Page 10 of A Darkness So Sweet

He reached forward and lifted the veil from her face, slowly revealing a long neck that was both graceful and beautiful. For a moment, he was reassured that he would be getting a bride with high elven blood. At least then he knew what to expect, even if he didn’t find their kind physically attractive.

But then he revealed... spots. Dark little flecks that spread across her jaw and even dusted over her far too red lips. Her nose was a little crooked, something he’d only seen in his own kind after they’d been in a fight. Dark eyes, faintly green and faintly brown, looked up at him. They were a little too wide set on her face. And red hair. Bright, flame colored hair that framed her face. They’d clearly tried to tame her curls, but already a soft halo of baby hairs had escaped.

She was... fine, he supposed. As far as humans went, she could have been a lot worse. But she wasn’t what he had expected, either.

She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling more quickly the longer he stared at her. Perhaps he was making her uncomfortable. It was just that he wanted to know every inch of his troll wife’s face before he bound himself to her.

Those ruby red lips parted, and she whispered, “Did you not want to?”

“He does,” Gunnar snarled, before giving him a hard shove between the shoulder blades.

But he didn’t. And she didn’t want to either, he could tell. Kissing her in front of all these people felt wrong. That was a private act. Even worse, if she was against it.

Her eyes widened a bit, and he wondered how much of his thoughts had been plastered across his face for her to see. She swallowed hard, and then a tiny hand landed on his chest.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly. “It’s all mostly for show, anyway.”

He’d make the decision for them then. He slotted his massive hand at her waist, hearing her sharp intake of breath, before dragging her against his chest. The harsh slap of both of her palms against his skin echoed in the church, but he used his free hand to hide her face from the crowd. He cupped her jaw, his fingers spanning most of her head.

Leaning down until their lips nearly touched, he realized these were the first words he was going to say directly to her. No one would hear what he said. No one would know what was shared between breaths.

“I am not your husband,” he murmured. “And I never will be.”

There it was again. That little gasp that made every part of his body crawl with revulsion. But then he leaned back and turned her toward the crowd, as though they had kissed after all.

Cheers from his people turned thunderous. They shouted their pleasure and pride that he had taken a troll wife. Ragnar wasn’t looking at his own people, though. He was looking at hers.

At the confusion on their faces. How some of their expressions were odd before being wiped clean, like they didn’t want any of his people to notice. When he looked down at the princess, however, she appeared dazed. Confused as well. Perhaps it was merely that he did not know how to read humans that well.

Gunnar leaned forward again, already walking back down the aisle. “Let’s not give them a chance to change their minds, brother. Take your troll wife and let’s go.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Ragnar bent at the waist, jammed his shoulder into her hips, and lifted her. There was the faintest squeak from the princess as he tossed her over her shoulder, but even that sound was drowned out by the calls of his people.

King James did not argue. He merely stood there with his stolen crown on his head and watched as his daughter left.

A pit boiled in Ragnar’s stomach at that. What father didn’t say goodbye after losing his child? What father didn’t insist upon just a few more moments with the little girl he’d raised?

He would not pity this woman. He could not, and should not, entertain the thoughts in his mind that she might have had a hard life.

No, he had to focus on all the things he did not like. He was not here for a pet or for mercy. He was here because his king had bid him to do so, and now he had done what his king had asked.

Ragnar strode out of the castle with her on his shoulder. Not a single troll said anything until they had passed the castle walls and moved out into the open air and fields where his people were much more comfortable. Soon enough, they would disappear into the forest and be almost impossible to find.

With the woman still on his shoulder, and cleaner air in his lungs, he felt better. But still, he could smell her now. The musk of her body, the stink of her sweat, and the scent of fear that clung to her skin. Her people didn’t bathe often, from what he’d heard, they only bathed once every other week. And even when they did, they cleaned themselves with nothing more than a quick rinse of water only. A bath was in order. And quickly.

“That was too easy,” Gunnar said in the black tongue, appearing beside him with a frown on his face.

“I agree.”

“She’s the princess. They should have fought to keep her.”

Such was the reason King Egil hadn’t offered his own child. A son of a renowned general, yes. But his own son? Never.

Ragnar turned his gaze to the forest. “Perhaps we should run, then.”

“Prepare your woman, brother. I have a feeling she won’t like running in her current state.”

Right. She would be jostled on his shoulder, and the bone of it would jam into her shoulder and make her ill. He should tell her to prepare herself, because the journey would be long and grueling. What he said was, “Do not throw up on me.”

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