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The bedchamber was redolent with fresh, sweet-smelling rushes, with wine and candlelight. Arianne brushed her hair before the fire, impatient as she waited for her bridegroom. Growing more and more annoyed as the moments passed, she began to pace back and forth from window to door.

She glanced once or twice, fuming, at the magnificent feather bed with its rich scarlet hangings and fur coverlets. This was her wedding night—and it appeared that she was doomed to spend it alone.

The day had been a blur of noise, color, confusion, of ceremony, laughter, and feasting.

First the coronation and wedding ceremony held in the Grand Cathedral, brilliant with candlelight and torches and all the lords and ladies in their richest finery.

The knights of Dinadan, Galeron, and Nicholas’s own loyal legion of mercenaries had all been in attendance, as had the gypsy, smiling as she watched the royal procession from the very rear of the cathedral.

When Nicholas had watched her glide down the aisle in her gown of pale cream velvet trimmed with mulberry satin, her slender throat and dainty hand adorned with her mother’s amethyst necklace and ring, he’d looked appropriately dazzled and proud. Arianne had never felt happier.

The feast had been all anyone could want—succulent venison cooked in a spicy corn stew, capons and pheasants, a pike stuffed with almonds, fruit pies and marzipan sweetmeats…

and there had been wine and ale and dancing and speeches.

Endless speeches! Of course, it was wonderful that peace had returned to the land, that Marcus and his troops had driven off the last of Julian’s soldiers from Galeron, that her homeland was being rebuilt, that alliances between all the neighboring kingdoms, including that of Katerine’s father, were now stronger than ever before.

And Castle Dinadan had been restored to its place as a stronghold of peace and beauty. The aura of evil no longer clung to its stone walls—they glistened now in daylight and starlight with a silver-white luminosity that served as a beacon of glory to all who saw it.

Castle Doom was no more. Archduke Armand’s beautiful castle was once again a symbol of safety and pride for his people, a place of joy and festivity.

Arianne was thrilled to know that after a decent interval of mourning, Katerine would wed her brother. She wished them as much happiness as she had found with Nicholas.

But after the feast and the speeches and the dancing—that was when the trouble had begun.

Nicholas’s men had come for him, had claimed it was tradition to get the bridegroom drunk on his wedding night.

He had gone with them, laughing, bowing to her, disappearing and leaving her to be escorted to their chamber by Katerine and her waiting women.

That had been eons ago, and now as she brushed her hair before the crackling fire, attired in her daintily embroidered silk shift, with the candles burning low, and anger sparking her brilliant eyes, she found herself fuming.

If he thought he could leave her on their wedding night and then return whenever he pleased, expecting her to be waiting for him like a dish of figs, he was sadly mistaken.

She bounded forward, grabbed her sable wrapper from its hook, and sprang toward the door.

There were many, many places to hide in this castle. If Nicholas wanted her when he returned—if he was not so drunk that he forgot he even had a wife—let him find her. Let him turn the castle upside down and try to find her.

She flung open the heavy door and hurled herself through it—staight into the iron chest of her husband.

“Going somewhere, Arianne?” He chuckled, his strong arms encircling her.

“No! Yes! Let me go at once!” she ordered as he drew her into the room and kicked the door closed behind them, his tight embrace never loosening.

“Let you go? What a thing is that to say to your husband on your wedding night, my sweet love?” He chuckled again, and his eyes glanced approvingly at the fiery ripple of her hair, at her creamy shoulders, and the thin, clinging silk of her shift.

“You left me—to get drunk with that motley crew of barbarians!”

He shook his head at her and ran a hand slowly, teasingly through her hair. “Do I appear drunk, Arianne?”

He didn’t. She studied his keen, clear gray eyes, the healthy but not high color in his handsome face. There was no slurring of his words and, she realized, relaxing slightly in his arms as the rush of anger ebbed, his step was as sure and strong as ever.

“N-no,” she replied cautiously, searching his face.

“In truth, it would take much more than the time I spent with those ruffians to make me forget that I have such a sweet and lovely bride waiting for me. A bride whose charms I wish to admire all night long—unhindered by the numbing effects of spirits.”

He suddenly scooped her up without warning and carried her to the bed. By the time he set her down, their kisses were deep and more intoxicating than any wine or ale.

“But I’m angry with you,” Arianne said, trying not to laugh as they drew apart only by inches. “I’ve resolved to leave this room—to make you regret that you left me for even a moment.”

“Then I’ll have to change your mind, won’t I?” Nicholas grinned, pushing her back against the pillows and pressing a trail of slow kisses down her throat, making her quiver and burn.

“But I…never change my mind,” she whispered, her arms already snaked around his neck. She drank kisses from the warmth of his lips.

“This time you will.”

He reached out and grasped the satin ribbons adorning the bodice of her shift, tugging until they parted and revealed the sweet nakedness of her form. “I am an expert in many kinds of persuasion.”

Arianne gulped a deep breath as his gleaming eyes gazed into hers. “Show me,” she whispered on a breath of laughter and drew him down to her.

As Nicholas clasped her close and rained kisses down upon her eyelids, he spoke again.

This time his voice was hoarse with emotion.

“My sweet, I’ll spend the rest of my life persuading you to love me always as you do tonight.

I never thought to have a home, my title, my father’s respect, or a wife. Now I have them all.”

She held him close to her, and her fingers stroked lovingly across the hard, scarred planes of his face.

“And I have you, my beloved Nicholas,” she whispered on a crest of love so rich and powerful it brought tears to her eyes. “Surely no woman was ever so fortunate, or ever loved her husband as much as I love you. And will for all time.”

“For all time,” he repeated, catching her close again and claiming her mouth in a fierce and tender kiss.

As the night sky beyond the window bloomed with purple darkness and starlight, the duke and duchess in their castle chamber celebrated their wedding night and all the days and nights to come.