“Unlace your breeches and I’ll show you,” I whisper, laughing even harder when his cheeks flush a mortifying shade of pink.
“Go on! Enjoy your wedding night!” Soren booms, encouraging the guards to resume whistling.
Alaric curses under his breath, snatches my hand, and tugs me toward the tent.
I force myself to continue laughing, hoping it conceals the terror I feel about spending the night as husband and wife.
Eight
Alaric shoves me through the tent flap and into the shadowed space,which feels much smaller than it did when I confronted him and Soren before the ceremony.
As Alaric crowds in behind me, I’m surrounded by his wind and leather scent, acutely aware of his formidable bulk. Everything inside me wants to flee to the opposite corner of the tent, but that’s not what Rowenna would do. Not what a leader who’s going to save her kingdom would do. So I stand my ground and glare at him over my shoulder.
“Must you stand so close?”
Alaric sighs and steps back. “What am I supposed to do when you stop so suddenly?”
“I wouldn’t have stopped so suddenly if our accommodations weren’t so repulsive.” I gesture to the lone blanket spread across the tent floor. It stinks of sweat and mildew and was, almost certainly, draped across the back of a horse less than an hour ago. “Not exactly how I pictured my marriage bed…”
“I thought you dirt pushers loved to be covered in grime and animalhair…” Alaric mutters.
“At least we’re covered insomething.”
A devious expression flits across Alaric’s features, and he looks me dead in the eyes as he slowly unfastens the decorative chains across his chest. “Isthiscloser to what you imagined on your wedding night?” He opens the front of his long navy jacket and raises his arms toward the ceiling in an exaggerated stretch, exposing the lean muscles leading down toward his breeches.
I don’t mean to look, but it’s unavoidable in such close quarters, and my cheeks burn with mortification when he catches me.
“What’s the matter, gardener? No more witty jabs?” he drawls as he stoops to unlace his boots.
“Is it that difficult to put on a shirt?” I blurt. “Or are your tailors too unskilled to make them?”
“Of course our tailors can sew a shirt.”
“Then I suppose the problem lies withyou.You’re too daft to figure out which holes are for the head and which are for the arms.”
Alaric snorts and looks up, just enough to lock eyes with me from beneath his disheveled hair. “I’ve got your stems all in a tangle, haven’t I? You don’t want to admit you like what you see…”
“The only thing I’dliketo see is my sharpest spade buried in your throat.”
“Who knew you were so provocative? I’ve never engaged inthatsort of fun,but I’m willing to try anything once…” He gives me another slow, seductive wink, and I lurch back, tripping on that seeds-forsaken horse blanket and landing hard on my backside.
Alaric’s eyes sparkle with laughter. “Don’t play games you can’t win, princess. It makes you look ridiculous.”
“No more ridiculous thanyou!” I wave my hands at his open jacket again. I don’t know what else to say or do. I’m so far out of my depth, if I were a plant, my roots would be growing up and out of the soil.
Alaric plunks down on the ground, leans over his knees, andconsiders me. “You’re clearly not going to drop this, but perhaps you’ll be less uncomfortable with our manner of dress if I educate you. In Vanzador, our clothing is a mark of our strength and status. The Fortress is high in the mountains, where the air is cold and thin. It takes years to adapt to the frigid temperatures. The highest discipline and self-mastery are required to forgo undershirts.”
I don’t even try to withhold my snort of laughter. “Why wear anything at all then? Why not run up and down the mountainside naked? Wouldn’t that prove you’re the strongest of all?”
With a heavy sigh, Alaric removes a flask from his breeches and takes a long sip. “I don’t know why I bothered. You gardeners can’t understand anything more complex than dirt.” He lies down and folds his hands behind his head. “Now, if you’re finished mocking my culture, I’d like to sleep. Your presence is exhausting.”
He closes his eyes, as if he really thinks I’m going to let him have the last word.
“This is just the beginning of your exhaustion,dearest husband,” I snap. “You get to enjoy the pleasure of my companyfor as long as we both shall live.”
“At least it will be more tolerable once we reach Vanzador,” he mumbles.
“Why is that? Because you plan to push me off a cliff, like my sister?”
