Chapter 54
Saga’s pulse thrummed as she waited for her husband to join her in the bedchamber. Lying on Kassandr’s bed in her sheer dressing gown, she stared at the canopy, visions of spoons and honeypots flitting in her mind. Saga wished she knew more of what, precisely, to expect of her wedding night. True, she’d read many romantic tales, but the books from the Southern Continent tended to use flowery words to describe the act.
Arms folded over her stomach, Saga tried to ease her sharpened nerves. Where was Kassandr? How long would she have to lie here? And how long would the act take?
Male laughter had Saga jolting upright. That wasn’t Kassandr. Sounds of drunken singing met her ears. Good gods, was there acrowdof them? She gaped down at her transparent gown, then quickly fetched a pillow to cover her most prominent bits.
The singing grew louder, setting her teeth on edge. She could make out Rovgolod’s voice and—was that Oleg? Saga’s brows knitted together. How muchmedovukhahad they consumed that evenOlegsounded jovial?
The door flew open, Kassandr’s broad back to her as he warded off a throng of wedding guests. By some miracle, he managed to slam the door shut.
“If any fools try to come into this room,” he shouted through the door, “I will cut off your leg and draw pictures with your blood!” Theair vibrated with that strange, unnatural sensation that Saga now knew to be a sign of his beast.
“We must ensure consummation—” came Oleg’s muffled voice.
“Come, Oleg!” bellowed an extremely inebriated Rov. “Our duty is done. Kassandr is delivered to his bride. Let us find some fun. The horsemaiden they call Khiva looked much in your direction.”
Saga choked on a laugh, but then Kassandr was sliding the lock into place and turning toward her. She clutched the pillow tighter to her chest, staring at her husband.
Herhusband.
“My wife,” drawled Kassandr, a lazy smile on his lips. He sniffed the air, then found the remnants of burnt birch sticks lying on a chest and nodded to himself. “What are you doing there?” he asked, his gaze landing on the pillow she clutched to her breast.
“I’m ready to consummate our marriage,” Saga announced, settling back on the bed and staring up at the canopy.
Kassandr strolled to the edge of the bed, and as he looked down at her, Saga watched him lose the battle against a smile.
“What is it?” she asked, cheeks flushing. Did he not like what he saw?
Kassandr reached for her hand and pulled her toward the edge of the bed. Saga clung to the pillow like her life depended on it.
“Scarcely have I seen you tonight.” He pressed a kiss to her scarred hand, sending heat jolting straight down her spine. “Come. Have drink with me. Bring pillow if you wish it.”
Kassandr strode to a table on the far side of the room and worked his armored jacket loose, revealing his wedding kaftan beneath. He draped the jacket over the back of a chair, then poured the contents of a clay jug into a pair of cups. Reluctantly, Saga padded across the room to join him.
Kassandr handed her a cup, those emerald eyes ever-burning as they dragged from her bare feet, along the pillow clutched against her sheer dressing gown, then finally landing on her face. Flustered, Saga brought the cup to her lips and sipped what proved to bemedovukha.It went down smoothly, warming her stomach and softening her nerves just a touch.
“Tell to me what you are thinking,” said Kassandr, reclining.
Saga flopped onto her chair, the pillow still clutched to her chest. “I don’t know—”
“Do you regret the wedding?”
Her gaze slashed to his, and she caught the faintest traces of vulnerability there. Perhaps his casual air was not so effortless after all. “No.”
“Good.”
Saga studied his face. “Do you?”
Kassandr sipped hismedovukha.“How can I regret a thing I have yearned for, for so long?” His words brought a flush to Saga’s cheeks, but her attention snagged on their subtle edge.
“You do not like how your father made it happen, then?” Saga guessed, watching him over her cup.
His jaw flexed, answer enough.
“Kassandr,” she said softly. “In case it isn’t clear to you, let me put it plainly: I chose this. I chose you.”
His green eyes heated, but they dropped and narrowed. “Thenthis—” He nodded at the pillow clutched to her chest. “—what is this?” A slow smile crept across his lips. “Is that clever mind of yours thinking too much, Winterwing?”
