Chapter XII Confession
XII Confession
Khay carries me out of the tub, my body hot and restless, yet helplessly pliant. I barely have the strength to hold on to him, and when he lets me to my feet on a soft rug, I have to lean against him for support.
As he dries my skin with a towel, I wonder at how shameless I’ve become. No longer feeling the need to cover myself, I even spread my legs so he can dry between them. Khay’s face is flushed purple, and the front of his trousers protrudes in a very telling manner.
I don’t have the words to comment on it, or to ask what he meant before—about my back entrance being theirs. If anything, I’m dizzy, pleasantly warmed, and achy inside. As I step from foot to foot, my hips moving as if searching for something, Khay makes a low sound of dismay.
“I’m sorry, my queen, but that’s your husband’s privilege. To see his wife shatter in pleasure for the first time—I can’t take that away from him.”
When my skin is dry, my hair combed and loosely braided, Khay carries me into the bedroom where a fresh change of clothes awaits. I have enough presence of mind to recognize that none of the garments are my own.
“Magnar sent a messenger ahead on our first day of travel,” Khay says, picking up a beautiful, dark blue dress with multiple ruffles—and a slit on one side that’s not just torn and jagged like in my green dress, but beautifully hemmed.
“Vardi’s seamstresses worked day and night to get it finished for you.
It would be a great honor for him if you wore it. ”
I stare at the dress, my heart pounding, because it’s so much more daring than the clothes I used to wear back home.
The neckline is low and decorated with gray lace that will inevitably draw glances to my bosom.
The waist is narrow, and the skirts are wide and luxurious, the petticoats white and frothy with ruffles.
As I imagine how this dress will look draping down the flank of a horse, I can’t suppress a sigh of longing. It’s perfect. What holds me back is the fear of being groped. I used to take great care not to wear anything too revealing so as not to provoke my father.
But… he’s dead.
I nod sharply. “Yes, of course. It’s beautiful.”
Khay helps me dress, soft, silky undergarments sizzling down my hot skin. His hands linger here and there, adjusting the fabric and perfecting the bow on each ribbon he ties, and I do my best not to squirm when the pulsing between my legs returns.
When a bell rings in the distance, calling us to dinner, I look at my reflection in the dark window, the bedroom lit with candles.
The woman that looks back is different from how I remember myself.
Her face is soft and relaxed, eyes big and dark, and the tops of her breasts spill out of the dress, heaving with every deep breath.
Khay undoes my braid and combs my still damp hair out with his fingers until the locks are neat and shiny.
He gets something from his pocket, something that glimmers red in the candlelight, and pins up a part of my hair above my ear.
I touch it gently. It’s an ornate hairpin inset with large jewels.
Khay clears his throat. “I got it years ago, as a gift for my queen. It’s silver and rubies. Not very elegant, since it’s not gold, but I thought…”
I turn and look up into his sheepish, still blushing face.
“Thank you, Khay. It’s beautiful. I adore rubies.”
He gives me a bright, radiant smile, and for the first time since I met him, I don’t mind the teeth at all.
“Let’s go then,” he says, taking my hand. “We’re almost late.”
The bath washed away the worst of my pain, and I manage to walk on my own, my head raised high. I keep suppressing the urge to glance at my breasts every second. They are gorgeously pushed up like two plump offerings, and I perversely like the sight of them.
I always loved beautiful, feminine things, but I was too afraid to wear them. I enjoy feeling pretty tonight, even if it’s the dress’s doing, not my natural charm.
We are the last to enter the dining hall.
I barely have time to take in the plush carpeting and ornate chandeliers spilling golden candlelight onto the feast, when chairs and benches scrape and shuffle, and the Agnidari soldiers, as well as the castle’s inhabitants, rise as one.
At the main table, Magnar pushes his chair away and raises his crystal chalice.
“To the queen,” he says in a commanding, vibrant voice. “May she be healthy and fertile!”
The room explodes with festive shouts, people repeating his toast, some pounding on the tables with their forks. My face grows hot, and I squeeze Khay’s hand with all my might. I feel like everyone’s thinking about me lying naked under Magnar after that toast.
“It’s customary,” Khay whispers above my ear, leading me down a dark red carpet. “That’s how every queen is hailed before she gives birth to an heir. Very proper, very royal.”
That comforts me a little, and I manage a weak smile as I valiantly hold myself back from looking down to check that my heaving breasts haven’t pushed out too much.
I regret wearing the dress now. Truly, I expected the dinner to be much like our breakfast today with everyone tired from long riding, but it seems this is a feast.
Khay pulls back a heavy chair for me, and I sit between Magnar and the older Agnidari I saw him with earlier. On the other side of the older man sits the first Agnidari woman I’ve ever seen, and I force myself to smile and not stare until we’re introduced.
Magnar puts away his chalice and leans to me, his face almost in my hair.
“Darling, this is Vardi, the man who single-handedly overhauled the art of defensive architecture in Roharra. He is to thank for the fact no one’s invaded us after we started expanding. It’s his castle.”
I smile, taking in our host. His face doesn’t reveal his age.
His skin is still mostly smooth, a shade of gray similar to Khay’s, though not freckled.
He has a thin mouth and amber eyes, a shock of color among the gray.
When he smiles and takes my hand to bow over my knuckles, he does it without showing me his teeth.
His hair is absolutely splendid, shiny and thick. Many human women would be incredibly envious if they saw it.
“You have a beautiful home,” I say, unsure by what title to address him. Magnar only mentioned the architect’s name. “Staying here is a pleasure, and I am very grateful for your magnificent gift of the dress. Your seamstresses possess some kind of magic.”
Vardi looks amused as he straightens. “Thank you, my queen. I must admit Magnar did you a disservice, painting you as a terrified little thing longing for her home. Yet, your manners are so much better than his. He should learn from you.”
The woman sitting on his other side laughs, leaning to see me better.
I stare into her silver eyes, similar to Magnar’s.
She is smaller than the Agnidari men, but her ears are larger, and her neck is very long.
Gold earrings cascade down to the tops of her shoulders.
Her hair is gray and gathered back, her face unlined just like Vardi’s.
“I apologize for my husband,” she says in a confident, strong voice. “Like Magnar’s, his manners are lacking. My name’s Kirita, my queen. It’s an honor to meet you.”
I smile gratefully and relax. This isn’t that different from royal court’s feasts, after all. Yes, Vardi was very forward in telling me Magnar’s judgment of me, but that used to happen at court, too. At least I know how to behave.
“Likewise, Kirita,” I say with a smile. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you.”
“How did you enjoy your bath?” she asks with a smile revealing hints of sharp teeth. “I admit, I bullied my husband until he found a way to install proper plumbing in these old walls. If I could, I’d spend all my days in the tub until my skin got all wrinkled.”
Not like court, then. This is nothing like my father’s feasts.
I do my best to smile, even though I don’t know how to answer her. Back home, the topic of personal hygiene was never discussed, and bringing it up was considered a great affront. I force myself to remember the Agnidari are different, and Kirita isn’t trying to insult me.
“I loved it, thank you,” I settle on saying, my thoughts a bit intrusive as I consider what else to add without mentioning anything rude or improper. “Very ingenious way to bring hot water straight to the tub. It was relaxing, and Khay…”
I break off, pressing my lips together in shame as my face heats.
Now they know a man assisted me. Gods. This is why it’s not a proper topic for polite company.
I stare at my plate, shiny and clean, and don’t know what else to say.
Kirita makes an inquiring noise, waiting for me to continue, and I can’t force my tongue to move.
This is mortifying.
Magnar stirs on my other side, laying his hand on my thigh under the table. “My wife is too polite to say she’s starving,” he says, a note of warning in his voice. “Let her eat and pester her later.”
I look up at him with an outraged gasp, but behind me, Kirita laughs good-naturedly, not at all offended. “Of course. Tuck in, you both. You need your strength to give us lots of plump little heirs.”
I’m still turned to Magnar, and he snorts out a quiet laugh when he sees the way my eyes widen in shock. Never, ever did I think I’d hear something like this in polite company.
“Breathe,” he mutters, leaning in. “Kirita means well. The future of the royal dynasty is a matter of public concern.”
I take a shaky breath, grabbing his hand under the table for support. Magnar pauses, giving me a careful look, and I squeeze his fingers harder, doing my best to control my breathing. My body is still hot and buzzing after the bath, and I remember how I wished for Magnar to come and fill me.
Oh gods. And now he’s here, and I can’t seem to let go of his hand. I keep thinking about it, the memory of Khay’s touch tingling where it shouldn’t.