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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 afraying 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 andstaring 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?