“I think . . . I might be finished for the day.” The receiving line still had hundreds of villagers, but there was no way she’d be able to get to them all that day anyway.
“Of course.” Trei signaled to the guards that Mage Marna had assigned to Bryn. They escorted her to the hall, where she finally had a moment of privacy and leaned against the wall to catch her breath.
This isn’t even remotely close to being over.
What did Rangar mean by that? The marriage was a done deal. True, it wasn’t official until it was consummated, but Rangar didn’t have the aura hex. He had no way of knowing it wasn’t valid yet. What could he possibly do to get her back now, short of slaughtering Trei and leaving her a widow able to remarry? Which, of course, Rangar would never do, not even with his temper.
She spent some time pacing the endless halls, wishing the rain would let up so that she could go outside and breathe fresh air. She hated having the soldiers shadow her at all times. She felt like she would lose her mind until she turned a corner and ran smack into Valenden.
“Oh! Val.” She swallowed. “I heard you earned Mage Marna’s ire.”
Valenden was dressed in his usual rumpled clothes, though his hair looked especially tousled. He shrugged. “She assigned me latrine duty for a week. Could have been worse. Actually, I’ve been looking for you. My aunt arranged for a bridal bath, some tradition for the night after the wedding . . . I don’t know how these womanly things work.” He briefly glanced at the guards. “It’s ready for you in the women’s bathhouse.”
Bryn cocked her head, confused. She’d never heard of such a tradition, and Mage Marna wasn’t known for pampering. But Valenden had an oddly insistent look in his eye, so she slowly nodded. “Right . . . Mage Marna mentioned something about that this morning.”
“Come, I’ll walk with you.” He gave a mocking bow to the guards. “Andyou, of course.”
Valenden led the way through the castle to the bottom level, where the men's and women’s bathhouses branched off. Steam pumped out steadily through the curtain that served as a doorway. Valenden swept back the curtain and coughed at theburst of steam. “Your guards will wait for you here, of course. To protect the modesty of the future queen.”
This was clearly news to the guards, but they glanced between one another and nodded before flanking the doorway.
As Bryn entered the bathhouse, she didn’t miss Valenden’s small wink.
The stone chamber was filled with steam that made everything cloudy. The ceiling dripped with condensation. The boilers must be working at full strength because she’d never seen the air so thick. The bathhouse appeared empty for this supposed new ceremony, without even an attendant with a robe and towels.
“Hello?” she called hesitantly.
Then, she heard the footsteps. They were the heavy tread of a boot, not the graceful steps of the barefoot attendants.
Rangar Barendur emerged from the steam, dressed in his black riding clothes and boots.
“Rangar!” Bryn pressed a hand over her mouth.
Now she understood this invented ceremony—which Mage Marna certain didn’t know about—and Valenden’s wink. Somehow, Rangar had slipped his own guards just as she had, perhaps also with Valenden’s help. “The soldiers . . . ”
“Don’t worry about them.” He came out of the steam with all the coiled tension of a beast ready to pounce, and she found herself taking a tentative step back. She’d seen his wrath toward Trei. Rangar had always suffered from an inability to control his temper, and she feared it was now aimed at her. He wouldn’t raise a hand against her, but harsh words could sting just as much.
She gasped, “I swear, when they sent you away, I didn’t know—”
She held out a beseeching hand. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. She squeaked to feel his arm suddenlyaround her waist as he pressed her back up against the damp wall and, taking only a moment to brush his thumb across her cheek, devoured her lips with his own.
Chapter
Nine
A FORBIDDEN MEETING . . . grounds for treason . . . interrupted at the worst moment . . . hands to himself
So much for the sanctity of marriage.
Rangar kissed her—his brother’s wife—like a famished creature. His hands cupped her jaw, his body pinned her to the glistening bathhouse wall, his lips moved insistently. Bursts of steam from the boilers rose around them, causing them to break out in sweat.
The kiss had happened so fast that Bryn could barely react. She’d been terrified that Rangar would assault her with accusations, so this ardent embrace was not what she’d been expecting. She broke the kiss, her breath coming fast. Steam was already plastering her hair to her face as she cast a quick glance in the direction of the curtain doorway.
“Rangar, the guards!” she whispered. “They’re right on the other side of that curtain!”
“Then you’d better keep your moans quiet,” he growled before moving back in for a kiss.
But she rested a hand on his chest, holding him off. “By the Saints, wait! This is . . . ” She swallowed.It’s treason and adultery…and I’m not sure if I care if it is.She blinked a few times. “We need to talk.”
