HALLA

I’m still numb with shock as the two female Cyclopae return me to my rooms. They didn’t smirk when I gave them my answer—that yes, Mathior pleased me in bed. I like them immensely for that. Then I’m sent back to my chambers and I’m alone. I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare out at my room, dazed.

Even though this is the same room I left just a short while ago, I feel like a different person. The blankets and bedding are fine Yshremi weave, but I pick up the fur-trimmed cloak at the foot of my bed and touch the soft edging, because the white of it reminds me of Mathior’s cloak. I gaze up at the banner on the wall. Once upon a time, my father’s family crest hung there, and a tapestry of Yshremi legends covered the other wall. Those are gone, and in their place, the banns hang as if reminding me that the ruling house of Yshrem will be united with the Cyclopae king tomorrow.

As if I could possibly forget.

I squeeze my thighs together and tremble. I’m still damp and throbbing from where he touched me. If I close my eyes and think hard enough, I can almost feel his tongue there, exploring my folds and doing things I’ve never dreamed of. It was just like in the book, and it felt better than I ever imagined. My nipples tighten at the memory and I resist the urge to run my hand over them. If this “tasting” was so good, I cannot possibly imagine how wondrous the marriage bed will be.

I’m actually…excited about the prospect. I can’t stop blushing, either. Mathior doesn’t seem to care that I’m eight years older than him and probably past my best childbearing years. All he cares about is…me. Kissing me. Talking to me. Tasting me. He calls me his love. I’m utterly dazzled by him. I know I should be thinking strategically about how I can use the throne to push for Yshrem, to ensure that they are not completely overrun by Cyclopae wars and customs, but all I can think of is Mathior. His smile. His kiss.

His tongue.

Gods above, but I am utterly infatuated with him. I fling myself back on my bed and sigh like the young girl I no longer am.

“Whore,” someone spits at me.

I sit upright on my bed, glancing around my room. I thought I was alone. Fear hammers through me and I go stiff as an elderly woman emerges from my private garderobe and into my chambers. She doesn’t carry a knife, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t here to do me harm. “Who are you?” My voice is calm and steady. “What are you doing in my rooms?”

“I am one of your people.” She scowls at me as if I am dirt beneath her feet, her lip curling in disdain. She pushes into my room as if she owns it, storming toward me to point one age-withered finger in my face. “And you should be ashamed!”

I’m too stunned to say anything. There are guards outside my chambers. I could scream and they would be on this woman in an instant. She’d be sent to the dungeons—or simply executed for putting my life in danger. And yet…she carries no knife on her, no rope to strangle me—if she even could with her wizened arms. And she is Yshremi, as I am. “Ashamed?”

“For spreading your thighs for that cyclops! He and his people murdered your father! Stole our lands!” Her eyes shimmer with tears. “Destroyed everything our people stood for. My sons died in that war. Sixteen years and we’ve hated the cyclops invaders with every beat of our hearts. Imagine how it felt to hear that Princess Halla, last of the royal line of Yshrem, would be marrying the beast that killed her father.”

“Mathior didn’t—” I whisper, but she cuts me off with a baleful glare.

“He’s the spawn of King Alistair, is he not? You might as well coat your bed in your father’s blood.”

I flinch, because her words are cruel. “It’s not like that.”

“Is it not? Do you think he wants you because you are young and nubile?” She gives me another scornful look. “Because you are rich? Or simply because it’s an easy way for him to quell any sort of uprisings? And you are foolish enough to fall for such a thing!”

Her words are like daggers. I lean away from her as she looms over me, and I feel like a naughty child. “It’s not like that,” I say weakly. “He loves me. He told me.”

“Of course he said that. You would have to be a monumental fool to marry him if he treated you as if he hated you.” She lifts her chin and gives me another scowl. “I hope his mouth is worth the lives of your people.”

I’m shocked at the vitriol in her voice. I simply stare at her, aghast, until she crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you going to call the guards on me? Have me executed for telling you the truth?”

My mouth works silently for a moment. “No,” I say finally. How can I when she’s one of my people? She doesn’t understand how it is between myself and Mathior. How kind and caring he is. How much he loves me and makes me feel pretty.

You would have to be a monumental fool to marry him if he treated you as if he hated you.

Am I a fool? As I remain on the bed, silent, she harrumphs and returns to my garderobe and shuts the door behind her once more. I hear something that sounds like the scrape of stone. A secret passage, then. Castle Yshrem is filled with them. I get to my feet and lock the door, then press on the side of the large wooden trunk against the wall until it’s in front of the door.

I return to my bed, my happiness draining out of me instantly.

Am I falling for pretty words and a talented tongue simply because it’s an easy way to subdue the budding Yshremi uprising? Is Mathior truly that devious?

Can I marry him? Should I? I pick up the cloak with the white fur edging and pet it, but it no longer gives me pleasure. All I can think of is Mathior and his smile…and I wonder if I am betraying my people.

I have a day to decide.