Page 10 of Prize for the King
Father Saius looks at the Tyrant with trepidation, but the other only nods, seemingly unoffended by the question.
“Just Magnar, old man. I am no one’s flower or prize. Though, if you need those verbal ornaments, you may call me Magnar the Tyrant. It’s the name you humans gave me, isn’t it?”
I shiver. He squeezes my hand without looking at me, and I realize he observes my reactions even when it seems he ignores me.
“Princess Caliane and Magnar the Tyrant,” the priest finishes, dropping his gaze with a small, regretful shake of his head. His reluctance doesn’t stop him from going on with the rite.
“As ordained by the Pact of the Eleven Kingdoms, a man wed to a royal princess shall become the sanctioned heir to the throne of her forebears, thus entering the union of the Eleven and gaining a rightful place at the Table of Kings. Magnar the Tyrant, do you accept this honor and burden, and vow to serve your kingdom and subjects with a strong heart and pure intentions?”
“I do,” he says, squeezing my fingers harder.
When I look up at his profile, I realize his jaw trembles. His shoulders are tense, eyes hard and staring right ahead. He seems to be in pain, and I don’t understand why. He’s the one who wanted this.
It’s utterly strange that he seems almost as upset as I am, and desperately trying not to show it.Why?
“Princess Caliane, do you accept Magnar the Tyrant’s hand in marriage and welcome him to join the dynasty of kings as the father of your future offspring?”
I forget all about the Tyrant’s travails as the reality of what I’m agreeing to hits me anew. I won’t just have to lie with him once toseal the union—I might have his children. Tiny little creatures with gray skin and strange eyes will live in my womb and come out of me. The offspring of my people’s worst enemy.
Though—maybe not.
“Can we even have children?” I blurt out, too loud in the quiet room.
All around me, Agnidari warriors huff and snicker, and I blush, remembering belatedly what Avinia told me. They impregnate human women en masse after a conquest.
But I never saw an Agnidari in the flesh before today. The topics of mating and pregnancy were discussed in a circumspect manner to save my supposed innocence, and I had to learn what I could from forbidden books in the library—for example, detailed farming manuals. That’s how I learned one can’t breed a cat and a dog, for example. They are too different.
Aren’t humans and Agnidari like cats and dogs?
“I assure you, Flower of the Crown, we can,” the Tyrant says, his tension wiped away, mouth curling in a smirk. “I’ll demonstrate at your earliest convenience.”
“Oh, gods.”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, so tired of this wretched day, fed up with feeling weak and lost, terrified of what comes next. This is the worst I’ve been through, and it will only get worse from here. I can’t do it.
“Might you reconsider killing me?” I ask in a small voice on the verge of breaking.
He lets go of my hand, and I breathe in relief, thinking for a moment he’ll do it. He hates this, too, doesn’t he? Why would he wantmefor a wife, anyway? For a seat at the Table of Kings? He’ll conquer all Eleven Kingdoms in ten years at this rate, and all the kings will sit at his feet. So what…
A pair of large, calloused hands frames my face. I open my eyes with a gasp, only to be swallowed by the silver of his gaze.
“I will not kill you, little prize,” he breathes in a voice so quiet, it’s meant just for me. His breath fans my face, and I realize it doesn’t reek of rotten meat as I was led to believe. No, it smells fresh and spicy. Like cloves.
“But you’ll rape me,” I whisper back, tears crowding my eyes.
He inhales sharply and doesn’t answer me at once. It seems like he gathers his thoughts, and the pressure inside me eases, just a tiny bit of relief. I matter enough to be given a thoughtful answer.
“We will be husband and wife, and I will expect heirs” he says at last, eyes serious. “Fucking is unavoidable, pet. But it doesn’t have to be unpleasant. I will do my part as long as you meet me halfway.”
“I don’t understand what it means,” I confess, a bit reassured and freshly confused.
“It’s not rape if you want it,” he says, something glittering in his eyes.
“But I don’t want it.”
“How can you tell if you haven’t tried?”
With that, he straightens and takes my hand, sharp claws briefly pressing into the soft flesh of my palm. I swallow tears, questions, and loud protests, remembering why I’m doing it—so my father is spared. There is no way out, and if I can go through with this wedding, I can very well handle the wedding night.
