Hevva’s hand is tied.
“Thank you.” Hevva beamedat yet another well-wisher as she and her husband attempted to escape from their wedding breakfast.
“Congratulations, Your Majesties,” another wedding guest shouted as they passed the last of the tables.
“Thank you kindly.” King Hethtar tugged his wife along by their beribboned hands, though they’d likely have had their fingers interlocked regardless of the wrappings holding them tight.
“Congratulations again, brother,” Nekash began as he stepped into their path. “Sister,” he added, looking at Hevva through two black eyes. The left one, a standard purple fading to green, was from Ehmet. The right one, an angry mottled burgundy with some scratches—from sand—that was from her.
“No, thank you,” Hevva replied, pulling Ehmet to the side so they could skirt the prince and escape the crush.
Ehmet chuckled, allowing her to lead the way.
For a month they’d made Nekash await his punishment for fucking with their relationship. Hevva and Ehmet had their initial conversation with him weeks before, upon their return to Kirce. It was around the same time Great-Uncle Yusuf was stripped of his dukedom and left as nothing but an honorary lord. The other lords and ladies were contrite, sendinglavish engagement gifts they all knew were little more than thinly veiled apologies for aligning with the wrong side.
Nekash claimed he’d acted out of fear Yusuf would win the Crown. Lady Tahereh had been the most viable option: She was the right age, would win Ehmet another ally in her father, and would not result in lost votes. Ehmet made it clear he wasn’t sold on the prince’s story. It was more likely Nekash was being Nekash, trying to steal something away from his older brother. Hevva figured the truth was somewhere in the middle.
He knew punishment was coming; they knew it was coming. And so, four nights before their wedding, Ehmet dragged his brother into the training room for a fist to face conversation that also included many choice words. Hevva pinned him to the wall, the wood floor doing her bidding, and she’d railed on the man too, for his shoddy behavior, blatant manipulation, and clear lack of morals. Then she’d sent a walloping magical punch, a blend of sand and wood, to mar his other eye, well-timed for the lascivious prince totryto pick up new ladies in waiting at the upcoming royal nuptials. She’d have used her fist, but he wasn’t worth the energy.
“Finally!” Hevva exclaimed on a release of breath when the ballroom door closed behind them.
Ehmet growled in response and halted his forward motion. With a jerk of his left arm, he stopped her as well. Hevva spun round to face him and tumbled forward into his chest with a gasp of laughter. With their bound hands tucked between them, Ehmet reached down with his free one to wrap his large palm around her bottom.
He gave her a squeeze, and she squealed as his pinky finger dipped briefly into the space between her thighs, wiggling. Then he applied a firm, broad pressure, pulling her into him. “Jump up.”
She obliged. Her skirts pulled tight around her legs as she struggled to latch on to her husband. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.” He held firm as she used her free arm to tug free her skirts.
When her ankles were locked around Ehmet, she pressed a kiss to his mouth and demanded he take her to bed.
He obliged.
Kicking the doors closed behind them, Ehmet crossed their salon andcontinued on. Stopping at the bed, he deposited his wife on the mattress with such force she toppled backward, pulling him down atop her.
She shrieked beneath him, her voice dropping into a low hum when Ehmet nipped at the lobe of her ear.
“I need to see you naked.”
“Mmm,” she agreed. “But we cannot untie these until the morning.” Hevva tugged at their bound hands, pulling them up and out from where they’d been trapped between them. The green and gold ribbons shimmered in afternoon sunlight. One cord symbolized their bond, their joining of paths, their commitment to one another, mind, body, and soul. The second was unique to marriage between king and queen. It represented commitment to their people, to justly rule, and to always love and protect the citizens of Selwas. They could not, under any circumstances, remove the ribbons until the following dawn, or their marriage would certainly be cursed.
“I could rip it off.”
Her eyes widened.
“Your dress.”
“Oh yes, please do.”
Within moments, the tearing of fabric rent the room as he divested her from her gown of silver and he from his suit of bottle green. A quickly crafted knife was required to cut through Ehmet’s wool tailcoat, the thing was sturdy.
She writhed beneath him, impatient as always while he clambered out of his pants. “I want you,” Hevva rasped, clawing at his shoulder with her free hand.
“I’m coming, give me a moment here.” He laughed, kicking free from the offending fabric.
And he was over top of her, with their connected hands stretched high above her head.
“Hevva,” he breathed as his darkened eyes raked down the length of her. “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to have this hand free right now.” He wiggled his fingers against hers.
