Dazzling light pierces through my eyelids. The sound of curtains dragging along a rail invades my ears. Consciousness comes hurtling back.
I’m sprawled on my back on the bed. Naked. Covered in dried cum and sweat. My ass hurts, and there is a void inside me where my magic should be.
Movement jostles the bed. Prince Selwyn is sitting up.
Blearily, I open my eyes, only to find the druid looming over me. I suck in a breath, and flounder ungracefully into a sitting position.
The faceless shadow in a cowl ignores me. He picks up a piece of red ribbon that is coiled on the sheets. He unsheathes a small scythe from his waist. He holds it high until it glints in the morning sunlight. Then, he slices through the ribbon in one swift movement.
I shudder, even though it is only silk that has been cut.
The druid leaves without saying a word. Beside me, Prince Selwyn moves to the edge of the bed. I stare at his naked back in befuddlement. When did he take his clothes off?
He shrugs into a dark-green satin dressing gown. His magic is all tangled up with threads of mine. My magic ishis now, and the disorientation is enough to make me feel sick.
Prince Selwyn stands and strides out of the bedchamber. Without a backward glance. Without a word. Leaving me alone with three fey healers and a gaggle of servants.
I stare at the door Selwyn left through, as if he is going to reappear.
“If Your Highness would lie on his back.”
I blink at the healer. His green-tinged skin and iris-less brown eyes are a little unnerving.
Highness. Oh my. That’s me. I’m a highness now. I am a prince consort.
I shuffle down the sheets and lie on my back.
“If Your Highness would bring his knees together and draw them up.”
I stare at the canopy above me, and obey.
“If Your Highness would allow his knees to fall open.”
Mindlessly, I obey. This isn’t so different from being poked and prodded by my mother’s healer. Or from being inspected by Rupert.
I close my eyes as a cold instrument enters me. It is withdrawn mercifully quickly, but now the second healer needs to make his check. My fingers clench in the sheets.
The third healer also examines me. He steps back. I open my eyes.
“The marriage has been consummated,” announces the first healer, speaking for all three of them.
I nod as if I didn’t already know this. As if I can’t feel the truth of it in every aching muscle.
The healers bow as one and leave.
The servants step forward. They efficiently take the sheet that is under me. Pulling it so deftly, it slides out from under my body.
Two of them hold out the white silk over the window, as if it is a sail. A third servant steps forward and pours a purple liquid onto the top edge. The colour seeps down and out. Dyeing the whole sheet in a matter of moments. The sheet is now plum-coloured, except for splatters of white in the centre. Bright splodges that are stark against the dark purple.
I stare at the strange pattern. Then realisation hits me and heat floods my cheeks. That is… evidence of last night.
The servants begin to march out of the bedchamber with the soiled sheet held proudly aloft between them.
“Where are you taking that!” I squeak.
A stout woman with wispy hair gives me a puzzled look. “To show all of court that the wedding night was successful, Your Highness.”
My eyes close.
