recognition. It wasn't just her scent that hit me. It was the scent of me all over her . That satisfied me in a way it shouldn't. Only minutes ago, I had been buried inside her. Clearly I had yet to shake off the effects. I was ready for another go even now. Even though that was the last thing I should want.

"Who are you?" I growled. Her gaze flicked uncertainly to the lord regent. "Look at me." My voice cracked like thunder on the air. "Answer my question."

"I'm... Tamsyn."

"A daughter of the crown?" I pressed, even though I knew.

She started to look away again, doubtlessly seeking direction on how to answer me. I held up one finger, catching her attention and holding it. "I'll not ask again. Speak the truth."

"I am Tamsyn," she repeated, her throat working as she swallowed. "The royal whipping girl."

Arkin swore.

I did not look to my vassal; all my searing focus was fixed upon the woman I had just bound myself to for life.

The royal whipping girl?

I glanced at the faces of the Penterran court around me. The king and queen stared back in a way that said everything. All I needed to know. It was true, then. She was a whipping girl, which I understood to be someone who...

"You take beatings for the princesses?" I demanded.

Her chin lifted. "Yes." As though it was a point of pride for her. Her amber eyes glinted fire, daring me to demean the practice.

Spittle flew from Arkin's lips as he ground out, "She is but their dog, and they think it fitting to give her to you for a wife."

The queen spoke up in stout denial: "The royal whipping girl is an esteemed position in the palace. The tradition predates written record. Tamsyn is a daughter to us and given all the courtesy and regard due a royal princess."

"Except you whip her," I replied, feeling my lip curl in distaste. "Esteemed, indeed."

The room fell silent. It was a truth no one could deny. The truth, at last, finally, from these people.

I recalled my father's voice then. He'd always said King Hamlin could not be trusted—that the Penterran court was a nest of vipers .

They're different from us. They expect safety and nice things, but they won't bleed for it. They expect us to bleed for them.

King Hamlin spoke at last, his gaze fastened on me. "Do you intend to refuse her?"

"He cannot," the lord regent blustered, affronted at the question, hot color splashing his face. "The ceremony is done. The girl is bedded. They are wed!"

Do you intend to refuse her? It was a weighty question. Loaded with implications. What he meant was: Do you renounce this sovereignty?

I held the king's gaze and saw that he did not believe I had a choice. He and the lord regent were in accord on that.

I considered them all, my gaze in turn sliding to her—Tamsyn—and stopping there. Her white-knuckled hands gripped the front of her nightgown, precariously holding the fabric together over her breasts. I had ripped the material from her in a fit of unexpected desire. I grimaced. Nothing about any of this had been expected.

I had expected the bedding to be perfunctory. Purely transactional. I would get it done while hopefully bringing as little pain and embarrassment to her as possible. I wasn't a sadist, after all. That had been the plan. I liked fucking as well as anyone, but this night's bedding had not been about what I liked . It was not meant to be about pleasure, and yet pleasure was what I had found. With my wife. The wrong wife. This woman before me whom I had not agreed to marry, but whom they had tricked me into claiming.

Fury seethed through my veins.

I looked her over with a leer. Had they chosen her simply because of her position as a whipping girl?

Or had they suspected I would respond to her charms with fire. She could cling to her bodice and try to cover herself up, but I knew what was there. She could not hide that lush golden skin from me. I remembered everything.

"Bedded or not, this marriage cannot stand," Arkin charged. He was apoplectic, the pale skin above his beard breaking out in red splotches. I would be hearing his I told you so later.

"It cannot be undone," the lord regent insisted.

"Oh, there is one way it can be undone." Arkin dropped glittering eyes onto the girl, letting the threat hang. I understood his meaning perfectly, and my skin prickled and muscles tightened. He was a warrior, accustomed to solving problems with his sword.

I cut him a swift glance, shaking my head once in warning. More than brawn was needed here. They had already proven their crafty, devious natures. They were snakes in the grass, and I had to use cunning to outsmart them.

I could tell the others did not understand Arkin's threat. They looked at each other with blank stares and shrugs. None of the Penterran nobles would grasp his meaning. They did not solve problems by the sword. No, their choice of weapons were lies, courtly intrigue, and machinations.

One glance at her—Tamsyn—though, and I knew she understood. Perhaps a whipping girl knew to expect abuse, to look for the snakes in the grass... that her life was so very expendable.

Perhaps she had always known it would come to this when she was swept up in this charade. Had she expected gentleness from me once I learned the truth?

The lord regent continued, his voice smug. "You wanted a daughter of the king, Lord Dryhten. Now you have one."

My hand opened and flexed at my side, longing to pound that smugness off his face. "She is not what I asked for, and you damn well know it," I snapped.

A voice penetrated through my haze of fury and betrayal. "She's too good for the likes of you."

I searched and found the source. It was the captain of the guard. We'd been introduced yesterday, but his name eluded me. I had expected someone more intimidating as head of the guard. He was too young, too pretty, too clean. I'd wager his flawless red tunic with its gold buttons had never seen a battlefield. I could not envision him lasting through one skirmish in the Borderlands.

When my gaze locked on his face, the venom in his eyes blasted me . If looks could kill. He vibrated with a rage I could taste on the air.

My gaze shot to her with understanding. Oh.

This was about her. Tamsyn. My wife. My. Mine. The word welled up inside me like someone else, something else, was speaking within me, a beast growling from the shadows.

The captain looked from her to me, his hand ready at the hilt of the rapier attached to his belt, gripping it until his skin had turned a bloodless white. I cocked an eyebrow. He was dangerously close to using his weapon—or trying to, at any rate. I wished he would. I felt like hurting someone.

Did he fancy himself in love with her? What manner of man stood by and let another have his woman? Where were his objections an hour ago? I looked him up and down contemptuously. "Is that so? It is I who does not deserve her?"

I was the one deceived.

"Indeed. You don't." The pretty soldier took a belligerent step forward.

"Stig," the lord regent snapped, annoyance flashing across his face. "Stand down."

He looked like a sullen youth. "Father, I told you this was a bad—"

"Hold your tongue. You forget yourself!"

Father. His son, eh? I should have guessed. This Stig was just some spoiled court brat they stuck into a uniform and named captain of the guard. I doubted he even knew how to use his sword.

Stig fell silent but continued to glare at me. Something dark and primal surged inside me, and I once again found myself wishing he would reach for his rapier. Did she love him back? My wife? This boy playing at being a man?

I moved across the chamber with a casualness that belied my predatory nature. Stopping before him, I angled my head and looked him over in a deliberately insolent manner, hoping to incite him—this coward who thought it right to announce what my wife deserved after he had not lifted a finger to save her from sacrificing herself to the Beast of the Borderlands.

He tensed, ready for an attack, ready to attack. I heartily wished he would. Wished I could unleash my aggression on him.

Ugly emotion slithered through me. Leaning forward, I murmured for his ears alone, "Sorry it wasn't you?"

He snapped. Lunged at me with a curse. Just as I expected and exactly what I wanted.

What I needed .

I hated that Arkin had been right. I should have never come to this place. From the moment I arrived, I'd felt out of sorts. Almost feverish and not right within my skin. And the bedding had left me shaken. Had a spell been cast over me? Was there some witch lingering in the shadows of the palace fucking with my head?

Even now I wanted to drag Tamsyn back to the bed and have her again... and again, until I was satiated. The impulse baffled me. I was always in control. Never led by impulse or cock.

I ducked the oncoming fist and delivered a swift blow to the young man's ribs, unleashing my wrath, gratified at the crunch beneath my knuckles. He sucked in a breath and staggered back. I moved in to rain down more abuse, but bodies got between us, palace guards protecting their own.

The king and queen were swept from the chamber, their security a priority.

Arkin roared, unsheathing his sword and diving into the melee.

Rapiers were pulled. Women screamed. Decanters and goblets shattered on the floor. The priest started shouting prayers.

Suddenly my wife was there, pressing a hand on my chest, impeding me from inflicting more violence. "Enough!" And then softer, her eyes pleading: "Please."

One hand on my chest, one word from her, and I stopped. I resisted the impulse to fold my hand over hers and keep it there on my beating heart, imbuing me with her drugging warmth that I remembered only too well.

How was it she had this effect on me in so short a time? I had not met a more treacherous woman in all my days. I despised her and what she had done, and yet she held me in the palm of her hand.

It could not stand.

Everyone stilled. Arkin's head whipped around before landing on me. "Fell," he barked in bewilderment, clearly wondering why I had paused rather than bust heads alongside him.

Because she asked me to stop.

I would not dare admit it. I felt weak even thinking it.

The captain of the guard was looking at her now, his expression wounded as he stared at where she touched me with her hand. "Tamsyn," he croaked, his face crestfallen, as though she had somehow betrayed him. I wanted to strike him down for daring to speak her name aloud when I had not even done so yet. I might not want her for my wife, but she was mine. Mine and not his. I wanted to break him.

She glanced at him briefly and then settled her attention back on me. "Lady Dryhten," she corrected firmly, sending me a wary look, as though seeking my approval.

Stig's eyes bulged. " Lady Dryhten? " he choked out, shaking his head as though he could not fathom it. "Tamsyn, no..."

"Yes," she insisted, nodding slowly, still holding my stare. "Yes. I am Lady Dryhten. If his lordship agrees."

Agrees?

Now she wanted my agreement? I glared at her. After the fact. After her deceit. After it had become impossible to reject her without causing civil discord.

This little skirmish would be but a taste of it. If I refused her as my wife, the whole of the Borderlands would rally to my side. It would divide the entire kingdom. It would be war.

But maybe it was time.

Hamlin had had his chance, and this country was close to the breaking point. Without the Borderlands propping it up, Penterra would have already fallen. He should be ousted. Toppled from his gilded throne. I looked away from her, this whipping girl, and around the chamber at all the angry faces.

I did not have the whole of the Borderlands here with me now.

I had a dozen warriors. Highly skilled, willing to follow my every command, to fight to the death. And yet resisting, revolting here and now, would mean death for us all. We could not take on the palace guards. There were too many of them. Too few of us.

There was no choice. I had to fake a smile. Agree. And plan my revenge. Bide my time. Plot my next move.

This would not rest. The treachery, the disrespect. I would not forget. I would not forgive.

"Aye," I said slowly, my gaze skimming over her with a crude thoroughness she could not mistake. There was nothing else I could say at the moment. "I'll have you."

And God help her, for I would make her pay the price for it.