Page 77 of Vows of Sacrifice

This time, I blushed and even felt my ears burning. Luanda and Marione gave me a knowing look that didn’t help my embarrassment. Paivrin gave a very masculine, throaty chuckle.

“Ah, I suppose so,” he commented. “Besides, I . . .”

But he didn’t have time to finish his sentence, because the front door opened to reveal Kynnen, soaked to the bone. He was accompanied by the she-wolf, whose coat was beginning to dry.

He glared at our host.

“Your soap stinks! It’s a real infection! I’m going to have to detach my skin from my carcass to get the smell out!” the younger brother scolded.

Morgana seemed to have enjoyed this moment of relaxation. You could tell by the gleam in her tawny irises and the steady beat of her tail.

Paivrin smiled at him. Dovah didn’t express his opinion, preferring to remain silent and stare at me as if I were the only person in the room. I fidgeted in my chair, nervous. I avoided meeting his eyes for fear of reading his burning desire. When my husband let me know he wanted me, I felt a kind of ball of heat explode in my stomach. I wanted to give in to his attraction, but at the same time, I was terrified of my own ignorance.

Morgana approached me warily. With her ears tucked back, her eyes told me how hesitant she was. I smiled gently, sincerely, and held out my hand for her to sniff my scent.

“Hello, Morgana. I’m Dovah’s wife and my name is Ashana.”

Her eyes widened in undisguised amazement, and truly, they reflected an entirely human intelligence. I remembered Paivrin’s words, which implied that Morgana possessed another form than that of the wolf, and from what I could judge, it was more than obvious that this “other form” was that of a young girl. I had once read a novel about shape-shifters, which I had relegated to the same rank as magic and the little people: creatures who lived only in the imagination of human beings. Having seen it with my own eyes, I now knew that this was not the case. Taming this meta-wolf was going to take time. I wondered why she hated women more than men; usually, it was quite the opposite that occurred.

Dovah raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“You seem surprised that I got married. Did you think no woman would want me?”

Morgana responded with a sort of bark that wasn’t really a bark, a reaction that made everyone laugh. My husband stood up abruptly.

“Good. It’s been a long day. I’ll take Ashana to our apartments.”

I immediately followed suit, yet again avoiding his gaze. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that all I could hear was the sound pulsing in my ears.

Luanda and Marione also stood up, probably with the intent of helping me prepare for my wedding night.

“Would it be possible to have food brought to us in an hour?” inquired Dovah, before taking me by the hand.

“I’ll tell my servant to bring your meal to the cottage.”

The skin on Dovah’s hand was warm, and the texture a little rough, no doubt from daily use of the sword.

Once outside, we took a few steps, my chambermaids following at a distance to give us some privacy. Dovah stopped, then took hold of my chin between his thumb and forefinger to encourage me to hold his gaze.

“You know that if you don’t want us . . .”

He cleared his throat and closed his eyes briefly.

“ . . . I won’t force you. We have time. We can take our time.”

I took a deep breath to give myself courage. Yes, I was scared. Because I had no idea what to expect. What I was supposed to do. Or not to do. I hadn’t been brought up to be an accomplished wife; no one, not even my mother, had bothered to explain to me what conjugal duty consisted of. I’d heard the castle servants talk about them, about these famous intimate relationships, sometimes—often—with a chuckle or using allusions that weren’t very clear to me. Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t even had the curiosity to read any books on the subject. How I regretted it at that moment!

“Dovah, I don’t think there is any point in postponing this step in our married life.”

I wanted to talk to him about it. I wanted to ask him questions, lots of them! To ask him to be gentle, because I was more afraid than anything else of being in pain. Once, one of the chambermaids had complained about her back, saying, “It hurts almost as much as the time my husband deflowered me!” This phrase remained engraved in my memory, and today more than ever, my mind took a wicked pleasure in replaying it.

Dovah smiled tenderly at me, but what lit up his dark irises was as ardent as the embers of a fire.

“Alright.”

We continued on our way, and I was delighted to discover that the cottage was a smaller replica of Paivrin’s own home. Surrounded by bright green vegetation, it looked like a cozy nest, and the interior decor only confirmed this impression. The furniture was simple, made from raw wood. I absentmindedly touched the back of one chair to feel its knots and ribs.

“Lord Dovah?”

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