She was so relieved to hear someone admit the truth that she burst out laughing. She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, thank goodness. I was so tired of pretending it wasn’t the most miserable affair of my life.”
His smile revealed a small dimple on one cheek she hadn’t noticed before. “I felt like my horse when he’s at pasture during a storm.”
She leaned in, shaking her head. “Ifelt like a mouse who fell in a bucket of dishwater.”
“Like a fisher after three weeks at sea, soaked to the bone.”
“Like a pot of marigolds, overwatered and wilted.”
They both started laughing out loud. Bryn hugged her belly as her whole body shook with laughter. It felt marvelous to let go of the tension that had filled the entire day. She’d been afraid that life with Trei would be all formality, but now she saw another side to him.
Wiping his eyes, he pushed up on one elbow, still chuckling. His shirt had slid back over his shoulders, revealing his largeframe and smooth skin marred by hexmarks and a few battle scars. He shrugged the rest of the way out of his shirt and tossed it aside.
Bryn reached out a curious hand and ran her finger down his left arm, tracing the various hexmarks.
“So many,” she whispered. “If you have this many hexmarks, why don’t you use magic as often as your brothers?”
He watched her finger tracing the marks on his forearm and said, “I don’t have as much cause to. They’re out in the field more than I am.”
Regardless, he certainly had achieved as many marks as either Valenden or Rangar. She got lost in examining all the intricate symbols on him, wondering what spells they commanded. He had the finding and purge marks, as she did, amid dozens more. A thrill stirred in her to think of all the magical possibilities Trei could bring to the Mir people.
She was so captivated by his hexmarks, tracing them up to his shoulder, that she hadn’t realized their faces were only inches apart.
“Bryn.” His voice had deepened. He cupped her jaw, dragging his thumb over her cheek. “I meant what I said. You’re beautiful.”
Her heart leaped as she understood the time had come. The energy in the room shifted. Their friendly laughter evaporated, and now it was just the two of them with their wedding clothes unbuttoned, sitting on the newlywed bed.
When he lowered his mouth to hers, she found herself as ready as anyone could be in her position. She’d been mentally preparing for this moment. She’d expected the kiss to feel like duty—close your eyes or stare at the ceiling, her mother had once told her—but it didn’t feel like that. As hard as she wanted to find fault with him, she genuinely liked Trei. Good looks, anhonorable bearing, keenly intelligent but quick to laugh—Trei’s only fault was that he wasn’t his brother.
Don’t think about Rangar.She scolded herself as Trei deepened the kiss. His lips brushed hers in a testing caress. His hand slid over her shoulder, pushing the remaining fabric of her wedding dress down to her waist.
She kissed him back just as experimentally. The sensations running through her body weren’t the wild passion she felt with Rangar, but they weren’t entirely unwelcome, either. Her heartbeat kicked up when he ran his thumb over her chemise’s strap. Uncertainly, she touched the back of his neck, weaving her fingers in the hair at his nape. He responded by anchoring his hand on her hip and bunching the fabric in his fist.
So different from Rangar, she thought,and yet they’re brothers. There’s still an echo of Rangar in Trei. Saints, and Valenden, too.
Trei broke the kiss long enough to gather her dress around her waist and tug it down over her legs. She lifted her hips to help him and wiggled out of it until she was left in her chemise. It was white cotton but thin enough to be somewhat transparent, and when Trei’s gaze fell on her, she felt herself trembling.
“By the gods,” he muttered.
He returned to the bed but, instead of sitting beside her, gripped her shoulder to guide her back until she was lying on the sheets. Holding himself above her with one arm, he took a moment to look over her face as though memorizing her.
Then, he lowered himself for another kiss. This one felt different. Instantly, Bryn felt a bolt of energy shoot through her. She had on her chemise, he had on his trousers. Nothing else. Only a few garments separated them. It suddenly felt very real, and a flood of mixed emotions came with it.
Rangar, she thought as Trei tasted her lips with a quick stroke of his tongue.I want Rangar.
She commanded her hands to touch Trei’s chest, exploring his rigid muscles. A part of her thought only of Rangar and his pain, but there was another part of her, one made pliable with brandy, that responded in the way any woman would with a man like Trei. He tasted like Mir honey, and she deepened the kiss for another taste.
Trei cradled her head as he kissed her, his fingers working to undo her braids until he could wrap his fingers around her hair and pull just hard enough to tip her head back to trail his lips down her neck.
She clutched onto his shoulders, digging her short fingernails into his skin to get ahead of the intense sensations she was feeling. He suddenly ground his hips against hers, and she sucked in a breath as her whole body quivered.
He knows what he’s doing.She felt some relief that she was with a man who was both skilled and gentle for her first time, but the thought was immediately eclipsed.Rangar was supposed to be my first!
Trei pulled away as he fumbled with the belt around his trousers. Without the warmth of his body, Bryn felt a sudden chill. She started shivering from the cold and uncertainty. In another few moments, Trei was going to do what men did with their wives. Claim her in every way as his.
But I’m not his.
Rangar had saved her from wolves when she was six years old, then again on the night of the Castle Mir uprising. He believed through thefralenbond that it was his duty to watch over her, and he had, even at great risk to his own life. He’d even poisoned himself in an attempt to havehersavehislife so that they would be even—equally each other’s Saved and Saviors.
