They were practically naked, clad only in bright, embroidered cloths that wrapped around their trim waists and fell to mid-calf, fluttering open to reveal flashes of long, muscular legs as they walked. Each man sported a wide, jewel-encrusted belt, gleaming golden bands at their ankles and upper arms, and wide golden torques at their necks. All also sported iridescent blue tattoos that curled in curious patterns across their heavily muscled, hairless bodies, and all bore an iridescent blue tattoo that curled from the corner of their right eye across their right cheekbone. Their feet were bare. Their long, green-tinted black hair hung down their backs in springy ropes. Bells on their ankle bands chimed with each long-legged stride.
As if they needed chiming bells to draw anyone’s attention! Good gods, a woman could be deaf, dumb, and blind, and still be drawn to the Calbernans like a moth to a flame.
Summer’s stomach curled up tight. The Calbernans were shockingly primitive, their fierce, powerful, unrelenting maleness utterly and unsettlingly displayed for all to see. And try as she might, she could not tear her eyes from the biggest, strongest, handsomest of them all... their prince, Dilys Merimydion, Sealord of Calberna, son of the CalbernanMyerial,Alysaldria I.
He was huge. A few inches shorter than Khamsin’s husband Wynter, but nearly half a head taller than almost every other Calbernan or Winterman. Power radiated from him, fierce and unmistakable.
And he was beautiful. She could think of no other word for it. The long ropes of his hair were a glossy black that glinted deep, mysterious green in the sunlight, framing a face that was breathtaking in its symmetry, strength, and uncompromising lines. From the firm blade of his nose to the full, sensually sculpted lips, to the strong jaw, high cheekbones, and the deep-set, mesmerizing eyes of a bright, glittering gold. Even the exotic tattoos that swirled across his burnished bronze skin were beautiful, swirling patterns that sparkled in the sun and drew attention to every impressively carved muscle in his arms, broad shoulders, massive chest, and taut, rippled abdomen. More tattoos circled his equally impressive legs, teasing her with flashes of shimmering blue and bronze each time he took a step.
His bright, golden eyes fell upon her, she blushed and looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring, but the moment she felt the intensity of his gaze move away from her, she hazarded another peek.
Sweet Halla preserve her. He was magnificent.
The red rose-shaped birthmark on her inner right wrist—proof of her royal Summerlea heritage—warmed and began to throb, pulsing with the accelerated beat of her heart. Beneath the many bright, jewel-toned layers of her sumptuous court gown, a fire sparked inside Summer’s body, a hot, restless, hungry fire that burned hotter with every rhythmic stride of the Calbernan’s long, flashing legs.
Calberna’s prince was too big. Too male. Too unsettling. Too appealing. Too... everything. And for her, that made Dilys Merimydion pure, deadly poison wrapped up in a dangerously tempting package.
Summer Coruscate, the princess who could never allow herself to love, would choose a million lackluster Prince Rampions or consign herself to a life alone before she ever risked her heart and her sanity by wedding a man like Dilys Merimydion.
Leading the same army ofCalbernariwho had sailed with him to conquer Wintercraig and Summerlea, Dilys strode boldly down the streets of Konumarr to a much different welcome than the one they’d received only a little over six months ago.
Instead of swords and arrows and armed defenders, the city was decked out for a celebration. The streetlamps were twined with garlands of greenery and blossoms, and festooned with ribbons of ice blue, white, and deep, rich rose. Wreaths and blossoms hung from every door and window. Wintercraig flags—the white wolf’s head on a field of ice blue—waved at every doorway. And every plaza had been transformed into a feast hall set with massive wooden tables and chairs. The aroma of roasted meats and vegetables filled the air.
Winterfolk and Summerlanders alike lined the way four and five deep, and it pleased Dilys immensely to note that women and children outnumbered the men ten to one. They watched the Calbernans march past with wide eyes, and more than a few of the younger women nudged each other, blushing and giggling behind their hands the way girls often did when trying to catch the eye of a handsome man. That pleased Dilys as well. It was good to know his men would find a warm welcome here among the ladies of this land.
He knew the men following behind him were casting their own gazes across the potential wives gathered for the next three months of courtship—all while also keeping a careful eye on the heavily armed and armored Wintercraig guards stationed along the procession route, of course.
As per the conditions of his negotiated agreement with Queen Khamsin of Wintercraig, not one of the Calbernans carried a weapon, but no Calbernan—even unarmed—was truly vulnerable. They carried protection with them in their bones—the sharp, deadly battle claws and teeth, currently hidden from view but ready to snap into lethal place at a moment’s notice. And that was the least of their natural defenses.
Dilys eyed the deep, cold waters of the fjord that ran alongside the procession route all the way back to the enormous palace built into the steep mountainside. The brave young Winter Queen had either been very wise or very foolish in choosing this spot for the Calbernan’s visit. Where there were large quantities of water, be it river, lake, or ocean, Calbernans would always hold the upper hand. Dilys even more than most, bearing his mother’s great gifts inside him as he now did.
As much as he liked Khamsin of the Storms, Dilys hadn’t survived a lifetime of mercenary work by being a gullible fool. If today ended up being an ambush rather than a warm reception, blood would flow like wine.
It wouldn’t all be Calbernan blood, either.
When none of the Wintercraig guards drew a blade, he concluded that wisdom had guided the young queen, choosing the location specifically to put Dilys and his men at ease. And in that, she succeeded. Their procession to Konumarr Palace proceeded without incident, and though not as raucous as they might have been for their own kind, the gathered throngs cheered the Calbernans as they marched past.
He supposed that shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did. Dilys and his men had, after all, helped defeat the Ice King and his dreadful army.
The city’s main street led to a wide plaza that Dilys’s Wintercraig handler informed him was called Ragnar Square, and there, the procession stopped. Only Dilys and his officers crossed the plaza to approach the blossom-and-vine-festooned landing where Wintercraig’s royal family and Dilys’s future bride awaited.
Dilys let his gaze roam with undisguised appreciation over the three Seasons gathered just behind Wintercraig’s king and queen.
The reports and artists’ renditions of the three dark Summerlander princesses had not done them justice. Each one of them was beautiful beyond words, with dark, silky skin, big, thickly-lashed eyes, and full, shapely lips made for passionate kisses. Each wore form-fitting, jewel-toned gowns in shimmering silks that exactly matched the color of their eyes.
Two of the Seasons—the auburn-haired beauty, Autumn, and Spring—watched his approach with bold, unflinching gazes. The third, a lovely, blushingmyerinawith tumbling waves of blue-black curls spilling about her shoulders, was more shy. She hung back between her sisters, watched him with wide, shocked blue eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking, then hurriedly glanced away from him whenever he tried to meet her gaze. That would be the little honeyrose, then. The sweet, sunny-tempered Season called Summer, beloved for her exceedingly kind heart and gentle ways.
He returned his attention to the two Seasons the Bridehunters had approved for him. Though he hadn’t believed it until just now, the odes to Autumn Coruscate’s beauty were no exaggerations. If anything, they did not do justice to her vibrant, stunning perfection. She was entirely exotic and utterly intoxicating. From her pansy-purple eyes and long, extravagant curls of deep auburn hair that reminded him of a spectacular ocean sunset, to the lush curves displayed to perfection in her deep amethyst gown. The fact that she was watching him with undisguised interest bode well for the coming months of courtship.
Although Spring—the princess the Bridehunters had decided would be the best match for him—did not possess quite the same jaw-dropping exquisiteness of the youngest Season, she was still any man’s definition of lovely. Her eyes a clear, piercing green, her hair a long, straight fall of inky silk that draped down to her waist, her body slender and shapely. Best of all, in Dilys’s opinion, was her cool, bold, challenging stare.
Calbernans didn’t fear a woman’s strength. They celebrated it. Admired it. Wed it, if they were lucky enough. There was no greater treasure than a bold, brave, fearless wife who would pass on that bold, brave, fearless blood to her daughters and sons.
Just looking at her, Dilys could tell Spring would give him one Hel of a chase before he claimed her. Of course, she would think the claiming was all her idea, and he would be pleased to let her think so. He smiled broadly at the thought.
Dilys crossed the final distance of the plaza and came to a halt before the raised dais. His captains and their officers filed in to fill the space behind him, while the remainder of his men stood in neat formation in the main road.
The Winterman who had met Dilys at the docks to instruct him and his men on the protocols of the day now stepped forward and swept a deep bow to his king and queen.
