Chapter Four
HE WAS DRESSED in a military uniform, one that denoted his high rank, and the accompanying cloak, which would be part of the ceremony.
He found that he had underestimated his captive.
She was extremely clever. Perhaps more clever when it came to these matters than he was.
He would have to watch her closely. She had spoken of her father, said that he was manipulative.
It was clear that she understood the mechanics of manipulation.
He would have to keep special watch on her to ensure that she wasn’t trying to do it to him.
Though what he had said to her was true. He did not have finer feelings. That made it very difficult for him to be manipulated. Though when he had touched her hand…
Yes. There were other ways to manipulate men. And he was no better than any other man when it came to matters of the flesh.
He had made a bargain with her. He would not take her to bed. And at this point, it was for his own security as well as hers.
She was a very sharp knife in a drawer. A valuable thing, but if you reached around blindly, it could be used against you.
He walked out of his chamber, and down the stairs, toward where they would convene for the wedding, just as the door to her quarters opened.
She came out, her hair styled elaborately, with white flowers placed in her dark curls, the wedding gown fitting closely against curves that had only been hinted at in the clothes she had worn so far.
She was so feminine and fragile. The kind of thing he would have to be careful holding in his hand. He had no gentleness in him. He could crush her far too easily.
That is part of her charm. Part of her ability to manipulate. Nothing is fragile about this woman, and you know it.
Yes. He did know that. Because she had fought him and fought him well when he had taken her captive.
And when she had discovered that fighting him physically wouldn’t work she had fought him with her wits.
And now she had convinced him to create this story where they were in love.
And he could see the easy merit in it. But he had to wonder if she was seeing something that he didn’t.
She looked at him, and a delicate blush colored the top of her cheekbones.
Warmth cascaded through his bloodstream, and he chose not to question it, not to linger on it. Not linger on what she had been thinking or what he felt in response.
“Take my arm,” he said.
He needed to become immune to her touch.
She was only a woman. It was only her hand.
But he realized as the two of them began to walk toward the balcony that one thing she had done by turning this into a love story was cut him off from his ability to find release.
He had been celibate for three years. The idea of being celibate for two more suddenly seemed unbearable.
He could make arrangements, he knew. He could have the women sign nondisclosure agreements. But she had made this very difficult for him.
“Of course, with the story that you have told, you’ve made it very difficult for either of us to take lovers.”
Her fingers curled, her nails scratching him just slightly through the fabric of his military jacket. “Excuse me?”
“Now that you have painted it as a great love story, you have put us both in the position where any love affair we might have could be weaponized.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were considering having one.”
“Two years of celibacy?”
“Ragnar, I have been in a convent for three years.”
He might as well have been. Though he didn’t wish to tell her that. Because it might give her the idea that she had more power to exploit.
“And before?”
“I was barely eighteen and living in a palace. You could put those pieces together yourself.”
But they were then swept out onto the balcony, and he was prevented from following that down the logical road.
There was a sea of people down there, and the cheers when they came out were deafening. Even up there.
His country had turned out to see this. His people.
He felt suddenly overwhelmed. By a wall of something inside of him that was pushing against his chest. Creating pressure behind his eyes.
He had been cut off for all of his life. He had been alone. But these people, they had waited for him. They had needed him. This was why he had made it this far. He would not make a mistake now. He would not fail them.
He would manage this, all of it unerringly, for them. He would give them whatever they needed.
He took that feeling and pushed it down deep, added it to all of the dogged determination that lived inside of him.
This was the right thing.
So long as he remained in control.
The officiant came forward, an Orthodox priest who incorporated new and old ways. And he began to speak the vows for them to repeat. Ragnar realized that Fern would not understand.
“I give myself to you,” he repeated in English. “For all of my life, and into the next. I give you my heart. My body. My breath. I give you my sword, to raise against your enemies, for they are now mine. In my home you are always safe. You are the most important battle I will ever fight.”
He pulled his knife from its position on his thigh and grabbed the edge of his cloak, cutting the end off, and tearing a strip.
Her eyes were wide, the green more intense as she stared up at him. And he pressed his hand against hers, that strip of cloth held between their palms as he began to wind it around them.
The priest began to speak her vows. She looked at him, repeating the words as best she could, but clearly not knowing what they meant.
“Now I am bound to you,” he translated. “To keep your hearth and home. To forsake the touch of any other, and their children for your name. My bloodline is now yours. Your home is now mine. I forsake all that I was, to become all that you need.”
The color drained slightly from her face, and he tightened the cord, even more so cementing the bond.
“And what has been joined can never be torn asunder. Not with any sword wielded by the hands of men. For this bond extends beneath skin. To the soul. Unto heaven, and the underworld.”
They turned and he held their arms up, so that the people below could see where they were bound. The cheer rolled through him, and then they turned and walked away, back into the palace.
Her hands were shaking, and she brought one over and began to fiercely undo where they were knotted.
“I… I need to get out of this. I needed to be untied.”
“Stop,” he said. “Steady yourself. Until we are alone.”
He walked with her down the corridor, and into his study, where he closed the door firmly behind them with his free hand, and she continued to attack the knot like she was an ermine caught in a hunter’s noose.
He flexed his forearm, and pulled, snapping the bonds. “There.”
“Those vows are horrendously misogynistic,” she said.
“How exactly?”
“I had to pledge my very blood to you, and you just have to fight for me.”
“Unto death, Fern. I am obligated to lay down my life for you.”
“You didn’t have to pledge your cojones to me, however. I had to promise my womb.” Color mounted high on her cheekbones. This time from embarrassment.
“The vows were for show.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But it feels like a very sacred thing to be taking lightly.”
“How can it be both misogynistic and sacred?”
“I think you’ll find that doesn’t seem to be a conflict in most of humanity.”
“You did well. You did exactly what was asked of you. And now we wait for your father to call.”
“I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”
“He did. But I put him off until the last moment. And then expect…”
His phone rang. He went to the desk and picked it up. “King Octavio, it is good to hear from you.”
“What have you done?”
“I’ve married your daughter. And now things will look different between our countries.”
“Put her on the phone.”
She tilted her chin up. “I have no problem speaking to him.”
“English,” he said as he handed her the phone.
She shot him a hard glare. “Hola, Papa. As you can see, I was taken from the convent. But I think that you will agree that the solution is a fine one.”
“You cannot trust this man,” he said.
“I don’t trust him. But I do believe that we would be better served working with him rather than against him. And I did what I had to do to disconnect you from the previous dictator. You’re welcome.”
“He has not harmed you?”
The expression on her face shifted. “No. He has not. But thank you for asking.”
He stole the phone from her then. “I have treated her better than anyone in your household ever did. I will be sending over my demands by the end of the week.”
“You have the terms of the agreement,” Octavio said in response.
“I will have the terms I lay out. You tried to run from me, Octavio. Men who run from me are always caught. Make no mistake.”
He hung the phone up and tossed it down on his desk.
“He won’t go against you,” Fern said. “He’s far too aware of his own need to preserve himself.”
“You definitely made an impossible situation for him.”
She laughed. “Well. Seeing as he spent the last twenty-one years putting me in impossible situations it feels almost poetic. I never would have thought that I could use any of these things to my own advantage. How nice to be proven wrong.”
“A word of caution to you,” he said, pausing for a moment and looking into those fathomless green eyes. “I will not be manipulated.”
“Then continue to treat me like a partner and I won’t need to do it.”
He almost admired her. The way that she refused to cower. Refused to say that she wasn’t trying to manipulate him, or that she never would.
She was intent on going toe to toe with him. It was difficult to object.
Because in his life, strength could only be admired. And he had to admire hers as well, even if he also had to be wary of it.
“You are not in a position to negotiate.”
She smiled. “Neither are you. Now, we have married. What is it that you intend to do next?”
“I have new legislation to review.”
“Do you have a parliament or anything like that?”
“No. There has been some talk of implementing one, but until then, I am mainly focusing on restoring functionality to the system.”
“Is there anything that I can help with?”
He frowned. “I did not marry you for help with matters of state.”
“In a fashion, you did. You said that you wanted me to help you with diplomacy.”
“That’s different. It is a woman’s work.”
He said it dismissively. Without thought. And when he looked back at her green eyes, she was giving him a deep glare. “What? Do you object to the characterization?”
“Yes. I do. Because I watched my mother be pushed into the background, disrespected, relegated to the shadows because her work was only a woman’s work.”
“You don’t intend to stay here,” he pointed out.
“No. I don’t. How…was your parents’ marriage? How did they balance things?”
And here was where that great yawning cavern existed. That place that stood empty. Meaningless. His past life before he had left the palace.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“You don’t know it at all?”
“No. I’ve mentioned already, I don’t remember how I escaped. I don’t remember the day that the palace was taken. And I don’t truly remember my life before.”
“Did you…?” She moved closer to him, her scent intoxicating. She was like wildflowers and the forest. Something that he missed sometimes.
There had been few moments in his life when he had been a man without a mission. But when he had been simply a man, it had always been in the wilderness. He had given that up. He was a symbol now, not a person, and it was something he believed in. Felt keenly.
But it did not mean that sometimes the memory of his teenage years did not call to him. The lure of freedom…
She was a witch, perhaps. Her own designs on freedom infecting him. Informing him now, when he should not be thinking of that at all. He should be thinking about ways to continue to move his country forward.
She let out a breath. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“It doesn’t bother me. How can it? I don’t recall it.”
“Did you have amnesia? Did you have any idea who you were?”
“Yes. I did, but it only lived in the back of my mind. A very vague understanding. I knew my name, though they did not call me by my name. It was dangerous for anyone to know that I was alive. I understood that. I understood that I was the rightful king, but… I don’t remember life here.
I don’t remember if I was close with my parents.
It’s all gone. Wiped away by whatever happened that day. ”
Her voice had grown hushed. There was softness now on her face that he had never seen directed at him before. “It must’ve been terrible.”
“Happily, I don’t know. Maybe it was. But it is not in my memory.
I don’t need it to be. That’s what I’ve decided.
It must be useless information. Everything that I have ever needed to know has been there.
Every skill that I have ever needed to have has presented itself to me.
This, I am certain, is no different. I misspoke.
It is not because it is women’s work that I need you to do diplomacy.
It is because it is the one thing I don’t understand. ”
“Well. That’s better.”
He didn’t like admitting deficiency in any capacity. But a good leader also knew where his weaknesses were.
He would not hold his country back by being stubborn here.
“Well, that was my first piece of diplomacy accomplished—keeping my father from storming your shores—I will go away and ponder the rest.”
“A good plan, my queen.”
It seems a shame, to not be the one to remove her wedding dress.
The thought was so unexpected, the feeling that accompanied it so visceral, he had to brace his palms on the desk as she walked away from him.
He had never thought about marriage. Not beyond the potential for it to be useful politically. Not beyond the need to produce a child to carry on his bloodline.
He had not thought about it all those years, even when he was lonely in the woods. It meant very little to him.
He had always known that he wasn’t part of any of those warm families in the village where he had grown up.
That he was not part of the family in the household he was brought up in.
He was different. Separate. Later it had become clear to him that it was a good thing he had always been held separate.
Because his life was meant to be in service of others.
It was meant to restore this nation. It was his responsibility. Born into his blood.
Marriage, family, love, none of that was part of it.
Still, right then, the place where they had been bound together by his cloak burned.
He had no explanation for that.