Page 122 of Prize for the King
“Are you awake, pet?”
“Mmm.”
“Tell me you love me.”
“Nnnn… Not… Yet.”
A sharp breath. A moment of silence.
“Then promise me you will.”
“Mmm. Yes. I will.”
“That’s good enough for now.”
XXXVII Stud
Days pass. I settle into a routine, breakfasting in Magnar’s study with two or all of my knights accompanying me there. After eating, I roll my shoulders, put on a serene expression, and march into Idrina’s sitting room. I bring tea and cakes, and she teaches me the Agnidari language, sometimes slipping in a piece of advice such as, “A queen is a rock in public. Nothing upsets her. Jealous women will spit on you, and you will smile coldly and later climb into the king’s bed, remembering he’s yours to fuck, not theirs.”
After my draining morning with the former queen, I help with the documents. The letter to the Table of Kings is sent, carried by the fastest messenger. But there are other things to take care of, reports from local governors in Magnar’s conquered lands, some trade agreements, requests to the king. I handle the less significant ones written in the language of the Eleven, while Magnar buries himself in the matters of Roharra.
The pile on his desk slowly begins to shrink, but there’s still not enough space to ever entertain the idea of doing anything naughty on top of it.
We stick to the bedroom. Magnar has me every night, and then a knight or two, depending on how much I can handle. They draw lots, make bets, and bicker a lot until Magnar orders them to keep a rosterand take turns so everyone has enough time with me. We all sleep in the enormous bed in my chamber, though Magnar is gone every morning before I wake up, no matter how early it is.
I sometimes wonder if he sleeps at all. The dark purple shadows under his eyes grow bigger and bigger until he looks half dead. Exhaustion does not diminish his stamina.
I sit at two meetings with his ministers, and they do a great deal of sighing and showing off their reluctance when Magnar orders them to speak my tongue. They don’t disobey him outright, but I receive many offended glares whenever my husband turns away.
He catches on and threatens them, and they swear on the blood of their ancestors they never meant to offend me. I realize Magnar’s threats don’t have much effect on the ministers, most of whom are old and plump, secure in their positions.
Their king being away for so long has made them bold and entitled. It’s a problem, one Magnar can’t be bothered to solve with more serious matters pressing on his time.
When I ask Idrina how to handle the arrogant ministers, she cackles.
“I will tell you, human girl. But first, you must do something for me. Next time you’re alone with my son, say this to him:‘Ilnaha grath inad margus.’Repeat.”
“What does it mean?” I narrow my eyes at my cunning mother-in-law.
“It’s a very proper thing for a wife to say to her husband. Go on. Repeat the sentence, or I won’t help you.”
I say it a few times until she’s happy with my pronunciation.
“Do not say it to anyone else, especially not your knights,” she bids me. “I trust you. Don’t disappoint me.”
Putting it off will only make it worse, so I decide to act as soon as I leave her room. Raduna accompanies me, and I give him asmile when he leads me to Magnar’s study.
“I’ve grown quite peckish,” I say, which is not a lie. I’m always peckish these days. “Could you grab me something nice from the kitchen? Savory, not sweet.”
“If my king allows it, I’ll go.”
Magnar waves Raduna away without looking up from the writ in his hand. I take a deep breath and go over to the desk. My husband picks up a cup to drink the remnants of his cold coffee, and I speak.
“Ilnaha grath inad margus.”
He spits out the coffee, staining the top documents. I cringe, knowing instantly it was bad, and make to wipe the worst stains with my sleeve, but he grips my wrist.
“The fuck, Caliane? Did my mother put you up to this?”
