Page 100 of The Cornish Princess
“As you wish,” she relented with a sigh, and her fading was not gentle, more like a tear from this realm, a bandage ripped from a wound.
Alas, everything she’d said was true. His only comfort was this: Gwendolyn was where she should be. The dragon banners were united, and someday… his golden princess would be Pretania’s queen.
ChapterForty
They traveled so long into the night that Gwendolyn wondered whether they would ever stop to rest, much less to consummate their vows.
Only considering her recent misadventure, and the fact that there were no pack horses along for the journey, she worried they would spend the evening under the stars—not something she would normally bemoan, save that it was her wedding night, and she knew Ely would not fare well sleeping so meanly. Nor did she like the simple fact that they were women, traveling alone with a troupe full of men—not that she was worried, save for modesty. She had her husband to protect her, and Ely had Bryn. Yet Ely would sleep poorly, despite that she was already half-asleep in her saddle, with her brother poking her now again to keep her from sliding off her horse. By now, Gwendolyn’s own bottom was sore, and despite that she’d been born to a saddle—or nearly—anticipation was killing her as much as the newly fitted saddle on her new horse. She’d forgotten how much a simple thing, like acquainting herself with the rhythm of her mount, could make such a difference in her riding pleasure. Right now, more than Gwendolyn could say, she desperately missed her old mare. She hoped that sweet horse fared better than her cousins, though she daren’t even think of such things right now—not now.
Presently, when they spied torches alight in the distance, spreading a dull yellow glow over the horizon, all Gwendolyn’s worries eased, because she knew then that Locrinus had taken every care to make this night a memorable one.
And now so much made sense. If he knew they would pass this way, and he’d intended to leave directly after the ceremony, of course he would make certain there were tents erected for their pleasure, and every comfort was extended to Gwendolyn and her guests.
She was also pleased that both Bryn and Ely had accompanied her. In the end, her mother blessed her, considering Gwendolyn before herdawnsio. And no matter that Ely was nervous, she too seemed excited to begin a new life, and for a chance to find and marry a man of her own choosing—someone who could love and keep her as Ely deserved to be kept.
As for Bryn, he was back where he belonged, in the position he’d trained for all his life. Gwendolyn knew he would do well amongst her husband’s warriors, and as her Shadow, he would have every opportunity to rise in rank. Perhaps someday he might earn his own troop. And in the meantime, although there was still some underlying tension between them, he was back to his old self.
At the moment, Gwendolyn rode beside Ely, and though Prince Locrinus rode ahead of his troops, leading his men, she saw him peer back now and again, as though he feared she might change her mind and flee. It was really quite endearing, and despite how nervous Gwendolyn was about the coupling, she was now eager to have it done.
“Gods!” Ely gasped when she saw the illumined campsite.
The sight of it was utterly enchanting, with torches lit in a circle, and a village of golden tents already assembled, looking like radiant little moons, winking up at the black night. “It’s so… charming!” said Ely.
Indeed, it was. But once again, those buzzing bees returned, stinging Gwendolyn’s belly until Gwendolyn thought she might retch.
Now was the time.
She watched with her heart in her throat as Prince Locrinus turned and fell back, rode down the line to retrieve her, riding high and proud in his saddle, smiling a smile intended only for her. “Wife,” he said, when he reached her, and Gwendolyn gave him a silent nod, unsettled by the foreign word…husband.
Gods.Even now, it was loath to rise to her tongue. Thankfully, Locrinus didn’t notice, and he motioned for Gwendolyn to join him and leave Ely with Bryn.
Demelza said to expect nerves. She said it was only natural. But this felt…dreadful.
Soon—all too soon, she would be expected to disrobe before him, and he would see all of her then—not as a stranger, but a lover.
His hands would find her breasts and hips, his tongue would tease her mouth, and come what may, she would give him the one thing that was only hers to give.
All eyes were on Gwendolyn as she rode at Prince Locrinus’ side to the head of the line, her limbs suddenly feeling like jiggly pudding—so much that she feared she would slide from her saddle and disgrace herself, all legs and arms and tears.
Perhaps sensing her disquiet, Prince Locrinus bent to take her reins, and for once, Gwendolyn allowed it. The camp was eerily silent as they wended their way through the village of tents—mostly men present, completing various duties, and in one corner of the camp, there was a fire burning with a large cauldron over it, and a cook standing beside it, ladling what must be porridge into bowls, in anticipation of the party’s arrival.
Most of the men traveling with them made straight for this corner, their voices heard at last as they produced flasks for the evening’s enjoyment.
Of course they should wish to celebrate with their prince, but something made Gwendolyn glance back over her shoulder to see if she could spot Ely.
Ely was lost now amidst scattering troops, and Prince Locrinus turned away from the cook’s corner, leading Gwendolyn straight to the largest of the tents.
Naturally, it would be.
Inside, Gwendolyn found it well provisioned, with an enormous bed in the center, and her dowry chest already delivered for her convenience. Remembering the gossamerchainseshe’d discovered within, she blushed hotly over the thought of wearing it, because it left nothing to the imagination. Doubtless, the rest of her belongings had been sent ahead.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, with a new eagerness to his voice that sent another swarm of vicious bees through her belly.
Gwendolyn nearly swooned.
Gods.
How could she bear it?
