Page 27

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... inme?

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 downhis 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—tome. 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—”