Chapter III Vows
III Vows
The air whooshes out of me as I stare into those cruel, molten eyes. I shake, waiting, I don’t know for what. Someone to save me, maybe. But my only ally today is loyal to the Tyrant. There is no salvation, there’s only this choice—my future or my father’s life?
“Yes,” I whisper, and the Tyrant’s eyes crease with pleasure. “But I’ll hate you forever for making me choose.”
“As long as you remember the duties of a wife, I don’t care what you feel for me,” he says smoothly, straightening. “Where’s the priest? Good. Let’s start.”
I realize I’m still holding Khay’s hand, or rather, crushing it. When I follow the Tyrant, as if in a dream, Khay comes along, as if he’s my groom-to-be in place of his ruler. When we stop in front of Father Saius, whose bald head is shiny from sweat, Khay drops my hand but stays by my side.
“The royal rites,” the Tyrant says pleasantly. “I have them memorized, so I’ll know if you cheat.”
The Father’s eyes roll up in terror, the whites bright and prominent against the red, blotchy skin of his face. He is old and wrinkled, much too frail to be put through such an ordeal, but I can’t make myself feel any sympathy for him.
I can only pity myself today. Married. To the Agnidari Tyrant. In a royal wedding!
“We are gathered here today to join in the divine union…” Saius begins in a trembling voice, his hands wrinkled and brown with liver spots, shaking as he clasps them together.
The Tyrant raises his hand, silencing the priest. In a brief moment between the waves of fear and self-pity, I feel an inkling of outrage. One does not silence a priest, ever. It’s just not done.
“Beasts, all of them.”
“Arvi, Raduna, come here. Make sure the priest doesn’t keel over,” the Tyrant says, flicking his black-clawed fingers at two Agnidari who stand nearby, one bald with dark blue tattoos on his head, the other sporting a mane of thin, red braids, his face scarred on one side.
Both are clad in leather, long swords at their belts.
They give sharp nods, their fists briefly pressing to their chests, and flank the priest on both sides. He shakes even harder, his lips wobbling, and when one of the Agnidari grips his elbow, he squeaks in fear.
“There’s no reason to shake so, is there?” the Tyrant asks with mock concern. “Come on, old man. Marry us and you’ll walk out of here unharmed. Screw up, and you’ll be looking for your eyeballs on the floor.”
“That’s unnecessary,” I hiss, unable to contain myself.
I like Father Saius. He’s pompous but harmless, and he’s been here forever. I hate seeing him humiliated like this. He’s another piece of my home the Tyrant has destroyed today.
The Agnidari chuckles, an ugly distortion of a laugh. “Can’t wait to tell your husband what to do? After we’re married, pet.”
“I am not your pet.”
He ignores me, addressing the Father instead. “You finished on divine union. Keep going.”
Perked up by the threat, or maybe the promise of coming out of here alive, Saius continues in a less shaky manner.
“Divine union between Princess Caliane, Flower of the Crown, Diamond of the Castle, Prize of the Kingdom, and… I apologize, Your Grace. What is your full title?”
Father Saius looks at the Tyrant with trepidation, but the other only nods, seemingly unoffended by the question.
“Just Magnar, old man. I am no one’s flower or prize. Though, if you need those verbal ornaments, you may call me Magnar the Tyrant. It’s the name you humans gave me, isn’t it?”
I shiver. He squeezes my hand without looking at me, and I realize he observes my reactions even when it seems he ignores me.
“Princess Caliane and Magnar the Tyrant,” the priest finishes, dropping his gaze with a small, regretful shake of his head. His reluctance doesn’t stop him from going on with the rite.
“As ordained by the Pact of the Eleven Kingdoms, a man wed to a royal princess shall become the sanctioned heir to the throne of her forebears, thus entering the union of the Eleven and gaining a rightful place at the Table of Kings. Magnar the Tyrant, do you accept this honor and burden, and vow to serve your kingdom and subjects with a strong heart and pure intentions?”
“I do,” he says, squeezing my fingers harder.
When I look up at his profile, I realize his jaw trembles. His shoulders are tense, eyes hard and staring right ahead. He seems to be in pain, and I don’t understand why. He’s the one who wanted this.
It’s utterly strange that he seems almost as upset as I am, and desperately trying not to show it. Why?
“Princess Caliane, do you accept Magnar the Tyrant’s hand in marriage and welcome him to join the dynasty of kings as the father of your future offspring?”
I forget all about the Tyrant’s travails as the reality of what I’m agreeing to hits me anew.
I won’t just have to lie with him once to seal the union—I might have his children.
Tiny little creatures with gray skin and strange eyes will live in my womb and come out of me.
The offspring of my people’s worst enemy.
Though—maybe not.
“Can we even have children?” I blurt out, too loud in the quiet room.
All around me, Agnidari warriors huff and snicker, and I blush, remembering belatedly what Avinia told me. They impregnate human women en masse after a conquest.
But I never saw an Agnidari in the flesh before today.
The topics of mating and pregnancy were discussed in a circumspect manner to save my supposed innocence, and I had to learn what I could from forbidden books in the library—for example, detailed farming manuals.
That’s how I learned one can’t breed a cat and a dog, for example. They are too different.
Aren’t humans and Agnidari like cats and dogs?
“I assure you, Flower of the Crown, we can,” the Tyrant says, his tension wiped away, mouth curling in a smirk. “I’ll demonstrate at your earliest convenience.”
“Oh, gods.”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, so tired of this wretched day, fed up with feeling weak and lost, terrified of what comes next. This is the worst I’ve been through, and it will only get worse from here. I can’t do it.
“Might you reconsider killing me?” I ask in a small voice on the verge of breaking.
He lets go of my hand, and I breathe in relief, thinking for a moment he’ll do it. He hates this, too, doesn’t he? Why would he want me for a wife, anyway? For a seat at the Table of Kings? He’ll conquer all Eleven Kingdoms in ten years at this rate, and all the kings will sit at his feet. So what…
A pair of large, calloused hands frames my face. I open my eyes with a gasp, only to be swallowed by the silver of his gaze.
“I will not kill you, little prize,” he breathes in a voice so quiet, it’s meant just for me. His breath fans my face, and I realize it doesn’t reek of rotten meat as I was led to believe. No, it smells fresh and spicy. Like cloves.
“But you’ll rape me,” I whisper back, tears crowding my eyes.
He inhales sharply and doesn’t answer me at once. It seems like he gathers his thoughts, and the pressure inside me eases, just a tiny bit of relief. I matter enough to be given a thoughtful answer.
“We will be husband and wife, and I will expect heirs” he says at last, eyes serious. “Fucking is unavoidable, pet. But it doesn’t have to be unpleasant. I will do my part as long as you meet me halfway.”
“I don’t understand what it means,” I confess, a bit reassured and freshly confused.
“It’s not rape if you want it,” he says, something glittering in his eyes.
“But I don’t want it.”
“How can you tell if you haven’t tried?”
With that, he straightens and takes my hand, sharp claws briefly pressing into the soft flesh of my palm.
I swallow tears, questions, and loud protests, remembering why I’m doing it—so my father is spared.
There is no way out, and if I can go through with this wedding, I can very well handle the wedding night.
Maybe I’ll dose myself with laudanum so I don’t have to stay conscious. Sounds like an idea.
“All right, I do,” I say, wishing for this to be over. “I accept his hand in marriage and the unlikely offspring. What else?”
“Accept his dick!”
My spine stiffens when I hear the call somewhere behind us, in the crowd of restless Agnidari watching the wedding. The Tyrant clicks his tongue with displeasure and turns to Khay, who stands by my side.
“Find out who said it and lock him up for me.”
“Yes, my king.”
The Tyrant turns back to the priest, a cool smile on his lips. “Keep going, old man.”
“Do you, Magnar the Tyrant, take Princess Caliane as your lawful and only wife, and vow to shield and protect her, be faithful to her and comfort her in every trouble?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to guard her peace and honor, protect the crown, and welcome all children she gives you as your own? Do you vow to bring up your children in a manner befitting the future kings and queens of the nation?”
“I do.”
“Do you vow to love Princess Caliane?”
There is a pause, and I look up with surprise, my stomach roiling unpleasantly. He said he memorized the royal vows, but I never even read them before. I’ve been to a royal wedding as a little girl, but the vows did not interest me then. I had no idea this was a part of the rite.
When the silence stretches, I scoff. “Seems unnecessary. All royal marriages are brokered for political benefits, not love.”
“Even so, a husband must love his wife even if she’s a stranger to him before the union,” Father Saius says in his lecturing voice. He’s not trembling anymore, and good for him. “And a wife must accept her husband’s love.”
I shiver, pressing my lips into a thin line. I don’t know how I will say my vows with a straight face, but maybe I won’t have to. It looks like my groom is having trouble going through with it.
“You can still kill me,” I say hopefully.
That seems to break through his hesitation. He gives me an amused look, shakes his head once, and straightens.
“I vow to love Princess Caliane.”
The world tips sideways, a strange lightness entering my limbs. I take a shaky breath, those words burrowing into my memory despite my best efforts to remind myself they mean nothing. It’s just a part of the rite. It’s tradition.
However—no man but my father has ever said he loved me. And I always secretly wanted to hear those words, preferably from the lips of a handsome, dashing prince with green eyes and golden hair.
Well, I’ll take a fake confession from a counterfeit prince, then. Better this than nothing.
“Do you, Princess Caliane, Flower of the Crown, Diamond of the Castle, Prize of the Kingdom, take Magnar the Tyrant as your lawful and only husband, and vow to watch over his reign, be faithful to him, and a comfort in his every trouble?”
I badly want to ask what exactly all those things entail, and how one comforts a troubled Agnidari, but I only grit my teeth and choke out the words, “I do.”
“Do you promise to give him children, protect him from folly, and welcome him to your bed as often as he wishes?”
“Gods,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Really? That’s… really? Why does he get to guard peace and honor, and protect the crown? That’s so noble! And I get to… be a bed warmer!”
Scattered laughs break out behind me, and the Tyrant huffs in amusement. Khay comes back, and when I glance at him, he sports a small, close-lipped smile.
“These are the royal rites,” Father Saius says with pity. “I am sorry, Princess.”
“Fine,” I spit. “I do. Get on with it.”
The Tyrant squeezes my hand, and when I look up, his eyes are on me, sly and triumphant. I quickly look away, bracing for the worst… But it doesn’t come. I don’t have to vow to love him.
Father Saius raises his arms, his voice gaining a pompous quality as he says the final blessing over us.
“The vows are made, the rites are said. Let Goddess Lirande bless the married couple with the light of her wisdom, so they will learn from each other, and let Goddess Amiya shower them with blessings of fertility and love. I pronounce Magnar the Tyrant to be the divinely blessed heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Farneer, and Princess Caliane—his lawful wife, the future queen of Farneer.”
Hoots and shouts break out behind us as the Agnidari soldiers celebrate.
I risk a glance at my father. He watches me with hard, pain-filled eyes, but he no longer weeps.
I want to go to him and tell him that I’m sorry, and that I saved him at least. I would do it again, even with the prospect of…
whatever will happen tonight. I don’t want to think about it.
The Tyrant raises my hand slowly, bowing over it, and I lose sight of my father. My new, unwelcome husband presses a long, respectful kiss to the back of my hand, the way courtiers do, except no courtier would ever look at me with such insolent, possessive eyes.
I hate that expression on his face, and I hate that I am the one who’s caused it. He should suffer for everything he’s done to my people. He should die.
“Hold up your end of the bargain,” I growl, clenching my hand into a fist as he pulls away.
He shrugs and looks over his shoulder. “Untie the half-sized king and give him back his weapons.”
My heart beats faster as I watch the Agnidari take off the restraints from my father’s wrists. He really does look small next to them, but that barely matters. He won’t die today. And I will live, too. It’s so much more than I hoped for when dawn goldened the world today.
“Father!” I cry out, choked by relief, gratitude, and pride.
I saved us. And for this one glorious moment, it doesn’t matter that I’ll spend the rest of my life as the Tyrant’s bed warmer.
“Father!”
I try to rush to his side as he takes the gag out of his mouth, an Agnidari throwing his belt and sword on the throne for my father to pick up. But the Tyrant holds me back, his hand firmly on mine.
“Stay, pet.”
I turn to him in a fury, fed up with this man and his disrespect. “For the final time, I am not your pet! Call me something else, or nothing at all. We don’t have to speak. Now let me go.”
His brows rise, but he’s not offended by my outburst. Instead, he seems appreciative.
“I see what they meant by raising children in a manner befitting kings and queens. Very well, dear. I will no longer call you pet unless we’re fucking.”
I flinch back, the word jarring, filthy, wrong. My face heats with a blush, shame squirming in my lower belly. He laughs, shaking his head, but when his eyes fix on something behind me, that expression freezes on his face. His mouth opens, sharp teeth bared.
I turn just in time to see my father charging us with his sword leading the way. But it’s not aimed at the Tyrant or Khay.
The sword points right at my belly.