Bride of the Shadow King

Larongar has sent thirty horsemen. All fitted out with armor and many of them carrying magic-laced weapons. Also, to one side stands a Miphato, grim and silent, with a spellbook tucked under his arm.

“And you still think it was a wise idea to bring just us three?” Sul mutters as we watch Hael pass between two rows of armed men on her way to the pavilion.

“We have no need for a show of force,” I reply. “Larongar must protect his daughter. Theirs was a long journey across the country. These men are a testimony to his love for her.”

“A testimony to his fear of Prince Ruvaen, more like.” Sul catches my quick glance. “What? It’s not a bad thing, is it? It means Larongar is desperate. Another man’s desperation is a powerful tool. For the first time, I think there might be some wisdom in this madcap marriage plot of yours.”

I grunt. Hael has reached the pavilion entrance where a woman in a long cloak greets her. Hael holds a box containing the first of my wedding gifts for Ilsevel—a gown and a jeweled belt, fashioned by Mythanar dressmakers after trolde fashion but to fit her more petite human measurements. The woman opens the lid, inspects the contents, and nods. She waves a hand for Hael to enter, then follows after, still carrying the box.

The human men stand with their backs to the pavilion, facing out into the night. At first, I think it merely a defensive stance. Then a lantern flares inside the tent, illuminating the interior and casting silhouetted shadows against the curtained walls. I recognize Hael’s tall figure and that of the woman with the box. A third figure sits in a chair in the center of the pavilion. Ilsevel.

My gaze locks upon that shadow. I find myself striving to make something of it, to discern some feeling from that featureless impression. As difficult as this situation is for me, I know it is ten times worse for her. It is she who must leave behind her friends and family, everyone and everything she knows, for a strange new world where she is surrounded by people who do not share her face, her history, even her language. And none of this by her own choice. Of that I am too painfully aware.

I’ll make it right for her. Just as I promised her sister. I’ll treat her well. I’ll make her happy.

The seated shadow rises, holds out her arms. Hael steps forward, and for a moment I don’t quite realize what’s happening. Then the gown slips from the girl’s body, and I’m presented with the silhouette of a naked female form.

Heat rushes through my body. Drawing a short breath, I turn my back, one hand resting on my morleth’s shoulder. Feeling watchful eyes upon me, I catch Sul’s gaze. He smirks and waggles his eyebrows. Beyond him, Yok still stares at the pavilion. I clear my throat. The boy visibly starts, then whirls on his heels so fast that his morleth growls and yanks its head, nearly pulling its reins free.

Sul barks a laugh. “Best be the last time you’re caught ogling your queen, little pip.”

“I wasn’t!” Yok looks to me, his nostrils flaring. “I swear, Your Majesty, I wouldn’t—”

“Peace, Yok. I don’t doubt your honor. Just try to be a little more aware of where your eyes fall, yes?” I shoot a glare at my brother. “Leave the boy alone. And turn around yourself, why don’t you?”

Sul snorts. But he puts his back to the pavilion, sighing languidly. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Vor, my brother, you’re going to squash that little slip of a woman like a jiru berry. Pop!”

“Sul?”

“Yes?”

“If you speak one word more, I will personally put your nose through the back of your head.”

He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and shrugs. Instead, he devotes his attention to the cuticles of one hand, tunelessly humming a traditional wedding song all the while.

I release a long sigh and face the Between Gate. Above me, the sky slowly spins, its distant stars twinkling like tiny lorst crystals as they pursue their heavenly dance. My stomach pitches with awareness of that huge emptiness. I close my eyes and try to draw the image of Ilsevel’s face to mind. We’d known each other for such a short time, I can’t recall many details. She was beautiful, I do remember that. Her eyes were dark and suspicious, but they sparkled when she laughed. Her feet were light, her hands graceful. And her singing. Now, that I recall well enough. Her singing was like no other.

I could come to love a voice like that. Surely.

“Your Majesty.”

I look back over my shoulder. Hael hastens through the line of armed men, approaches me, and offers a sharp salute. “I’ve inspected the offered bride, Your Majesty. She is certainly Ilsevel Cyhorn. She appears to be unharmed, unblemished, and sound of body and mind.”

I nod. “Very good, Hael. Please, proceed.”

Hael hesitates. “There’s just one thing.”

“Yes?”

“Human tradition dictates she must wear a veil over her face. Apparently, none should see her until the marriage is finalized.”

My brow puckers slightly. This had not been communicated to me earlier. “And you are certain the girl beneath the veil is Ilsevel?”

“I am, sire. I saw her face clearly.”

“Very well. Let her wear a veil then. We must embrace the traditions of her people even as we guide her into our own.”

Hael nods and returns to the pavilion. I spare a single swift glance for the lantern-lit walls, glimpsing the slim form standing with her arms wrapped around herself. Either out of modesty or simple cold, I cannot guess. I face away once more. My morleth paws the ground and snorts, shooting out streams of billowing steam.

“Taking long enough,” Sul growls, forgetting my earlier warning.

I cast him a wry look. “Nervous, brother?”

“No, just damn cold.”

Yok flashes a devious grin. “Eager to return to Lady Xag’s warm embrace, eh? Ow!” He yelps and leaps back, rubbing his ear where Sul clipped him.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” Sul says smoothly. “Children are to be seen and not heard.”

Yok mutters darkly but doesn’t push his luck. We stand in silence for some moments before there’s movement behind us. I turn in time to see Hael exiting the pavilion. She speaks to Prince Theodre. I watch the prince breathe an audible sigh of relief. Which is odd. What had he feared would go wrong?

Before I have a chance to consider this question more closely, my bride appears. She’s clad in the gown I’d ordered for her—lavender hugagug silk, trimmed in living gems, belted at the waist. The bodice hugs her figure, pushing up her breasts and displaying her round, soft shoulders. The skirt clings to her hips, her thighs, and floats from the knees, trailing in gentle ripples behind her with each step. Even with that odd beaded veil covering her face, the effect is very troldish.

She’s beautiful. I’d forgotten just how beautiful.

And soon she will be mine.

Theodre offers her his arm. She seems to waver before lightly dropping her fingers along his wrist. They progress through the guard, who hold up their arms in crisp salute. Hael and the other woman trail behind them.

I hope my face reveals nothing as I watch their approach. My head is a storm of feelings which I cannot arrange in any coherent form. Now that she’s here, I feel a hunger I’ve rarely allowed myself to acknowledge roaring inside me. With that hunger comes shame. For I must take her, am eager to take her. Eager to know her as my wife, to discover the delights of the flesh promised to married couples. But I do not love her.

Curse that veil of hers! I should have refused to allow it, for it hides her face, preventing me from discerning any trace of her own feelings. Is she glad to see me? Is she angry, resentful, hopeful, fearful? Merely resigned? I cannot know, cannot even guess. And we will not have a moment for private conversation until we meet in the bridal chamber. At which point we are not expected to talk.

I draw a deep breath and compose my face into stoic lines as Theodre leads his sister to me. He holds her hand out like an offering. “King Vor, allow me to present your bride—Ilsevel Cyhorn.”

I can almost discern the shape of her eyes through the elaborate beadwork. She seems to be gazing up at me. The air is suddenly caught in a frozen moment of stillness. As though some decision is even now being made. A decision that will determine the rest of my life.

Slowly, she sinks into a curtsy.

“No, no,” I say. She looks up sharply, frightened. I smile, trying to make my expression kindly as I extend a hand to her. “You need not make obeisance to me. You are my bride. It is I who must honor you.”

She hesitates. Slowly, she lets go of Theodre and places her hand in mine, allowing me to help her rise. I bow deeply and kiss her knuckles. For just an instant, as my eyes close, I step back into the cold winter-locked garden at Beldroth. And it’s Faraine’s hand I hold, Faraine’s fingers pressed against my lips. Faraine’s shocked gaze I meet as I lift my head.

But there’s no Faraine now. Just that beaded veil and that impression of a face studying me closely from behind it.

I rise, still smiling determinedly. She tilts her head, her hand trembling in my grasp. “I greet you in the name of Nornala, King Vor,” she says in a low voice somewhat muffled from behind the beadwork. “It is my honor and my joy to become your wife.”

There’s no joy in her voice. The words are rote, heavy. We stand there looking at one another, neither of us daring to make the next move.

Theodre clears his throat loudly. “Well, go ahead then. Take her, why don’t you?”

I turn to the human prince, glad to have my attention diverted. “The wedding ceremony will take place immediately upon our arrival in Mythanar. You may expect the return of your eyewitness in two days’ time.” I glance at Ilsevel. “Have you said your goodbyes?”

“I’ve said everything I wish to say,” she responds coolly without so much as a glance for Theodre.

With a last nod to the prince, I lead Ilsevel to my mount. She doesn’t falter, much to my surprise. Most would flinch upon first encountering a beast as awful and savage as a morleth. But then, Ilsevel is a brave creature. Or so I’ve been told.

“Wait a moment. Wait a gods-blighted moment. How am I supposed to get up on that thing?”

The sharp voice draws my attention to Hael’s morleth, standing close by. The other woman, the one who’d been in the pavilion with Hael and my bride, stands there with her arms crossed, her expression mulish and just a little frightened. I was so concentrated on Ilsevel that I’d spared no attention for her companion. Only now do I realize she’s not timid little Princess Aurae but a stranger.

Frowning, I turn to Theodre. “I was given to understand that my bride’s sister would be joining our party as witness for Gavaria. Is that not so?”

Ilsevel catches a short breath. When I glance her way, she drops her head. Have I offended her somehow?

“Oh, yes.” Theodre twists the ring on his left middle finger. “Princess Aurae was . . . indisposed. Our, er, cousin was chosen to take her place. Allow me to present Lady Lyria.”

I take a second look at the other woman. I find human faces a little difficult to differentiate sometimes, but there’s certainly something about her that reminds me of the Cyhorn daughters. Something in the brow, perhaps, or the line of the jaw. I nod slowly. “Very well. Welcome to our party, Lady Lyria. You will be safe riding with Captain Hael, I assure you.”

“And how do you expect me to get up there?” Lyria demands. “Am I to jump?”

“I’ll help you up,” Sul says smoothly, sidling over to leer at her over the back of the morleth. “I’m quite good with my hands, let me assure you.”

“Back off, Sul,” Hael growls. She addresses the lady, bowing her head respectfully. “I can assist you into the saddle, my lady. It is no trouble.” She crouches and offers her hands for a leg up. Lady Lyria looks as though she’d like to protest, but when she catches my brother’s lascivious smirk, she grabs a handful of mane, places her foot in Hael’s palms, and pulls herself into the saddle. She very nearly goes over the other side, but Sul catches and steadies her. “There, see? Told you: Good with my hands.”

Lyria casts him a sweet smile. “And if you’d like to keep both of them attached to your arms, you’ll remove them from my person at once.”

“Step away, Sul,” I snap. Not waiting to see if my command is carried out, I return my attention to Ilsevel. She stands still and silent, so impossible to read. My morleth swings its heavy head around, flashing its sharp teeth at her, and shakes its head so hard, every silver buckle of its bridle rattles. Ilsevel draws back a step. I put out a hand, touching the small of her back. She straightens at once, pulling away from me.

My gut tightens uncomfortably. This is so much harder than I anticipated. “Don’t be afraid,” I say softly. “Knar is a fright to look upon, but he’s really gentle as a lamb, I swear. In time, I’ll teach you to ride a morleth of your own. Would that please you?”

She turns her head, the beads of her veil winking in the lanternlight. Slowly she nods. Just once. “Thank you, my king.” So stiff, so formal.

“With your permission,” I continue, “may I lift you into the saddle? You’ll ride in front of me. It’s very safe, I promise.”

She nods and turns to me. Her hands rest on my shoulders as I take hold of her waist. It’s not difficult to lift her—she weighs so little. She settles herself on the low pommel, grabbing a handful of dark mane for balance. She looks much more comfortable than I might have expected for a first time on morleth-back. I swing up into the saddle behind her, wrapping one arm around her middle as I take hold of the reins. She leans back against me, and . . . Gods damn me, why must I again be reminded so acutely of her sister? If I didn’t know any better, I should think it was Faraine in my arms again, not Ilsevel.

But this is wrong. I must purge such thoughts from my head. Now. Forever. Closing my eyes for a moment, I breathe out a prayer. Then I look down at the girl in front of me. My view is rather too good, straight down the front of that low-cut dress. Another rush of heat roils in my gut, and I avert my eyes quickly.

Prince Theodre sweeps the feathered hat from his head. “May the seven gods shine upon your union!” he says, offering a deep bow.

I nod once. Then I turn my morleth’s head for the Between Gate. Time to get out of this world. Time to begin my new life together with this girl. This stranger.