Page 14 of Bound By the Alien King

“Tied tight,” Mithri confirmed, her mouth thinning. “Now may she sleep?”

“No. She will first dress and accompany me to give her apology. You had better pray to the twins that Herold accepts it,” he added to Aster, who found herself unable to form words in the face of her father’s bluster. “If he does not, I will march you straight to the nunnery.”

“Yes, Father,” Aster finally got out. She held her breath until he was out and Mithri shut the door behind him.

“I have time to run you a bath and lay out your clothes before daysleep. If I put out the blue dress, will you be able to do the laces on your own?”

Aster nodded numbly. This is how it would be now. Pandering, pretending, pushing down her own thoughts so they didn’t drown her with their ache. She had to accept the way things were, the same way Mithri had accepted that she could not keep her baby boy. She could still smile and laugh, so it must get better.

“I’ll stay with you,” Mithri said, her gentle, sky-blue face full of concern as she returned from the wardrobe with the midnight velvet dress. She knelt in front of Aster and took both her hands. “After you marry, I mean. You won’t be alone, if that is what you’re worried about.”

Aster bit her lip, hesitating only a moment before asking, “Do you miss him? Zoran? Tell me the truth.”

Mithri’s eyes slammed shut like Aster had slapped her, but she recovered quickly. “I dream of him every daysleep, his little cries and coos. And every night, it’s like my heart has gone missing, and my body is a shell that somehow manages to walk around without it. Yes, I miss him.”

Aster squeezed her hands. “Then don’t make me promises. Much will change when the treaty concludes. You’ll be free to rejoin him if you wish, and I won’t ask you to stay.”

Mithri smiled sadly. “He won’t remember me. It’s been a year, and he was just a baby.”

“He does remember. He does. I know it.” She had to bite her tongue before she revealed any more. When Mithri retreated to her sleeping closet, Aster bathed and dressed and braided her hair into two plaits that she wound around her head and pinned tight.

Her father collected her without a word, and she walked with him, a dutiful two steps behind, to the house of her uncle. Stuffed in an ugly brocade jacket with a collar ruffled so high it concealed part of his chin, Cousin Herold received them in the parlor, where he stood stiffly before the bookcases, his hands clasped behind his back.

Her uncle presided over the fireplace, stout and smug. “Well, well, Ilvar. We have much to discuss. I expect the young people do as well,” he drawled. Aster’s father shot her a meaningful look, and she instantly crossed the room to Herold, curtsying before him.

“Cousin,” she said demurely.

“Take your hair down,” he said, petulant as usual.

“Not even a polite greeting for your future wife?” She was already taking out the pins, conscious of the other men’s eyes on her back.

“I like to tug the ends,” he said. “You’ve made a fool of me, Aster. They said you walked into the sea rather than marry me.”

“That isn’t true.” I didn’t walk, I took a boat. She took a deep breath to fund the next lie. “I’m very sorry, Herold. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I was walking along the docks and slipped—”

“Clumsy.”

Pins clutched in one hand, she nodded, and her plaits tumbled down. “I was clumsy and—”

He yanked one of her braids so hard it made her eyes water. “Stupid,” he finished the sentence for her.

“Yes,” she agreed, gaze trained on the pattern in the plush carpet. “Clumsy and stupid. And very, very sorry.” More sorry than you’ll know.

Her uncle clapped twice behind her, jarring her out of her self-pity. “Well, that’s settled, then. We’ll have to rush to squeeze in a betrothal and a wedding before the Revel, but we will manage. Ilvar, can you spare—”

He was interrupted by a commotion from the foyer and, frowning, went to check on it. In his absence, Lord Ilvar gave Aster and Herold, who now stood side-by-side, an approving once-over.

“A good match,” he grunted. “You’ll keep her in line.”

“Yes, sir,” Herold said.

Aster felt it then. His right hand snaked behind her back to pinch the tender skin of her upper arm. Even through her sleeve, it was vicious. She tried to keep her face impassive, but a quiet keen escaped her lungs, and beside her, Herold gave a satisfied hum. Her pain soothed him.

Her uncle returned, ruddy face grayed and sweat beading on his lined forehead. “We may have trouble. That was a bride of Corek. The wench from across the sea has disappeared.”

Aster sucked in a breath. She was gone? How was it possible? And what did that mean for the treaty?

“Disappeared?” Herold scoffed. “Where could she go? She’s only hiding…or tripped and fell into the sea.” He snickered, and Aster deftly dodged another behind-the-back pinch.