Page 7 of The Second Marriage
Sejun turned to look at him over one shoulder. “But you’re my husband. It wouldn’t trouble me at all. I would be glad to care for you. I hope you’ll let me.”
What Taral wanted was to be alone with his grief and self-recrimination. He could think of no polite way to reject Sejun’s concern.
Mercifully, he didn’t need to. Sejun’s expression shuttered and he turned away again. “I’ll find a retainer, then, to attend to you as you please.”
“I look forward to our second wedding,” Taral said. He lay down again and drew the blankets up to his chin. Guilt assaulted him at the sight of Sejun’s slumped shoulders, but he felt too vulnerable in the aftermath of heat to let Sejun stay with him. Once he recovered—then he would make amends. Then he would come to grips with this marriage and learn to honor Sejun and their bond.
Sejun finished dressing in silence. He turned with his hand on the door and said, “I’ll have someone bring food and hot water.”
“Thank you,” Taral said.
Sejun went out. Taral gazed through the window and tried to think of nothing. A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door and then Daxa came in, beaming and bearing a tray of food. Taral’s stomach twisted in anticipation of what she would say. Daxa had served as his wet nurse in infancy and still fussed over him as if he were her own child.
“Your Highness!” she exclaimed. “Everything went well? We’re all so pleased. A successful match, after all this time!”
“At long last,” Taral said.
CHAPTER4
Hasri helped Sejun prepare for the ceremony. In the quiet of Sejun’s room, she performed the ritual bathing of his hands and feet, and coated his palms with a red dye made from betel nuts. She combed his hair with resin to hold it scraped back from his face, a stiff support for the felt headdress she positioned with care. Its horns swept downward toward Sejun’s face, blocking his peripheral vision, and the whole thing was heavy enough that he could hardly turn his head.
“Are you sure I have to wear this?” he asked, prodding at one of the horns with his knuckles. They were stuffed with wool and felt dense as the bone they mimicked.
Hasri looked at him with her eyebrows raised. “You think you can skimp on the rituals? No. The royal household is poor, but I won’t have you dishonor your husband.”
“That isn’t what I meant,” Sejun said, abashed. “It’s just that the One God has already blessed our marriage, so I don’t see why we need to ask Them again. And this headdress itches.”
Hasri folded back the sleeves of Sejun’s inner robe. “Don’t be a child. And don’t scratch at yourself, you’ll be red for the next week if you touch your skin with those hands.”
“I wasn’t planning to.” Sejun held still as Hasri tied his belt, holding his arms out from his sides. This was so much unnecessary fussing over nothing. He didn’t think Taral cared, either, and he certainly didn’t think Iniya cared, so who benefited from these formalities? Sejun’s parents, perhaps, who seemed overjoyed that he had so expertly claimed an omega, and of royal blood no less.
Sejun knew there had been no expertise involved. The One God had acted, and not necessarily on his behalf.
Hasri carried a lantern as she led him along the colonnade to the staircase. Night was the time for a second wedding: the deep, full darkness after the last traces of daylight had faded, on a clear night when the stars filled the sky with their bright haze.
Sejun took the steps one at a time, balancing the weighty headdress as he descended. Outside the throne room his parents waited with Batsal, and Iniya and Abiral stood on the opposite side of the doorway with their children, and all of them smiling. No one spoke as Sejun passed between them and went into the room.
Taral waited for him there, lit only by a few flickering candles. Even as new as it was, the bond throbbed between them, alive with awareness and, at least on Sejun’s part, longing. Sejun closed the door behind him and lifted the heavy bar to set into its brackets. They would be alone in this vast silence until morning, with only the One God to see what passed between them. No one else would know what happened in this room.
“My husband,” Taral said, his words echoing in the dark reaches of the room that no light touched. Sejun could see his face and his shoulders where he stood by the altar, his head balancing its own cumbersome headdress, but not his legs or feet. The shadows on his face shifted as he said, “My bonded.”
Sejun moved toward him as if swimming through murky water. He couldn’t see his own feet, either, and wasn’t certain where he stepped. But he didn’t trip or stumble, and his headdress didn’t wobble. “My husband.”
“I’m afraid I’ll forget the words,” Taral said, profoundly breaking protocol.
A laugh startled out of Sejun. “I’ve already forgotten them. Do we have to do this?” He came to a stop at Taral’s side and glanced at the dish of rice wine on the altar. “We can drink the wine and sleep off our stupor on the floor. If the One God objects, They can let us know.”
“I’m tempted, but no. We should do as we’re meant to. Somehow I think your aunt will know if we don’t go through with the rituals.”
“That seems likely,” Sejun agreed. “Let’s take off these headdresses, at least. I can hardly move.”
The fist of worry gripping his heart loosened as Taral smiled at him, weak and thin but still unmistakably a smile. After how distant Taral had seemed when his heat ended—but he had only been tired, maybe. He didn’t seem unwelcoming now. From what Sejun could sense of Taral’s emotions, his smile was genuine. Sejun would hope for the best.
The ritual was lengthy, and Sejun knew the words he spoke were only an approximation of what Hasri had taught him. After he spoke, Taral lifted the bowl and drank, and then Sejun drank after Taral’s response, until all the wine was gone and Sejun’s cheeks were warm from the alcohol. Then Sejun took Taral’s hands in his, transferring the dye and marking his claim. In the old days, Taral would have been thoroughly inspected in the morning for everyone to note where Sejun had touched him, but no one did that anymore except in a few kingdoms far to the west that still held closely to tradition.
“Guide us and bind us,” Sejun said, feeling somewhat foolish; the words weren’t meant for those already bound. “We honor your glory.”
“Guide us and bind us,” Taral repeated, and released Sejun’s hands.