Wed to the Barbarian (Barbarian Duet #1)

H e was too short, as usual.

The robe pooled around his shiny boots, and Jem felt like a silly child playing dress-up instead of a man on his wedding day. Scowling, he rolled up the sleeves of the traditional wedding robe a cleric had brought him that morning, neatly folded and smelling of lemons.

The white, lightweight material went over his head and draped down over his body, his arms poking through wide, overlong sleeves.

It was designed to fall to a person’s knees, and he wore his regular thin, tight breeches underneath.