HALLA

The Cyclopae wedding sounds utterly shocking.

I can’t stop thinking about it as I lie in my pallet that night. Truth be told, I haven’t been able to think of anything but Mathior since he left my side. I never expected to see him again. I certainly did not expect to see him as a grown man, savage and untamed, with a wicked grin that makes my pulse flutter.

He wants to marry me.

Not just because of Yshrem. Because he says he wants me. That he has always wanted me. I’m not sure what to think. I clutch my scratchy blankets to my chest and try to imagine what this means. If I choose to stay here in Riekki’s temple, amongst her devoted, he will ensure that I am safe. I will give up my name, my past, my self entirely, and become just another temple devotee. I will live the rest of my days surrounded in gray.

Truly, it is not such a bad thing, I reason. Riekki’s people have been kind.

But it is not me. I do not fit in here. Just because I have lived here peacefully for sixteen years does not mean I belong. I am not called to serve the goddess, and I feel like a pretender when I see the avid devotion on the faces of those around me.

Can I marry a cyclops warrior, though? I think of Mathior and the fearsome-looking eyepatch that covered half his face. I think of his fur cloak over his naked chest, and the weapons he wore strapped to his body. He is tall now, no longer a small boy. His body is graceful and lean, but corded with muscle. Any woman would be proud to call such a man hers. He’s noble despite his wildness, and if the man is half as thoughtful as the boy, he will be a fine king.

And I am…old.

Thirty-three is not so old, not truly. But as far as virginal brides go, I am ancient. I am a spinster that should have been married off when I was young and fresh and had a throne to bring to my husband. Now I am no one and I have nothing to call my own save my face. Even the gray gown I wear belongs to the temple.

Well, that’s not entirely true. I have a stash of dirty books.

I flush in the dark, thinking of Mathior’s expression as he picked up the book and saw the drawing. He didn’t look scandalized. He looked…interested. Intrigued. Aroused.

My breath quickens in my throat, and my hand steals under the blankets. I have the sudden urge to touch myself between my thighs, to rub that forbidden spot and feel my body tense up until I cannot stand it any longer. I imagine him as the picture, putting his tongue between my thighs and licking me, and a low groan escapes my throat.

Horrified, I clap a hand over my mouth and go silent, hoping that those sleeping in the nearby cells did not hear such a thing. No one gets up to check on me, though, and I relax.

I feel guilty, though. I should be thinking about Yshrem, about how I can benefit my people by being the wife of the king—no matter who the king is. I can bring about change if I have my husband’s ear. Instead, all I am thinking about is what it would be like to kiss him, what it would be like for him to put his tongue in secret places.

Truly, I am a terrible person.

I worry, too. I can’t sleep because when I close my eyes, I worry about the answer I will give in the morning. I want to say yes. Even if I found Mathior repulsive, I can do more to help my people as the wife to the king than simply hiding away in Riekki’s temple for the rest of my days. But I am older than him. He is in his prime and must be all of twenty-four years now. I will be thirty-three in a month’s time. He should get himself a bride that is young and sweet and will bring him an alliance. Instead, if I agree to marry him, he will be getting an older woman who has nothing but a useless family name and breasts that have not yet started to sag, but will soon enough.

He can do better. I know I have a pleasing face and I am well-versed in courtly manners, but so are a dozen other princesses half my age that would be thrilled to have such a handsome man as their husband. It does not matter that he is cyclops. Their ways are strange, but they are a strong tribe and devoted to the gods. There are worse choices to make, in my eyes.

I want to say yes…but I am terrified of what happens next. For the first time in sixteen years, I will leave the walls of Riekki’s quiet temple and re-enter the world as Princess Halla of Yshrem. I will be betrothed to the man who conquered my kingdom and whose father killed my father on the field of battle. I will return with him to Yshrem, and then we will begin the marriage ceremony.

Three days, he said. Three ceremonies.

The Revealing of the Bride, where I will be stripped naked before the entire court. I break out into a cold sweat at the very thought. Even if I were in my prime marriageable years, I would be horrified at the thought. But it is a tradition, and it does not sound like Mathior will bend on such a request.

Of course, then there will be the Tasting of the Bride, which makes me even more nervous. He will put his mouth on me in front of a witness. I cannot imagine the reasoning behind such a thing, but I am both titillated and terrified of that.

The marriage bed itself almost seems like an afterthought. If I can get through day one and two of the wedding ceremony without fleeing, surely joining with my new husband will be a simple task.

Simple. Ha.