8. Tamsyn

8

Tamsyn

I T FELT LIKE EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE KINGDOM HAD crowded into the chamber with me. They observed me with a well-satisfied air, their eyes glassy and heavy-lidded from copious amounts of wine and revelry, their faces flushed from the gluttonous feast that had been provided following the wedding.

Thankfully, I had not attended the feast. Even if I could have kept food down, it would have been difficult to consume a meal with a veil covering my mouth.

My absence was explained away. Prior to the ceremony, the lord regent had explained to Lord Dryhten that it was not customary for the bride to attend the feast. Another deception. Now so very many of them. Not that I regretted missing the meal. Sitting beside him , worrying about my every move, my every word, that unforeseeable thing I would inadvertently do to give myself away. Yes. I could miss out on that.

My fingers curled, digging into the mattress beneath me. Rich drapes of thick, impenetrable brocade hung to my right and left and behind the tall headboard, effectively curtaining me. Only the drapes at the foot of the bed had not yet been pulled close. I peered out through that yawning opening. My husband would enter the bed there— our marriage bed . My husband. How could such words now be a normal part of my vocabulary?

I stared out at the wedding guests lined up along the walls, witnesses to this final rite. The marriage would not be official until it was consummated. It could still be overturned. Technically. I knew that. Traditionally, three witnesses were all that was required to legitimize a union, though, so this many observers was definitely overkill. Spectators come for the show, like wolves at the scent of blood.

I easily spotted the king and queen, resplendent in their full regalia. Also in attendance: the lord regent, the lord chamberlain, the high priest who had married us, high nobles of the king's council, and nobles of court, including several of the ladies who'd helped prepare me for the day. I would not be surprised if a stable lad hovered in a corner. A bitter laugh welled up in my throat, which I managed to suppress. No sight of the princesses. Naturally. Maidens were not allowed to witness a bedding ceremony, and even without that rule, they were being kept out of sight for obvious reasons.

My last glimpse of Lord Dryhten had been as I was swept away by the queen and Lady Frida following our vows. The king and the lord regent flanked him, speaking intently, deep in a conversation that he had not appeared to be following, though he was following me . His gaze tracked me over their heads.

That was hours ago. And now here I was, trying so very hard not to feel like a sacrificial lamb.

A couple of minstrels sat in the corner, playing the lyre and drumming on a tabor. I struggled to swallow against my constricting throat. It was a proper party to watch me get tupped by the Beast of the Borderlands.

My husband.

I scowled beneath my veil. At least I had that in my favor—a protective barrier concealing my expressions from gawking onlookers. And from him.

A lady laughed at something a gentleman murmured in her ear. She swatted him with her fan as she took a sip from her goblet. Her eyes found me in the center of the bed, and she lifted her goblet in salute, her lips glistening red from her drink.

A sour taste filled my mouth. My life, my sacrifice, was a diversion for others. A joke. Even if I served the realm. Even if I was equal to any warrior. I swept a glare over all of them. These people didn't see me that way. Only my family appreciated me.

I supposed that was the nature of sacrifice. Was it ever appreciated in the moment?

In this, doing this , I had not earned respect. Had I thought I would?

I exhaled, reminding myself that I was not doing this for appreciation or recognition. One did the right thing simply because it was the right thing. If I was expecting appreciation or recognition from the nobles of the Penterran court, I would be waiting forever.

The only other person who looked unhappy with the situation was the lord chamberlain, and I surmised that this was because he'd lost his whipping girl. The bitterness in my mouth faded a bit. Some good would come of this. I would no longer have to endure the man's hitched breath in my ear every time he flogged me.

Now you will only endure the Beast.

I pulled the coverlet up to my chin, feeling myself shrink into the mattress at the prospect. The moment was nigh. My gaze landed on the queen. She stared intently at me as though there was no veil between us at all. I heard her voice in my head: Do not let him see your face until the deed is done.

I wrapped that reminder around myself. Unclenching my fingers until they no longer felt numb, I lowered the coverlet to the top of my chest with an expelled breath, telling myself not to appear so skittish.

Countless judging eyes assessed me as I waited. Bloodlust hung in the air. They expected a show. And not just the spectacle of the bedding—although they would not hate that. They wanted to see what was to come after the bedding. The people in this room knew the truth. They knew who was—and wasn't—behind the veil, and they knew the fallout was going to be spectacular once the Beast knew, too.

They craved that inescapable unmasking. We had tricked him. All of us. They expected rage and violence and visual confirmation of every rumor and legend they had ever heard about him. They did not realize that they were to be excluded from that revelation, however.

The queen had already promised me that the chamber would be cleared of all witnesses immediately following the bedding. It made sense. Lord Dryhten's ego would already be smarting. No need to add to his inevitable humiliation by including dozens of witnesses to the uncomfortable situation. The king and the lord regent would do the unmasking and offer forth explanations.

The queen had smiled at me amid her reassurances. "We shall explain to him that you, too, are a daughter of the throne. As precious to us as any child born of our line."

Her words were meant to reassure me, and I wanted to believe her.

The door to the room opened, and he emerged, stepping inside with thudding steps. The sight was not comforting.

He was not alone. Two of his warriors accompanied him. The bearded older man from the chancery and a sword maiden who just might have stood eye to eye with me. The sides of her head were shaved, the top portion of her black hair braided and pulled back with a single band. Ink crawled over the brown skin of her exposed scalp. The details of the design were indistinct through the veil and across the distance, and I longed to examine them more closely.

Lord Dryhten turned in a small circle, surveying the chamber with slow, even steps. The evening air found its way inside through the half-dozen arrow slits in the walls. It felt cooler than it had moments before. Like this Northman had brought the chill with him.

"Quite a crowd," he observed. "And this is necessary? Another one of your customs?"

Did his voice sound irritated?

"Witnesses are required," the priest replied.

"And they must number in the dozens?"

The priest sent the king a swift look, because the answer, of course, was no. My father gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. The holy man broke rank to approach my husband. They stood close and spoke for a few moments, their words inaudible, especially over the building roar in my ears.

My husband. My thoughts tumbled over this new reality, my mind still floundering to grasp it.

I was married to him.

Lord Dryhten finished with the priest and stared hard at me, in the center of the vast bed. Never had I felt so small and vulnerable—not even with my back bared as I was flogged.

There were always witnesses in those moments. My sisters were forced to watch my punishments, of course. That was the whole point—for them to watch and feel remorse for their behavior. Often there were others around, too. Servants. Tutors. Other children. Anyone really. Just as I wasn't new to vulnerability, I wasn't new to being at the center of an audience, but this was a different kind of attention.

Dryhten could see nothing of my body buried under the coverlet, and yet it felt as though he peeled back all the layers and looked beneath, to the very core of me. Hair unbound. Body naked and shaking. My cheeks a revealing red. I didn't need to see my reflection to know that. When my face felt this hot, it burned as red as my hair.

The priest said something. Words I missed, because the only thing I could concentrate on was the man watching me from the foot of the bed.

My husband looked sharply at him. "What do you mean her veil remains on? Still?"

The priest lifted a hand in supplication. "It is our custom, my lord. Not until your vows have been consummated and you are truly one may you have the privilege of—"

With a grunt of laughter, Dryhten let his head fall back as he looked up at the ceiling beams. "Another fucking custom."

I flinched and glanced wildly around the room for the others' reactions. I'd never heard anyone speak so crassly among such elevated and important society.

But then, the Lord of the Borderlands was important, too. Just not important enough to marry one of my sisters.

My father stepped forward as though to grasp the end of a fraying rope that threatened to break loose of its mooring. "Alas, it is our way. The bride remains veiled throughout the bedding to show her humility to her new husband. 'Tis a long-standing tradition we cannot break."

Until that moment, I had not realized just how adept a liar the king was. When he had said diplomacy was necessary in the ruling of a kingdom, I had not grasped his meaning. Now I understood. He meant lying. Subterfuge.

The Beast held my father's unwavering gaze for a long moment before sending a scowl around the chamber, as though he might find corroboration that this was truly a tradition in the faces of the onlookers.

Everyone merely stared, their expressions stoic. No one moved. Not a hint of the treachery at play was revealed. Too much was at stake.

Stig's glowering face leapt out at me from the crowd, and my heart jumped into my throat. No. No. No. He must have slipped inside the room after Dryhten. I would have noticed him before. Make that two displeased faces now. It was not just the lord chamberlain's. But Stig's was the only face I cared about.

He stood rigidly, a slat of wood among the rest of the bodies. I willed him away. Anywhere else. I did not want him here. Not for this. Apparently I did have a limit... and Stig being feet away as this warrior climbed into bed with me was it.

I tried to convey this to him, staring intently through the veil covering my face, willing him to leave. He did not look at me, though. He glowered only at my husband, and I swallowed down this new misery, telling myself I would survive this shame and embarrassment because surviving was what I did.

The sword maiden stepped forward and murmured something for Dryhten's ears alone. Whatever she said eased some of the harshness from his features. He gave a single nod, and I was vastly curious what the woman had said to calm the Beast. Perhaps she could give me some tips.

He stepped closer to the bed, stopping before the footboard and staring hard at me for a long moment. My bandaged palm tingled, and I pressed it into the mattress as though that might quell the sensation.

I wondered if this was it. Was this the moment when he would say "enough" and demand to see me—the princess he had been promised? The one whom—let's face it—I was not.

And then what?

He would reject me, of course. The marriage would not hold without consummation. I knew that. So did he. So did everyone. Would that not be for the best?

There could be no goodwill following a betrayal such as this. Had the king and queen and lord regent truly considered this? I told myself that they must have. The queen had seemed so confident that this was the right course. I was no mastermind on governing a kingdom. Certainly, they knew better than I did.

Lord Dryhten looked away from me then, glancing down to his hand where we had been blooded. He flexed his long, tapering fingers in the air, stretching and curling them inward as though he had never felt this part of himself before, as though they were new to him, foreign appendages.

My own palm throbbed in response. Little eddies of awareness swept through my body, pebbling over my skin, running through blood and muscle and bone.

Would it always be there? This strange, bewildering ache? This alertness? A bond between us even if our marriage did not stand?

I assumed this bedding would happen. We were on a path, propelled forward by a force greater than us. Like two lodestones drawn together. There was no going back. Our marriage would be consummated and legitimatized in the eyes of all, and he would take me north with him.

But what if he does not? the voice whispered in my ear. What if he leaves without me?

Would he return to his home far away, leaving me behind with this gaping wound? The echo of him in the palm of my hand... in me ?

I held my breath, waiting for his next move, waiting to see the outcome, whether he would push the matter or accept that he would have to bed me without seeing my face.

Silence pervaded the chamber, the soft stringing of the lyre and the rhythmic beating of the tabor the only things audible over my rasping breath. The flames within the wall sconces cast patches of light and flickering shadows over everyone's faces.

At last, he gave an almost-imperceptible nod. "Very well."

Very well.

It was happening. I would remain hidden. Veil in place.

He moved then, undressing himself without a shred of modesty.

Startled glances were exchanged all around.

His leather armor came off, followed by his under tunic. He passed them to his sword maiden. The bearded man who accompanied him maintained an expression of disapproval, arms crossed as though he wanted nothing to do with the situation.

I struggled to swallow against my tightening throat. My eyes drank in the impressive expanse of the Beast's bronze skin, replete with hard lines and tantalizing swells of muscle. He was big. Warrior big and seething with raw power. My hands could endlessly roam those shoulders and that broad chest for a long time and still not touch everything. Not that my hands would ever dare.

My belly squeezed and dipped the way it did when we went sledding behind the palace in the brief winter months, wind and earth whooshing past in a blur as we launched ourselves down hills. Except this was no fleeting sensation. My stomach twisted and turned and dove over and over again as my gaze ate him up.

His boots hit the floor, one after the other, and I jerked at each thud, releasing tiny gasps that sent the fabric hiccupping over my face. Even that simple action made him look tempting, his muscles undulating with his easy movements. And I wasn't the only one to think so.

Several ladies—and even men—watched him with wide-eyed yearning. He was beautiful. Intricate warrior ink traveled down his neck to creep over one shoulder and down his arm and chest. I couldn't see his back, but I suspected there was more of that there, too.

Not a scar marred the inked bronze skin. Unusual, perhaps, for a battle-hardened warlord who'd spent years defending our borders. His body was a honed weapon. A marvel. And yet his face held me prisoner. Captive. Those fathomless eyes and a mouth too tender for a man forged in war.

And he is about to be mine.

My heart stuttered and then jolted into a fierce hammer. No. Not mine.

He didn't voluntarily give himself to this—to me . He believed he was giving himself to one of my sisters.

I swallowed miserably, convinced this wouldn't end well. At least not for me. The king and queen would insist they had honored his request and given him a royal daughter. He would not be able to dispute it. He would be married to me (and bedded). There would be no severing that. His wrath could go nowhere.

Nowhere but toward me.

His hands settled on his breeches, and I could not think on the matter any longer. He was undressing completely? In front of everyone?

I strangled on a gasp.

The sound went undetected as other choked cries charged through the air.

"My lord!" the priest cried in affront. "You need not remove your clothes in their entirety—"

He gave a rebellious slant to his head. "Everyone here wants a show," he replied with shameless candor. "Then I shall give them one."

His leather breeches were shoved down and removed with surprising speed, leaving him abundantly naked and on display.

I had never seen a man fully unclothed, but I looked my fill now.

Shocked whispers rolled through the audience. Several gentlemen tried to cover the eyes of the ladies nearest them, but the women evaded their efforts, determined to gawk unreservedly at this man who was so different from every other man in our orbit.

He lacked all modesty as he placed his breeches in his sword maiden's waiting hands. Not a stitch of clothing covered him. Only a necklace touched his skin. A black opal, gleaming dark as the night sky, threaded with green and red and blue. I had never seen the like.

My mouth dried, then watered. Those legs, thickly muscled, were even more impressive without the snug leather encasing them. Tree trunks.

I was too curious not to look there . And why not?

No one could see where I was looking. The word cock floated on the air.

My gaze dipped as though commanded. Oh. Ohhh.

The titillated whispers instantly made sense. He was big everywhere. Stirringly daunting. I wet my lips in trepidation... and something else. Something that ignited a winding flame through me, quickening in my belly.

I had spent enough time in the stables with the horses. I had even spied on a stable lad and a kitchen maid in an empty stall once. I hadn't planned to do it. It just happened. I heard them. Uncertain of the noise, I investigated, peering through the cracks between the slats of a neighboring stall. I watched the lad's bare buttocks flex as he pumped between a pair of plump thighs. They'd both uttered heated words that stung my cheeks, and I was left with the impression that copulation, at least for some, was not an altogether dreadful thing.

I understood how fornication worked. At least the mechanics of it. The desire, however, the physical stirring, had eluded me. Perhaps not anymore, however, if the butterflies in my stomach served any indication.

Although desire clearly did not afflict him now.

Well-endowed though he was, he was not in a state of arousal. I grimaced. Evidently a shrouded, shapeless sack of a figure on a bed and a roomful of voyeurs did nothing for his passions. It was a grim realization. He did not want to be doing this. But he would. He would do his duty. Dark amusement twisted through me. It was the theme of my life, and I guessed we would have that in common.

He placed one knee on the bed, the mattress sinking slightly beneath his not-inconsiderable body. His hands followed, bearing his weight. First one, then the next, moving, climbing up the bed.

My chest squeezed tight. Too tight for my fluttering heart. That pull at the center was back again, tugging insistently, pulling me toward some unknown fate. I scampered to the side of the bed, avoiding contact with him. It was regrettable and silly. The moment I moved, I knew that. Self-preservation, however, was its own mistress.

He could not be avoided.

This could not be avoided. Lodestones, I thought again, feeling a little dizzy.

He turned around on the bed, reaching to close the curtains and grant us a semblance of privacy.

"My lord." The priest spoke up, a touch of urgency to his voice. "If you please, leave the drapes—"

"I do not please," he growled. "I've enjoyed enough of your customs for the day. Now it is my turn. I shall bed my wife without spectators. That is my custom."

I shifted uneasily, panicked at the thought of him bedding me in the privacy of this curtained bed. Would he remove my veil then, away from prying eyes and without anyone to object? I pushed up on the bed a fraction, craning my neck, searching desperately for the queen, hoping for a glimpse of her that might give me some direction. Her voice resounded through my mind: Do not let him see your face until the deed is done. And yet what if he insisted? What if he overpowered me?

"This is highly irregular, my lord," the king broke in, placing a reassuring hand on his lady queen's arm. "How can we be certain you will consummate the union? That you will not remove our daughter's veil?"

"You may be certain, Your Majesty. I shall do my duty and not disturb the princess's veil in the process. It's not her face that matters here, after all. Is it?"

I flinched at that, but he was correct, of course. My face meant nothing. I meant nothing. It was only my body that mattered.

A bubble of mirthless laughter welled up in my throat. If only he could remember his words when I later revealed my face to him.

Lord Dryhten's words seemed to satisfy the king. He exchanged looks with the queen and the lord regent and then nodded his blessing.

Without waiting for further comment, my husband yanked the drapes closed, sealing us inside for the night.