Page 11 of Alliance Bride
Aevar rolled his eyes, though for half a moment, he wasn’t sure he was joking. He was relieved when Kian laughed.
“No, I said you were a good man and wouldn’t harm her. I think it helped settle her nerves a bit. I hope so anyway.”
Good. Aevar had no desire to add fear to her burdens. He’d seen the wide-eyed way she regarded him yesterday. A princess from the soft South had every right to be wary. He didn’t blame her.
“What’s your opinion of her?”
“Well, not that we had much time to talk, but she seems like a nice girl. She wasn’t all weepy or hysterical or anything. Like Braan said, she seems to have some guts, especially for a princess.”
Aevar hoped they were right. A delicate southern woman would have a hard time of it in the harsh wilds of Nordra. “Do you think she’ll be able to handle our way of life?”
“She’ll have to. We all do.”
He was right. Life didn’t bend to comfort; it demanded adaptation.
Kian finished tying off the laces and slapped Aevar on the shoulder. “Maybe she’ll surprise you.”
In a good way, he hoped.
Kian had just tied off the second bracer when the others approached the lean-to. Fathir paused, taking him in. “Are you ready?”
“Nearly.” Aevar reached for his belt holding his sword and seax knife.
Fathir shot a glance toward the pavilion where they’d negotiated yesterday. “We’re about ready to start. I talked with the king and their priest. They’ll keep the ceremony short and simple. Not a bunch of religious yapping. I’ve heard priests like to ramble.”
Aevar nodded. They did not need to draw it out. It wouldn’t have much effect on the marriage either way. That came only in the day to day.
Once he’d buckled his belt, he turned to Kian, who held his cloak for him. He shrugged it on and faced his father. Now he was ready. Fathir took a step forward and placed his hands on Aevar’s shoulders. He said nothing at first. No words were needed at this point. Reluctance rested on his face, but this wasn’t a death sentence, and Aevar wasn’t the one leaving his home and everything behind.
Finally, Fathir just said, “Let’s get this over with.”
He led the way around the shelter. Erik, Braan, and Kian fell in around Aevar as they headed for the pavilion. The ten huskarls they’d brought with them milled about and offered him encouraging nods as he passed. They’d soon finish packing up camp. By the time he returned, it would be like they’d never been here at all.
As they neared the pavilion, his heartbeat elevated the way it did in the final moments before a battle. He hoped this wasn’t the biggest mistake of his life. With something as significant as an alliance attached to it, he could not escape if things turned sour.Gods, he prayed she wasn’t an unreasonable sort of woman he’d have to contend with for the rest of his days.
When they stepped into the pavilion, the princess was not yet present. Only the priest and a handful of Essian soldiers, including the man who had challenged him yesterday. Their eyes locked, and if only a look could kill, Aevar would have been on the ground bleeding out. That glare hadn’t softened overnight, and he held the piercing stare for a long moment. He would have enjoyed testing himself against this warrior had the princess not intervened.
He shifted his attention to the priest. Before today, he’d only ever seen a dead one, face down in the Talta mud after a Kalgoran raid. That man had worn simple brown robes. This one, however, wore fine white linen trimmed in gold. A large, jewel-encrusted cross hung heavily on his chest. He might have made an impressive sight where he came from, but here, mud spattered the robes from hem to knees, marring the image.
The man’s long face pinched as he peered down his nose at Aevar. At least as best he could, given they were the same height. Erik would have accomplished the feat much better, standing as tall as the scowling Essian warrior who still tried to kill Aevar with his gaze. Aevar couldn’t help himself and gave the priest a slow, insolent smirk. The one he used to annoy his brothers. Sure enough, the priest recoiled, lips curled in contempt. So much for Christians loving their enemies.
Beside him, Braan stifled a snort, and Erik let his gaze drift over the priest in the cool and dismissive way he’d perfected as the eldest. Aevar contemplated leaning over to ask Kian if all priests were like this. After all, the Talts were Christian, or so they claimed.
“Stand here.”
The priest’s thin voice drew Aevar’s attention back to him. The man pointed at a spot to his left as if Aevar were a wayward child. Aevar stepped forward, raising an eyebrow. The priest huffed. What did he have to be so uptight about?
As much fun as tormenting the man turned out to be, the mood changed in an instant when the priest straightened and focused on something beyond the pavilion. Aevar turned to find the king approaching, his sister on his arm. Their smooth-talking adviser followed behind. All thoughts of mischief flew out of Aevar’s head as his heart gave a heavy thump. He never thought he’d see another woman as his bride. She kept her head bent as she approached, though stole glances his way. She walked with a steady, accepting pace, not like she was being dragged to the ceremony. If anything, her brother’s steps marked reluctance.
A shame the heavy woolen cloak she wore hid her shapely figure he hadn’t failed to notice yesterday, but he stopped his thoughts there. Best not to go down that road until he knew what sort of relationship theirs would be. He wasn’t sure he was ready to acknowledge the draw of another woman anyway.
He did notice the way her dark hair fell long and soft around her shoulders, tempting him to bury his fingers in it. But the thought of that and the memories it stirred cut painfully into his chest, bringing such observations to an end. Today they were bound only by political arrangement. The future was something he had no desire to consider right now.
The princess and the king crossed the remaining distance, and when they reached the gathering, she faced her brother. He clasped her shoulders, and a silent exchange passed between them. She attempted a smile before they parted. The king and his advisertook a stand with their men while the princess turned and took the spot in front of Aevar.
Here she met his eyes but broke away almost immediately. He caught each shallow, deliberate breath she took. Though her face was dry, moisture clung to her lashes. He supposed that was to be expected. She showed her courage by hiding her tears here.
He let his gaze wander over the rest of her face. He’d spied them yesterday, but now that he studied her more thoroughly, he counted three light scars skimming the soft flesh of her cheek and another threading down through her lips toward her chin. They didn’t detract from her beauty, but how might a princess have come by such wounds? Maybe she’d tell him one day.
