Page 104 of Prize for the King
“What, you want him to lie for you?” I ask, stepping closer to my husband.
I am just short enough to notice in my periphery how his trousers fill out with desire. I shake my head with disgust, my wrath boiling over.
“I can’t help it!” he grunts, retreating away from me. “You’re hot when you’re angry! And I don’t want Raduna to lie, I just need him to explain what’s happening, all right? What are you angry about? Slaughtering those who hurt my woman is our best courting tradition! An Agnidari woman would never—”
He breaks off with an angry hiss, and I deflate, suddenly blinking away tears. Truth be told, I don’t know what I’m angry about. I don’t know what’s happening to me.
“I apologize. I’ve never acted this way before,” I say quietly, swallowing tears so he doesn’t see how that unfinished sentence hurt me.
Frankly, I expected something like this ever since Khay said any Agnidari woman would weep for joy if Magnar chose her for his wife. I’ll never be as good as a woman of his race, I know. He can’t even mate me properly, put it all the way in. No wonder he regrets marrying me.
“Don’t apologize,” Magnar says through clenched teeth. “You have a right to be angry! Just… I want to understand you, Caliane. Do you really hate it so much? It’s the highest sign of respect a man can offer his wife—to avenge her.”
I take a deep breath to control the shaking of my hands. I’m exhausted, and I don’t even know what I want.
“I thought you simply enjoy slaughtering people.”
Magnar clears his throat. “That, too. But I… We had an abrupt wedding. Not to mention what happened after. I hoped to redeem myself, and avenging you felt like the perfect way to show you my feelings. But if that’s not… I could dance for you.”
“Dance?”
He nods, his posture rigid from keeping his emotions in check. “Yes. We perform courting dances for our betrothed. I would like to perform for you. Maybe that will be better than, well, the heads of your former teachers stuck on spikes next to your father’s.”
He looks away, his mouth twisting in a grimace. I bury my face in my hands. I think I vaguely remember Arvi telling me about the courting dances, though I’m not sure. My head is pounding.
“I think I’d like to sleep,” I mumble, my voice growing colorless from exhaustion. “I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” Magnar says, tight and controlled. “Khay, stay with Caliane. We’ll come back in the evening.”
I don’t even undo my bodice before I crawl between the clean sheets. Khay sits down on one of the ottomans, and I turn my back to him, swallowing sobs. Only yesterday, I was the happiest woman in the world.
Now everything’s falling apart.
XXXII Praise
I fall asleep at once and wake up when it’s still light outside. My head hurts even more. When Khay sees me stir, he comes over with a glass of water and another of something that smells herbal and bitter.
“Raduna talked to the keep’s healer,” he says cautiously, as if he expects me to lash out. “He, ah, recommended you drink this to replenish your strength. Most of the Agnidari remedies work for humans, too. They study it at the university and everything.”
He breathes with relief when I take the cup and down the brew in quick gulps. It’s awful, and I wash it down with water. Khay refills my cup without asking and continues hovering by my bedside, a worried line between his eyebrows.
The sky outside blazes orange, and I sigh wistfully, the warm light adding charm to the colors decorating my bedroom. It looks so cozy and soft.
“How are you feeling?” Khay asks after a lengthy silence.
I startle, looking away from the windows. He wrings his hands, still standing, and I pat the mattress at my side. Khay sits at once, almost stumbling in his haste.
“Like a fool,” I admit. “I screamed at Magnar, at you all. Made quite a scene.”
Khay gives a noncommittal shrug and keeps watching meexpectantly.
“My head and body hurt. I’m tired, maybe coming down with something. I don’t know. Yesterday was intense, and then before that… A lot has happened.”
He nods, smiling gently. “Yeah. So here’s the thing: Every time we come back from a campaign, we have these rituals. Raduna locks himself in his greenhouse for days, Arvi throws knives by the pond, and I get sick and spend a week in bed. Only Magnar doesn’t allow himself to rest until he tackles everything that amassed during his time away, and once that’s done, he gets sick, too. Usually vomits and stuff. It’s ugly.”
I frown. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You just went through quite an ordeal of your own. I mean, a forced wedding, your father’s death, fast travel to Roharra, riding in the rain, that abduction… And then a wedding night no virgin should be forced to endure, which is our fault, and we’re sorry. So, I think maybe you’re discovering your own ritual.”
