Chapter
Seven
WEDDING NIGHT . . . marriage rules . . . the man in the tower . . . broken hearts . . . hexmark magic
“I would suggest that we wait,” Trei said as he stood alone with Bryn in the second-floor bedroom designated as their newlywed suite, “Except you know the traditions as well as I do. Our two kingdoms do not differ in that respect.”
They could still hear the rising and falling notes of the wedding feast music coming from the great hall. Bryn faced her new husband from the far side of the bed, terrified to come closer.
Shedidknow the tradition. Her mother had neglected to teach her many things, but she knew that royal marriages were consummated on the wedding night.
Feeling dizzy from brandy, she looked toward the ceiling with a curse on her lips. Rangar knew the tradition, too. If he weren’t locked in the tower cell at that moment, he’d be down here now, banging on the door, ready to punch Trei again if he so much as looked at Bryn’s bare shoulder.
She sank onto the bed with legs that had turned to jelly. “I don’t know if I can do this, Trei. Not after Rangar . . . That look on his face . . . ” She buried her face in her hands.
Trei knelt by her side. “If I could spare you any hurt, you know I would.”
She muttered, “It was awful, Trei. He was so pained.Idid that to him.”
“We both did.” Trei reached up to stroke her hair but winced at the movement and grabbed his shoulder.
Bryn gasped. “Your shoulder! I’ve been so worried about Rangar; I forgot you were wounded. Are you okay?”
He nodded as he dropped his hand from his shoulder, but his face remained pinched. “I’m fine. While you were with Valenden, my aunt healed the worst of the wounds. It will be fine tomorrow.”
Regardless, Bryn scolded herself for not having expressed concern for Trei sooner. He was her husband of one evening, and she’d already failed him!
She swallowed and asked in a whisper, “Do you think he would have . . . seriously hurt you?” She couldn’t stop thinking about Rangar’s threat to end Trei for what he’d done.
Trei massaged the bridge of his nose, looking weary. “You’re asking if he’d kill me? No. I know my brother. He might throw some punches and wish me dead, but he doesn’t have such wrath in him. In any case, it doesn’t matter. We should banish Rangar and . . . and anyone else…from our minds tonight.”
She paused. “Saraj, you mean.”
Trei lifted a tight shoulder. “Yes.” Then he touched her cheek. “Youare my bride, Bryn. That is all that matters.”
It most definitely wasn’t all that mattered, but Trei had a way of speaking with such confidence that the tension in the room broke like soap bubbles stretched too thin.
“Your gown lost its battle with the mud,” Trei observed, motioning to the sodden hem that not even magic had entirely rid of stains. “Shall I . . . help you out of it?”
The blood drained from Bryn’s face.He is my husband. This is what husbands and wives do.
“Ah, um, yes,” she said in a weak voice as her pounding heart protested. “Please.”
She turned her back to him so he could start to undo the long row of buttons. She stared at a crack in the bedroom wall, trying hard not to wonder what Rangar was doing at that moment. The tower cell was better than the dungeon, but not by much. She could picture him pacing a circular path again and again, raging as he imagined everything his brother and his betrothed were doing a few floors below.
Trei reached the lowest button at the base of her spine. His fingers grazed her skin, and she felt a shiver run up her back. Her heart might not be with Trei, but he was a handsome man—it could be worse.Better than that bastard baron from Ruma.Slowly, Trei pushed the fabric off one of her shoulders, revealing bare skin covered by a thin chemise strap.
His large hand cupped her small shoulder. “You’re beautiful, Bryn.”
With her back to him, he couldn’t see the pain that crossed her face, but she felt it contort her features. She bit her lip so hard it stung, and then she forced herself to turn around. “Here. Let me help you . . . with your shirt.”
With shaking fingers, she started to undo the buttons at his throat. She was close enough to smell candle smoke on him from the feast as well as fig brandy, though he hadn’t drunk more than a few sips all night.Shewas the tipsy one, not him, and she suddenly wished she had remained sober as her mother had always told her.A princess keeps her wits about her.Thenagain, how could she have gotten through the night without ample glasses of brandy?
“It was a . . . lovely ceremony,” she whispered in an attempt to break the tension. Her hands reached the last button on his shirt, and she smoothed the fabric back off his shoulders. She swallowed hard. The lantern light reflected off the hexmarks scarring the hard planes of his abdomen. She’d seen him shirtless before and knew he was powerfully built, but it was another thing entirely to be mere inches from his body, knowing that he would soon be pressing her to the sheets.
Trei said gruffly, “No, it wasn’t.”
She looked up in surprise to find him giving a wry half-smile. He continued, “That was the most depressing wedding I’ve ever seen. We were nearly drowned. It felt like the gods were torturing us.”
