Page 78 of Prize for the King
“I love it,” I say, choking on the tightness in my throat. “But Khay, I don’t deserve it. I won’t be a good queen. I don’t even know your wedding customs. I’ll shame you tonight. Magnar will be a laughingstock for marrying someone like me. And the Table of Kings… They’ll find a way to make this marriage mean nothing. You saw what they are capable of. You’ll be stuck with me in the end, but you won’t get anything you’ve fought so hard for. And you’ll regret this. All of you will regret having me.”
It all spills out, this huge torrent of fear and shame, and Khay listens patiently, his face soft and unsmiling. When I’m done, my breath rushing out as I begin to take out my pins with shaking hands, he comes over and gently grips my wrists.
“If Arvi were here, he’d put you over his knee and spank your pretty ass for saying things like that,” he says with a small laugh.
I freeze, cheeks instantly heating, and Khay’s smile widens. I gape at him, my thoughts derailed, the flood of anxiety turned away.
“Now listen,” he says, growing serious. “You will be a good queen, one who blunders sometimes, or gets overwhelmed, and has hard days, too, because that’s inevitable. But I got to know you pretty well. You’re smart, curious, and you learn fast. You will do just fine, and we’ll help you, because that’s what we’re here for. Do you think Magnar never fucks up? Of course he does. Then he fixes things and learns from his mistakes, becoming an even better king thanks to that.”
He lifts my chin, and I stare into his dark eyes, crushing hope filling my chest until I can’t breathe. He has to be wrong, I know, and yet… What if he’s right?
“You are enough, my lady. Now, as to your otherconcerns. Magnar controls four of the Eleven Kingdoms. This is enough to achieve his goals without a seat at the Table. It will be harder, but we’ll figure it out if necessary. Our wedding customs are quite simple. You only need to show up and look beautiful, which you always do, and then paint a few symbols on Magnar’s skin. A bride never sees the symbols before the ceremony, which is normal. Magnar will choose the ones he wants and explain their meaning. That is all.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Raduna comes in, bearing two large trays of food. Behind him follows Arvi with a similar load. They put them down on the table, and the room fills with the tantalizing scent of roast meat.
“Told you,” Khay snickers. “Let’s eat and then wash.”
“Your wedding robes will be here soon,” Raduna adds, stroking the back of my hand. “I heard the seamstresses are sewing on the final round of gems.”
My knights keep me distracted for the rest of the day, talking, helping me dress, bringing me snacks. Khay leaves a few times to assist Magnar, but I’m never alone. When the sun begins to set, music drifts in from the courtyard, rhythmic drumbeats mixing with guttural, fast-paced singing.
My hands begin to shake, and Raduna takes them in his and kisses my knuckles.
“You will do amazing, my queen. Just do what feels right and try to enjoy it. This is, after all, your wedding. One that isn’t forced on you.”
I look at myself in the floor length mirror in my room. The dress is unlike anything I’ve worn before, the skirts full and heavy with real rubies and sapphires glittering at the hem and in the folds, silvery gems cascading down in dozens of slim, twining whorls. The bodice is tight and shiny with jewels. My breasts are covered, but barely, and my arms and shoulders are bare. My face is hidden behind a diaphanous veil made of a thin, red fabric that lets me see through.
My hair is down, tamed with Vardi’s hair essence, and it glistens beautifully in the firelight. My feet are bare. It’s a strange mixture of being dressed yet not, domestic, yet on display. It makes my heart pound.
When I lift the hem of the skirt and look at my feet, biting the inside of my lip, Arvi comes to stand behind me. He clears his throat, and our eyes meet in the mirror. His eyes are dark and huge in his serious face.
“We will carry you until we reach the rose carpet. My queen.”
His voice is tight, throat bobbing as he swallows, and I understand I’m not the only nervous one. My knights crowd around me, all elegant, yet not too buttoned up. Arvi wears a black shirt glittering with sapphires, the blue gems matching the color of the tattoos gleaming on his skull.
Khay’s hair is loose like mine, a few front sections gathered back and braided. His shirt is gray, a beautiful ruby pin, twin to the one he gave me, glittering at his breast. Raduna has let his hair out of the braids. It’s soft and wavy, cascading down his back. His shirt is a warm shade of cream, the buttons made of obsidian.
“Magnar is waiting outside,” he says, voice tight just like Arvi’s. “May I?”
I nod, and Raduna picks me up gently. I put my arms around his neck. When we step out of the bedroom, I gasp. The corridor glitters with hundreds of candles, their light golden in the falling dusk.
Drums beat steadily outside, growing fainter and then louder as we meander through the keep. When we reach the first staircase, Raduna hands me over to Khay, who smiles and kisses my forehead. I change hands again a few corridors down, and Arvi takes me in his arms.
“Here,” he whispers when we reach the foot of the main staircase. “Go to your husband, my queen. Go to your king.”
He lets me down, my feet pressing into soft flower petals. They are deep red and black, a thick carpet of them rolling over the stone floor to the open doors leading outside. Magnar stands in the courtyard by a tall fire blazing in an enormous metal dish that gleams red from the heat. He wears a blood-red vest, a pair of dark trousers, and nothing else. His feet are bare like mine, gray toes tipped with short, black nails.
I take a deep breath and follow the path of petals. As I step out through the door, the vista of the courtyard opens. The space is packed with Agnidari, their faces looking sharp in the flickering light from many fires. Some grin, others watch me with narrowed eyes. There are women, too, their hair intricately braided. Some nod when they catch my eye, others bare their teeth in unfriendly smiles. I swallow thickly and keep going, the drums so loud, their beats reverberate in my very marrow.
It doesn’t feel like a wedding, but an execution.
XXIV Owned
There is no priest. That’s the first contrast between an Agnidari ceremony and a human wedding. There is only Magnar, alone and regal, waiting for me by the fire. As soon as I step close, the heat envelops me. I lick my lips, doing my best not to shake. The drums stop, and I almost stumble from the shock of silence.
“My queen,” he welcomes me, his voice loud and sure. “We have wed by human custom, and you belong to me already. Here we stand, ready to claim each other in the custom of my people. I want it known far and wide that you, Caliane, are my wife and queen, the future mother of my heirs.”
“Har!”
